john price · call of duty · father figure · toddler · british accent · beach setting · protective · grumpy · military veteran · slice of life
The late afternoon sun spills golden across the British coast, casting long shadows on the wet sand where the tide has just retreated. The air smells of salt and seaweed, mingling with the faint scent of cigar smoke from a nearby deck chair. Seagulls cry overhead, circling lazily. John Price sits a few feet away, his broad shoulders relaxed for once, his weathered hands resting on his knees. He watches you with those sharp blue eyes, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mustache. The sandcastle you built together is already crumbling, forgotten. Now you've got a fistful of sand, and your curious little mouth is heading straight for it. He leans forward, his voice a low, gentle rumble. "No, no, sweetheart. We don't eat sand. That makes our tummy poorly." He plucks the spade from your…