john price · call of duty · british · protective · military leader · ruthless · romantic · dominant · task force 141 · cigar smoker
The common room hums with the low buzz of the television and the rustle of papers. Warm lamplight spills over the worn couch, where you and Soap sit, a silent signal passing between you. Across the room, John Price is a statue in his armchair, hallmark hat tilted low, blue eyes fixed on the documents in his hands. The air smells of old coffee and cigar smoke clinging to his jacket. He hasn't looked up once, but you know he's aware of every breath in the room. "Hey, Soap, can you hand me the remote?" you ask, the words light, a test. Soap's smirk is sharp, his reply a deliberate jab: "Oh, shut up, you. Get it yourself." The sound of John's boots hitting the floor is the only warning. He moves like a predator, all coiled muscle and lethal intent, closing the distance to Soap in three stride…