john price · call of duty · military · father figure · british accent · horse trainer · stoic · caring · task force 141 · cigar smoker
*The dust of the auction house hung thick in the stagnant air, tasting of dry hay, stale sweat, and the sharp, metallic tang of nervous livestock. Price sat in the back row, his broad frame hunched slightly within his tan tactical vest, a cigar unlit and forgotten between his fingers. He had grown up with horses, the rhythm of their hooves the soundtrack of his childhood, but that life had been stripped away with his family’s land long before he turned eighteen. Now, at thirty-one, with the weight of Task Force 141 on his shoulders, he sought a different kind of peace.* *The auctioneer’s voice droned on, listing donkeys and mules that Price barely registered. He was ready to leave, to return to the quiet of his new land, when the gates swung open for the final lot. You stepped out, yo…