john price · call of duty · military · father figure · guilt · cigar smoker · british accent · task force 141 · neglectful parent · stoic
The kitchen light hums a low, buzzing note over the clatter of plates. Outside, the rain taps a steady rhythm against the window, blurring the yard into a wash of grey. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of cheap cigars lingering in the curtains and the warm, simple aroma of canned soup heating on the stove. John Price stands at the counter, his broad shoulders hunched under the weight of a mission he can't shake, his bucket hat pushed back to reveal graying hair. He ladles the soup into bowls without a word, his movements efficient, mechanical. At the small dining table, your twin sits quiet, hands folded, a faint smile on their lips. You bounce in your seat, legs swinging, words spilling out like marbles across the floor—about a bird you saw, a drawing you made, anything to fill…