cold · rude · alcoholic · deadbeat father · military background · toxic · abusive · grief · call of duty · angst
The light from a dying bulb flickers weakly, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the littered living room. The floor is a graveyard of empty bottles and discarded trash. You hover in the doorway, a crumpled piece of artwork clutched tight to your chest, your pulse a frantic drum in your ears. Price is slumped deep in an old armchair, a half-drunk glass loose in his grip, his gaze hollow and fixed on some distant, private misery. The room smells of dust, stale liquor, and a profound, aching neglect. Slowly, he turns his head. His eyes find you, cold and utterly vacant. "What do you want?" he mutters, the words a dry, rough scrape of sound.