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@john-captain-price
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I don't know how these apps work and I don't even know why I let the guys create this blog...But I think I'm in it now.
I won't describe myself, because I wouldn't know what to say, but I'll introduce myself.
Nice to meet you, I'm Captain John Price and I'm at your disposal.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The Reunion
People I think want to be warned: @colonel-valentino @callsign-fish
Roleplay mood: Price has just finished a meeting he didn't like at all. He'll be quite angry. You can decide whether to attend the meeting or not, the choice is yours.
Disclaimer: For this roleplay, I might use a little more heated language. Don't be offended if our captain is more grumpy than usual.
Enjoy!
Liliya watched from the vent. He had come back quicker than she had expected and now she was stuck, squeezed into the vent until he left and she could sneak out. Her hand gripped the half downloaded hard drive. The other was extended over the opening, holding it shut. She was quiet literally stuck between a rock and well... it wasn't a hard place as much as it was an impossibly small vent not made to fit any person let alone a full woman in kevlar.
She held her breath, her informant had promised her Price would be in a meeting for at least another half hour. Maybe it had run short. Maybe something had happened.She didn't really care. It made her awful claustrophobic to be stuck up there however. It reminded her of her time in the Shadow Company's custody. The small rooms, the smaller boxes.
She hoped he wouldn't notice the small changes in how things had been arranged. The computer closed wrong, the files slightly out of order. The drawer with the key left in the hole.
Price had been staring at his desk for minutes on end. His mind was on the meeting and how he could resolve this shitty situation the commander had put him in. His red hand was throbbing and had turned red by now, but that was the least of his problems. How would he resolve the situation? He couldn't override the commander, especially in the conference room. But the thought of hearing that his men had died because of a trap spurred him to go against his superiors.
He took a deep breath to try to calm his nerves before looking up in front of him. He had decided that perhaps it was best to start trying to move to prevent that mission from happening. But as soon as he looked at his computer, he noticed that it was slightly open. At first, he didn't pay much attention to it. It could have been his oversight; it had happened before.
John walked to the opposite side of that wooden rectangle that had taken more beatings than any other object in that office, and began to analyze the situation. The computer was not closed properly and now he had noticed the key on his drawer.
"What the hell..."
Now his anger had turned to alertness. Someone had entered his office, but the door was locked. How did they get in? He accessed the computer and when he saw the disorganized files, he realized that they had gotten in there. He tried to figure out what they had taken and it didn't take long for John's anger to rise again. So much so that he threw the mouse against the wall near the open door.
"Who the fuck came in here!?"
He shouted to no one in particular could hear him. He was just frustrated with everything, first with the meeting and now with this.
Liliya waited quietly. Don't panic, no need to panic. Just wait, he'd leave eventually, he probably thought she was already gone. Hopefully. She wasn't sure how long she could stay up in the vents without passing out. Her breathing restricted solely because of how small the vents were. It was almost like they didn't want people up there.
Her hand was barely keeping a grip on the thin lip of the vent. She was dead if he noticed the screws missing from the cover in the ceiling. She silently wished she had been faster. Sure she had done everything as fast as she could but she was sure somewhere she had missed seconds- combined maybe even a minute. And now all she could do was watch, wait and hope. And if he did find her hopefully he would recognise her and not shoot. Sure she had killed many many of his med before but maybe he'd be level headed.
It wasn't long before a soldier, presumably a new recruit, appeared at the entrance to his office. He was young, with short hair and a stiff stance from his training And now also from the anxiety of facing a captain who seemed anything but calm.
"Something is wrong, Capt. Price?"
The recruit spoke while observing the captain's movements. He hoped to understand the situation or how to behave, but John was a statue of emotion. And that scared him more than any other reaction.
"Who entered this office."
It wasn't a question that took "I don't know" for an answer, and the recruit understood this. He swallowed before speaking.
"N-no-one, Sir. Nobody entered the-"
"No." he cut him off with a firm no. "Someone broke into my fuckin' office and stole files from my computer." His British accent was thicker than usual, and the soldier almost struggled to understand him. "Were you on guard duty?"
The recruit had a moment to figure out how to respond. He'd never seen the captain so furious. He nodded slowly and spoke directly.
"I was on watch, but I didn't see anyone, Captain."
There was a moment of stalemate in the room, and the tension was palpable. Now the recruit was really starting to think about the consequences. Would he be fired? Sent away for something like that? An oversight?
"Get out of here and check if anyone's inside the barracks perimeter. If they left recently, they shouldn't be too far away."
The rookie didn't need to be told twice and ran out of the office. Price let out a sigh and looked back at his computer. He realized that if they had been left half open and the keys still attached to his drawer, then they had left in a hurry. They probably didn't have time and someone had approached the office.
Price slumped back in his chair, his elbows on his desk and his hands running across his face and up to the back of his neck, trying to push away the stress of that evening. He was sure that the meeting had raised his cholesterol and this was becoming the tip of the iceberg.
He looked up at the ceiling, searching for calm. It didn't come. The thought that whoever had entered his office might still be nearby reassured him somehow. But if they had ever been caught, he would not have known how they would have escaped unharmed.
Then he noticed something different. Missing screws on a ceiling vent.
"What..."
Liliya swore under her breath, barely a whisper in the wind. Maybe if that recruit hadn't come in- but her mind was already working over time. She could take a few shots through the metal vent and the kevlar, maybe enough to get out of the vent and off base. Either way she was making it out of the vent which was a relief.
Her body already hurt at the thought of squeezing back out of the vent head first while being shot at. Knowing Price she'd be down in seconds, that's forty seconds to get down, she could take two without air so that gave her over a minute to knock him out. She'd gain a lot of attention. With oxygen deprivation after presumably being breathless either under knee or palm. Her mind worked fast, connecting every situation with an object, the stapler on the right, the laptop could work in a pinch.
Her right hand stuffed the USB into her shirt, Not the best place but she couldn't reach her pockets from here.
The vent...It wasn't the first time Price had thought that someone could easily fit inside. That one was missing some screws, it seemed obvious to him that someone had been through it. But who? It was too narrow for a man to enter. Those little tunnels weren't that wide. But a woman...
That evening the captain had stopped letting others do what he should have done. He wouldn't wait for the recruit and his report, He could do that thing and he would check it himself.
Without hesitation, he climbed onto the desk with his shoes on, keeping an eye on the computer. He wasn't light on the climb, in fact, some of the pens moved as if there had been a small earthquake. He continued to look inside better, but he couldn't see much. He didn't even have to stand on tiptoe before he raised his arms, ready to remove the covering and see if anyone had passed by on their way to his office.
Liliya let the vent drop. She grabbed the edge by her fingernails and pulled. her arms reached out first, her left reached out first, grabbing Price's shoulder. Her right arm hooked his chin. She pulled herself out. Slowly. Her ribs felt like they were going to snap together and break. Her braid whipped down and fell next to Price's head. A noose waiting for its wearer.
She was halfway out. Her arm was pulling at his neck. Her other hand reaching for purchase on anything. But Price wasn't exactly a stable anchor. Her teeth grit. The silver flashed. Her molars still hurt. And she was stuck, stuck halfway out with a vent thousands of miles from her apartment or anywhere she felt remotely comfortable.
The surprise in Price's eyes was visible as soon as the woman appeared out of the vent. The sound the vent cover made as it fell to the ground was metallic, but the captain didn't care at that moment. He felt the girl's hands on him and between the anger of the meeting, of the spy who had entered his office and the shitty evening he was having, Price grabbed her wrists, He pulled her towards him without too much delicacy and, making her leave there, immobilized her on his desk.
The computer had almost fallen over, the papers and pens on it had flown to the floor, but Price remained above this woman, holding her wrists above her head and trying to keep calm. It all happened so quickly that when John got a closer look, he realized he had seen her before somewhere. But the introductions would wait.
"How the hell did you get into my office? And why you need that information?"
His tone was firm, more so than he felt. If the woman hadn't responded, he would have resorted to more forceful tactics.
Liliya kicked, her back braced by the wood desk. Her feet connected just under his ribs. His lungs contracted. The air knocked out of him for a few prolonged seconds. She kicked again. The desk creaked in protest. Her hips rolled forward. Her legs wrapped his neck and she cracked her forehead into his. Her knees pressed into the pulse points on his neck.
The computer toppled off the desk in the fray. It was followed by the few papers that had aborted quick enough.
She pushed him off, stumbling up. Her hand grabbed her sidearm. The safety clicked off instantly and a shot rang out. Silent and horrifyingly on target. Not in Price. Not even at Price. But at the recruit in the door, watching stunned. He had just been delivering a report. Knees buckled and the body hit the floor.
Wind looked up from her shot, her eyes met Price's. Bigger peaks to summit than the boy in the door. Her chest heaved. Strands escaped her braid, encircling her head.
Price took a moment to recover. The kick to the abdomen had briefly knocked the wind out of him, but the real problem had been the headbutt to the forehead. He paid no attention to the state of his office, he felt his head throbbing and he squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments, but opened them immediately afterwards at the sound of a gunshot.
The thud of a body falling to the ground had made him immediately turn towards the wailing figure of a recruit who had found himself there only by great bad luck. Then his eyes fell on her. A woman. One of those you never want to meet in situations like this. Price was somber. That night had just gone wrong, but he wasn't going to let it just get worse.
"You dirty little bi-"
he muttered to himself as he approached the spy. He struck her hand where she was holding the gun, knocking it out of her hand. One good thing about Price was that he was bigger than her, but that didn't let his guard down. With one hand he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to the ground. One knee on her back.
John's breathing had returned, calm, military. The young recruit was on the ground, blood had stained the parquet, but for now he was fine. Before speaking to the person directly involved, Price yelled to someone outside the office, hoping someone would hear him, warning that someone was injured.
"Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you want from my computer."
It wasn't a question she couldn't answer. He was tired of being walked all over, and this time he wasn't going to let her go.
It’d been at least a couple of hours since Avora reached out to Captain Price… It was through an encrypted line—one that left no sign, which meant that tracing her was outside of the realm of possibilities. A conversation alone with him was all that she’d requested. No reinforcements on standby, just Captain John Price. The location in question was an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tall pine trees that swayed in the wind, which caused the branches to rustle overhead. It was a place where people went missing—never to be seen again. Where the moonlight and stars were the only source of light, and the only sign of civilization was over a hundred miles away. Walking through the forest was as much of a death sentence as it was horrifying. There was no telling what sort of wild animals might lurch out and attack a person—teeth tearing through skin and bone just tear its prey apart. A death as painful as it was a nightmare to endure… Avora assumed Price wouldn’t be stupid enough to try walking through the woods. If anything, she figured he’d drive himself there; to the warehouse, where she’d been leaning against the wall. The cold of metal could be felt even through the protective layers of her clothes, which barely kept the evening breeze from sending a chill down her spine. Goosebumps peppered her arms as she stood there, an orange glow stemming from the tip of her cigarette; the only source of light for now, until bright headlights became visible through the treeline. All Avora really focused on was her surroundings—the way the crickets chirped in unison to the way the ventilation unit hissed in the background, an appliance much overdue for replacement. A twig snapped, which caught her attention right away, but she made no effort to reach for her weapon or move. Her eyes shifted to the sky above, fixating on how beautiful it truly was—dark with stars that shimmered like a thousand diamonds and a full moon. “It really is a shame…” Avora said with a dramatic sigh. “The rest of the world is missing out on such a beautiful sight.” Only for a fleeting moment would anyone forget that she was a terrorist—born to and raised by one no less. “What do you think, Captain Price?” She took a drag from her cigarette and exhaled the smoke, which curled into the air before dispersing. The scent of nicotine stung her throat, lungs and nostrils as she breathed in.
Price was in the car, looking at the road in front of him with disarming seriousness and attention. The stars lit up the night sky, which failed to illuminate the road through the forest that he was Crossing. The car lights guided him to the abandoned warehouse where Avora had arranged a meeting time. He didn't even know why he was crossing a road full of trees and bramble bushes to go and meet a terrorist. He tightened his grip at the memory of the call.
He had expired in his office. He was sorting out the latest reports from the mission involving imported Russian weapons. According to some research, they thought that Makarov was the one behind all this. And as if his offspring felt called into question, John's cell phone began to ring. Unknown number. He usually let it ring; if they tried, they'd call back. So he did. But when it rang a second time, he answered, and after some hesitation about that proposal, He convinced himself to go.
So now he was driving alone, without any escort behind him, through the dark woods, trying to hit as few roots as possible so as not to wreck the car. And as he arrived at the warehouse, the headlights illuminated a figure leaning on the ruined brick of that crumbling building.
He got out of the car without much hesitation. He was there now, and he wouldn't go back. Even though he didn't want to see her, he wanted to understand what she wanted from him. Maybe he could have asked her something too, who knows.
As he walked toward her, his hands in the pockets of his heavy jacket, he emphasized the little consideration he had for Avora. But he didn't lower his gaze. He couldn't afford to, because if she were even a little bit deranged like her father, then he wouldn't think twice about shooting her in the head.
He still heard her talking, John listened to her without interest. He didn't care about the sky, the stars, or how beautiful she thought that night was. He wasn't a man for roundabout conversation or conviviality. Especially in certain cases.
"What do you want from me, Makarov?"
Price’s question replayed in Avora’s mind as she stood there, processing the fact he misgendered her by referring to her as ‘Makarov.’ He was lucky to have caught her in a good mood, otherwise, this would’ve turned into a heated lecture. “Avora Vladimirovna Makarova is my name… For females, you have to put an Ova, Eva or Aya at the end of the surname for it to be correct…” She sounded annoyed as she explained, taking a drag from her cigarette. “If I was a male… My name would have been something like Dmitri Vladimirovich Makarov. We have gendered names in Russia...” Avora finished her explanation, never moving or turning to look in his direction. “You are lucky… I’m in a good mood and if I wasn’t, I would have punched you in the face for misgendering me… Improperly addressing me never ends well for anyone.” Her tone shifted to something colder, sharper than before. Avora took a final drag from her cigarette, then she flicked it onto the ground and snuffed it out with her boot. Pebbles and dirt shifted beneath her boot in the process. “That isn’t what I called you to talk about.” Finally, the woman turned and looked at Price, her green eyes as sharp as they were piercing. “I want to know if redemption is within the realm of possibilities.” Avora sounded serious, accent thick as she spoke. “Or is it only death or rotting behind bars for me, hm?” There was another option that she’d intentionally left out. It involved being used as a pawn of war against her own father, which was something she was rather unwilling to participate in. As Avora moved, the motion-sensing light flickered on, casting a shadow against the ground—it was sprawled out, jagged due to the uneven terrain. She stood about a few feet away from Price, knowing better than to get too close to the British man. “If you don’t know half of what I’ve done, then that means the odds of you being able to lock me up for good are pretty fucking low…” Avora was certain of that—she was good at leaving a crime scene without a drop of blood on her hands. Her arms came to fold one over the other across her chest, shifting on her feet as she waited for a response.
He didn't care what Avora's opening words were. Even if he'd miscalled her by her correct name, he wasn't bothered by it. She was the daughter of one of the most ruthless terrorists of the last century, her father's name came before hers. Price watched his movements. The man's small, icy eyes seemed even sharper than usual. And more attentive than any other day. And when she continued to speak, that took on a form of sincere disbelief.
"Redemption?"
The word fell from his lips with an almost amused tone. Makarov's daughter seeking redemption for her misdeeds? That was new to him. Either it was a joke or she was serious, but he didn't know what to believe at that moment. John took his hands out of his pockets and crossed them over his chest before speaking.
"To receive redemption, a person like you must pray to God on their knees for centuries."
The voice was harsh. It was true that they didn't have definitive proof of everything she'd done, but they had access to sources. And they certainly didn't work in her favor. Makarov's daughter not taking after her father? That was a pipe dream. After all, the apple never falls far from the tree. This made him suspicious and he certainly wouldn't have had much trouble figuring out what plan she had in mind.
"What's your plan? Trying to join the British Army and then talk to your father? Because if that's the case, you can forget any path to redemption."
“Yes, redemption.” Avora confirmed without breaking eye contact for even a second. Price’s response left her feeling more upset than anything else. Couldn’t he see that she was at least trying? This was taking a lot of effort and time, not to mention energy… She could’ve utilized all three aspects to plan a terrorist attack or something far worse, but she was expending her time toward something different for once. Avora stepped away and let out a dry laugh. “You are funny… Such a funny man. You don’t mean that, do you?” Her tone greatly hinted at the underlying skepticism that lingered underneath the surface. Out of sight. Out of mind. Finally, she turned away, back facing the captain. “I have no intention of joining your task force.” Avora corrected Price. “What if I just want to be done with everything, hm? Don’t I deserve a break?” It sounded self-absorbed and in truth, it absolutely was. She wasn’t thinking about the lives that were affected by her actions, nor the lives lost as a direct result. They didn’t matter. They were collateral damage—nothing more, nothing less. “I know what you think of me.” “Set that aside for one minute and consider everything I’ve been through.” Avora was referring to her fucked up childhood—that involved being shipped off to a foreign country and being trained by Barkov, and the horrors she experienced while in his custody. None of it excused her actions and maybe somewhere deep down, she might have known that, but she refused to admit it. That was a side effect of being raised by a monster. “I didn’t have any sense of normalcy. How I am now, it’s not my fault—the world made me a monster.” It was an excuse. A justification in every cruel sense there was. No accountability. There was no apology, just an *excuse.* “Do you really think this is how I wanted to be? Do you think that this is what I wanted to do? Any of this?” Avora didn’t turn around and face Price for several minutes, only staring into the darkness as if she wished it might swallow her whole.
Price found it truly difficult to trust her. He wasn't a man who trusted just anyone, let alone the daughter of one of Russia's most ruthless terrorists. Despite this, he had listened to her. Did she want to change? After having likely ruined the lives of those unfortunate enough to be that woman's victims?
"I don't care if your father wasn't nice to you. I shouldn't be the one to say it, but if you didn't want to be that way, you could have gone away."
The words coming out of him were cold. A man who had no intention of acting as a "good conscience" to such a person. As much as John believed people could change, he wasn't always of that opinion. And that was precisely the case. He watched her with her back to him. Despite the dark night, he could see her clearly.
"The world makes you bad if you let it, Avora."
Despite his aloof way of speaking and acting, he was still a captain who spoke often to his boys. He wasn't a father and was very far from being one, but through his life he had understood many things about that world. And being overwhelmed by injustice blinded you to the good things.
Price had been silent for a moment, considering his next move. As he always did, he was swaying in place. It wasn't something he did consciously. Simon had pointed it out to him once, and even though he'd tried to be more careful, he still couldn't stop. And he let it go. But he still didn't understand why she was telling him that.
"And tell me, why now? What exactly would you do to seek this phantom redemption? And why did you decide to talk to me out of everyone there?" It would have been more helpful to talk to a commander. But perhaps talking to him would have made it easier if she could convince him. But that wouldn't have been an option.
Price didn’t need to know the true reasoning for why Avora was seeking redemption. It was only for a cruel, selfish reason that would only put her true colors on display—she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in prison. Even if she deserved it. Even if she had it coming. She just didn’t think that was fair. Why should she have to suffer or pay for any of the crimes she committed? “You act like there was ever a choice to begin with. It was do or die.” Avora glanced at the moon, wondering what it might feel like to finally catch a break in the midst of all the chaos or if this was all there was to this kind of life. “Tell me, Price, have you ever been in a position where leaving wasn’t an option?” Then and only then did she turn around and look at him, noticing how he was swaying. She made no comment about it. A nervous habit of Price’s, something to note down for future use. Everyone had habits—whether it was fidgeting with a necklace or pacing around without stopping for any reason at all. Avora’s were harder to notice, unless a person was observant enough to notice the way she curled her fingers inward, leaving crescent shapes in her skin. “You think I let the world make me this way?” Avora forced her fingers to uncurl and to relax—a futile effort in avoiding harming herself. The damage was already dealt. Small lacerations remained on her palms, bleeding a little bit—not visible to Price. “I didn’t have a choice in anything. I’m not the one who decided to send an eight-year-old to Urzikstan! He chose for me!” A break in the stoic mask, emotions bubbling over without relenting; her voice was filled with pent up frustration. Barely contained. Released onto a person who didn’t ask to hear bullshit excuses or a sob story that’d been weaved together by years of trauma, manipulation and abandonment. “Why? Is there a better time? Was I supposed to call you ten-years-ago when I was sixteen and beg you to help me out?” Avora questioned, folding her arms across her chest, feeling a cool breeze of air tugging on the loose strands of her hair into her face. She freed a hand to pull the strands back into place. “I thought you were reasonable enough to hear me out. Everyone else views me as a walking, talking—breathing target. Tell me, do you view me the same way or are you willing to listen?”
Was he willing to help her? What she said wasn't wrong. A child that young had no say in her life's decisions. Too many times he had seen children being manipulated by their parents to live a life outside the human morality that kept them tied to reality. But she was an adult now. Price thought she was a reasonably intelligent woman, even at a young age. Even in those phantom sixteen years.
"How can I see you differently from others? You've done something wrong, Avora. You could have avoided it. You could have chosen to change your life. Before all this."
Price's arms opened to indicate that situation and all the horrible things she had done in the past. Now he was trying to change? To find redemption? But how could he trust her? John couldn't even imagine a scenario where they were sharing a coffee in central London, let alone having to work with her.
"I, too, have been through moments and situations where going back, or even thinking of going back, was impossible. But I've always tried to take the least destructive path."
Price was no saint. He'd done things he regretted, but everything he'd done was for a good cause. Protecting those who couldn't. Avora wasn't like that. She killed for the sheer pleasure of it, or simply because someone told her to. It had been put into her head.
A gust of wind passed between them both, moving the branches of the trees and making a noise in the silence of the night. Price returned with his hands in his pockets, dangling one last time before speaking.
"Give me just one reason why I should trust you."
“Then don’t.” Avora shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to play the game of semantics, much less go over every little detail. *You could have done this or you could have done that* —two very unhelpful phrases that neither helped the situation, nor made it any better. There were plenty of things Price could’ve done, too, but Avora wasn’t about to dive right into that, at least not immediately. She would if he kept pushing. “I can’t make you look at me differently. That is on you. Look at me how you want to. I don’t give a fuck.” “What would you have done, hm? If you were raised in a similar environment, constantly surrounded by violence and death… I doubt you would’ve made the right choice.” Avora pointed out, watching how he opened his arms—a subtle indication of every horrible thing she’d done. "But then again... The line between right and wrong has long since been skewed for the both of us." “What makes you any better?” Avora reached into her pocket and fumbled around for an encrypted flash drive. It was only information that Makarov allowed her to take without much of an argument. With the flash drive in hand, she stared at the captain for a moment, trying to find the right choice of words. What could she possibly say? "You talk to me like you're somehow better than I am, but you're just as guilty as I am. You have taken lives." The options were limitless, but nothing really came to mind, beyond a realization that Price was likely expecting Avora to work for him. “Let me clear the air… I’m not asking to work for you or anyone else. I’m asking to walk freely. That is all. Like it or not, I won’t take a gun and join you on the battlefield. I also won’t kill the man you hate.” She wasn’t interested in playing the role of a pawn yet again. That idea was long exhausted and now, she wanted a break. To be done without having to worry about repercussions for anything and everything she’d done in the past. “You want something actionable?” Avora finally stepped forward and grabbed Price’s wrist, lowering it to place the flash drive in the palm of his hand. “You have the chance to save lives. There are names, dates, locations, which includes the most tedious information as to why. Do what you want with that and let me walk.” She released his wrist and backed away without breaking eye contact. Within a few steps, she was leaning against the wall again and staring back up at the night sky. "I am done."
Price had observed her moments and had let her approach, handing him that USB stick. He gave himself time to understand why she had done that. Yes, she wanted to walk freely through the streets without anyone aiming at her twenty-four hours a day, but why now? Why did she want to seek this damned redemption now?
There was a moment of silence, one of those where the air remains stagnant, where the wind decides it's not the right time to blow. Price looked up at her. He was analyzing her, But he still didn't quite understand her intentions. Then he broke the silence.
"You want me to trust you." It was a statement, a thought that had flashed through my head from the moment Avora opened her mouth. "You seek redemption, you know I'll struggle to accept it, but you chose me because you think I'm more 'empathetic'." And maybe that was the case, but he wouldn't let her think that. Not now, and maybe never.
He waved his hand with the key, gripping it with two fingers, clenching his fist and making sure she saw it. "You think with this you can have what you're looking for. Freedom." Price was trying to understand, because the situation seemed surreal to him. But he remained calm, and even stopped dawdling. "Let's say it's true. Let's say we can get some important information from this." Now it would be time for the questions. "Do you really believe that this is enough to give you freedom?"
Price really struggled to believe her. To let his human, more empathetic side emerge in that moment. She had done too many things that could not be forgiven. It was true that both had killed, but missions, protecting one's homeland, was different from killing innocent people in the process.
"You're not just asking to be left alone, you're asking for trust, Avora. The kind that can't be earned only after one help."
A tipsy night (open RP)
John isn't one for drinking, but that evening, after a mission, they'd decided to party. A few people, nothing too special. A glass of whiskey, bourbon, A drink at the soldier's pleasure. What's Captain Price like when he's drunk? And what's he most likely to say when he's not lucid?
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The captain poured himself another glass of whiskey. He didn't know how many he'd had so far. One? Two? Four? He didn't care. Not at that time. He was usually a man who did not overdo it with alcohol, especially when in company. He didn't like to be seen drunk. But for that evening he would make an exception.
The mission went well. Not as he'd wanted, but they'd all returned in one piece. A few injuries, but nothing serious. Not like his last mission. Those guys... another sip was swallowed in silence. His soldiers talked, even laughed. They managed to joke and keep the evening light-hearted. But the captain couldn't do it the way he wanted. That's why he didn't like getting drunk.
In the moments of silence, he continued to think, and the more he thought, the more he drank. A cycle that would soon have him returning to his room with no memory of the evening.
A tattooed hand appeared on his wrist, lightly laying it down and stopping him in the fourth sip within a minute.
“That sorta night, huh Cap?” she hummed, taking a seat next to him. A hard cider in her hands.A knowing look on her face.
Rye was new to the company, yet found herself slipping in quickly.
John's tired eyes fell on the girl's hand. He didn't resist, but he didn't let go of the glass either. He looked up and didn't immediately recognize her. She was a new addition to the team; it would take him a while to properly frame her.
"I imagine." He replied, grimacing at the thought. He nodded at what she was drinking. "What is that?"
She's took her hand away, taking a seat next to him. Her face was rather scarred- a bullet wound, enter and exit, marked a inch away from her jawbone on both sidesnz
The hand holding the drink gestured lightly, “hard cider. “ she sighs “can't do beer after Mexico” she grimaces a little “ya’ll have different tastes” She huffs, smiling a bit. Her tone humorous
She didn't know Price well. She Had heard bits and pieces from Graves during her old time in Shadow. Alenandro and Rudy had been more helpful before her leave.
She had just transferred from the States due to her injuries, specially the physical therapy she needed to revive.
Price gave a small laugh, taking the glass and signaling to the woman that she was right. The whiskey almost moved to flow out of that transparent container.
"We like them more decisive, stronger. If we have to drink, we do it for the sake of it."
As he drank, Price looked at her and tried to figure out if he knew her. He'd seen her, he'd read her files, but at that moment he remembered little about her. Only one thing was certain: she had been on a mission with them that night.
After a moment's reflection and putting his glass back on the table, Price spoke again.
"You're new to the team, right? I'd remember a face like yours if you'd been around longer."
She smiles, the scars stretching a little.
“‘Have ta’is never the right word for drinking with co-workers .” she hummed, joking. She carefully lifted the bottle to her lips. Careful to ensure the glass didn't hit her teeth, specifically her fake ones. “
She snorts, a hand going to cover her mouth a little before dropping back to the table.
“Transferred maybe a month ago from the States. Was doing work with Alejandro and others for a bit down south.” It was no secret what she meant when she mentioned her location: drug cartels.
Price was pleasantly surprised to hear that he'd worked with Alejandro. He hadn't expected such a response, but his expression changed slightly, more serene. If Alejandro's team trusted her, then he could too.
"That must have been stressful. Did things go well during that time? A move from the States to such a hot place must have been problematic."
The ironic tone, while, Eventually, he found himselves talking about work, and he had other questions, but one at a time. He just hoped to remember them as the conversation progressed.
She was silent for a moment, contemplating her response. It’s hadn’t gone well, atleast for her.
“Well as it could’ve.” She huffs, taking another small sip, pushing those thoughts, those memories, down.
“Grew up in the south,thankfully. Didn’t mind the heat”
She grimaces “not enjoying yer British temps tho.” She joked
Price smiled. No one liked the weather there. In his entire career, he'd probably met two people who liked it.
"I understand your dismay. There are more rainy days than sunny ones. Even in summer."
His voice was hoarse and playful, scratched by years of cigarettes and cigars that had replaced the old ones because they tasted better and were "less" harmful. Price drank the last sip of whiskey.
" How did you get along with them? There's no competition uh? You can tell they're not nice."
The last words were whispered, as if it had to be a secret between them, but in reality Price admired those boys and joking was the first step towards a good friendship.
“Ah,… funny enough, they said the same thing.” She hums,tipping the bottle back to take another sip. It was become a habit for her when talking, a reset of her mind, something she had learned when working with in the specialist.
Al and Rody had asked that too. Rightfully curious about the young woman’s (at the time “young”) transfers from Shadow Company.
“I will say…in the few years I worked with them, Al laughed less then five times…can have a real stick shoved up there.” She snorts “unless with Rody.” She chuckles. “Those two could drink a marine under.” she shakes her head a bit, a small laugh leaving her, clearing thinking back on something. “Fuck’in drank me near blind.” She laughs this time. The scars of her face stretching and her fake teeth slightly visible.
Price let out a laugh. Those two were forces of nature when it came to completing a mission. But also when they need to drink at a pub. Her story didn't surprise him much, but he was amused by the similarities.
"I imagined. Even though they seem serious, they can also let themselves go sometimes."
He knew about their friendship. Alejandro and Rodolfo were a bit like Simon and Johnny, in his experience. And he had confirmation of this when Soap also told him about his time with them.
John's gaze fell on her face. A young woman with scars like that could only be admired. He knew how much physical appearance mattered, even if he didn't yet understand the reason. Other women would have let things like that get them down, but she was there laughing. He smiled too.
"How are you finding it here? Have you made friends with anyone yet?"
A wave of the hand and the bartender had refilled the glass with whiskey.
She smiles, finishing her drink before signaling for a another. A hard cider appearing a few momnets later
“They sureeee can” she snorts, looking down at the drink before back at price.
“Besides the weather,can’t complain. Ya have some mighty fine sergeants . And hell, think I may even be getting under Ghosts collar.” She jokes
"I hope you don't succeed. Simon can be grumpy sometimes."
A smile came over him at the thought of the personality of one of his best lieutenants. Price knew he'd be reserved, but deep down he also believed they could build a rapport.
"But they're good guys. Johnny and Kyle will be the real problem." His tone is joking, as he raises his glass. "Give them a little confidence and for you, it's over." And he drinks whiskey.
*holding up a sign outside his window and cackling* "I"M THE BETTER CAPTAIN!"
@general-shepherd-fucker
"What a..."
Looks very perplexed
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A tipsy night (open RP)
John isn't one for drinking, but that evening, after a mission, they'd decided to party. A few people, nothing too special. A glass of whiskey, bourbon, A drink at the soldier's pleasure. What's Captain Price like when he's drunk? And what's he most likely to say when he's not lucid?
------------------
The captain poured himself another glass of whiskey. He didn't know how many he'd had so far. One? Two? Four? He didn't care. Not at that time. He was usually a man who did not overdo it with alcohol, especially when in company. He didn't like to be seen drunk. But for that evening he would make an exception.
The mission went well. Not as he'd wanted, but they'd all returned in one piece. A few injuries, but nothing serious. Not like his last mission. Those guys... another sip was swallowed in silence. His soldiers talked, even laughed. They managed to joke and keep the evening light-hearted. But the captain couldn't do it the way he wanted. That's why he didn't like getting drunk.
In the moments of silence, he continued to think, and the more he thought, the more he drank. A cycle that would soon have him returning to his room with no memory of the evening.
A tattooed hand appeared on his wrist, lightly laying it down and stopping him in the fourth sip within a minute.
“That sorta night, huh Cap?” she hummed, taking a seat next to him. A hard cider in her hands.A knowing look on her face.
Rye was new to the company, yet found herself slipping in quickly.
John's tired eyes fell on the girl's hand. He didn't resist, but he didn't let go of the glass either. He looked up and didn't immediately recognize her. She was a new addition to the team; it would take him a while to properly frame her.
"I imagine." He replied, grimacing at the thought. He nodded at what she was drinking. "What is that?"
She's took her hand away, taking a seat next to him. Her face was rather scarred- a bullet wound, enter and exit, marked a inch away from her jawbone on both sidesnz
The hand holding the drink gestured lightly, “hard cider. “ she sighs “can't do beer after Mexico” she grimaces a little “ya’ll have different tastes” She huffs, smiling a bit. Her tone humorous
She didn't know Price well. She Had heard bits and pieces from Graves during her old time in Shadow. Alenandro and Rudy had been more helpful before her leave.
She had just transferred from the States due to her injuries, specially the physical therapy she needed to revive.
Price gave a small laugh, taking the glass and signaling to the woman that she was right. The whiskey almost moved to flow out of that transparent container.
"We like them more decisive, stronger. If we have to drink, we do it for the sake of it."
As he drank, Price looked at her and tried to figure out if he knew her. He'd seen her, he'd read her files, but at that moment he remembered little about her. Only one thing was certain: she had been on a mission with them that night.
After a moment's reflection and putting his glass back on the table, Price spoke again.
"You're new to the team, right? I'd remember a face like yours if you'd been around longer."
She smiles, the scars stretching a little.
“‘Have ta’is never the right word for drinking with co-workers .” she hummed, joking. She carefully lifted the bottle to her lips. Careful to ensure the glass didn't hit her teeth, specifically her fake ones. “
She snorts, a hand going to cover her mouth a little before dropping back to the table.
“Transferred maybe a month ago from the States. Was doing work with Alejandro and others for a bit down south.” It was no secret what she meant when she mentioned her location: drug cartels.
Price was pleasantly surprised to hear that he'd worked with Alejandro. He hadn't expected such a response, but his expression changed slightly, more serene. If Alejandro's team trusted her, then he could too.
"That must have been stressful. Did things go well during that time? A move from the States to such a hot place must have been problematic."
The ironic tone, while, Eventually, he found himselves talking about work, and he had other questions, but one at a time. He just hoped to remember them as the conversation progressed.
She was silent for a moment, contemplating her response. It’s hadn’t gone well, atleast for her.
“Well as it could’ve.” She huffs, taking another small sip, pushing those thoughts, those memories, down.
“Grew up in the south,thankfully. Didn’t mind the heat”
She grimaces “not enjoying yer British temps tho.” She joked
Price smiled. No one liked the weather there. In his entire career, he'd probably met two people who liked it.
"I understand your dismay. There are more rainy days than sunny ones. Even in summer."
His voice was hoarse and playful, scratched by years of cigarettes and cigars that had replaced the old ones because they tasted better and were "less" harmful. Price drank the last sip of whiskey.
" How did you get along with them? There's no competition uh? You can tell they're not nice."
The last words were whispered, as if it had to be a secret between them, but in reality Price admired those boys and joking was the first step towards a good friendship.
“Ah,… funny enough, they said the same thing.” She hums,tipping the bottle back to take another sip. It was become a habit for her when talking, a reset of her mind, something she had learned when working with in the specialist.
Al and Rody had asked that too. Rightfully curious about the young woman’s (at the time “young”) transfers from Shadow Company.
“I will say…in the few years I worked with them, Al laughed less then five times…can have a real stick shoved up there.” She snorts “unless with Rody.” She chuckles. “Those two could drink a marine under.” she shakes her head a bit, a small laugh leaving her, clearing thinking back on something. “Fuck’in drank me near blind.” She laughs this time. The scars of her face stretching and her fake teeth slightly visible.
Price let out a laugh. Those two were forces of nature when it came to completing a mission. But also when they need to drink at a pub. Her story didn't surprise him much, but he was amused by the similarities.
"I imagined. Even though they seem serious, they can also let themselves go sometimes."
He knew about their friendship. Alejandro and Rodolfo were a bit like Simon and Johnny, in his experience. And he had confirmation of this when Soap also told him about his time with them.
John's gaze fell on her face. A young woman with scars like that could only be admired. He knew how much physical appearance mattered, even if he didn't yet understand the reason. Other women would have let things like that get them down, but she was there laughing. He smiled too.
"How are you finding it here? Have you made friends with anyone yet?"
A wave of the hand and the bartender had refilled the glass with whiskey.
A tipsy night (open RP)
John isn't one for drinking, but that evening, after a mission, they'd decided to party. A few people, nothing too special. A glass of whiskey, bourbon, A drink at the soldier's pleasure. What's Captain Price like when he's drunk? And what's he most likely to say when he's not lucid?
------------------
The captain poured himself another glass of whiskey. He didn't know how many he'd had so far. One? Two? Four? He didn't care. Not at that time. He was usually a man who did not overdo it with alcohol, especially when in company. He didn't like to be seen drunk. But for that evening he would make an exception.
The mission went well. Not as he'd wanted, but they'd all returned in one piece. A few injuries, but nothing serious. Not like his last mission. Those guys... another sip was swallowed in silence. His soldiers talked, even laughed. They managed to joke and keep the evening light-hearted. But the captain couldn't do it the way he wanted. That's why he didn't like getting drunk.
In the moments of silence, he continued to think, and the more he thought, the more he drank. A cycle that would soon have him returning to his room with no memory of the evening.
Owl was seated a few seats away, already on his 5th bottle of vodka as he leaned back on the chair. Silently celebrating the fact that no one died on the mission, he took notice of the captain’s own shots. Keeping an eye on Price simply to ensure nothing happened or that the captain won’t go too overboard.
Price didn't know which glass he'd reached, and he didn't care. He listened to the conversations of the men around him and occasionally answered their questions. But in moments of silence and when no one was looking, John remained fixed, staring at the liquid in the glass.
Memories assailed him and he hoped that alcohol could help him that evening. But he was wrong. He ran a hand over his face, chasing away the feeling and when he looked up, He noticed Owl watching him every now and then. He nodded at him.
Owl nodded back, tho remained silent, taking another long sip of his bottle as he remained vigilante, keeping an eye on everyone, reading the captain)s body language—
He sat leaned up against the counter on his stool, looking more relaxed than usual- yet still a bit tense. Ready to move if ever needed, unable to truly relax, specially whilst still wearing his uniform and in such a crowded place-
The liquid in the glass was still calling him and he didn't need to be told twice. A small sip, then she looked back at him. Her movement reminded him stupidly of the movement of water. And once again, that mission resurfaced in his mind. The one where he'd been wounded. The one where he'd lost soldiers. Young and alone due to a stupid miscalculation.
Price's hand tightened around his glass, and his breathing became heavier. He wanted to stay calm, but he couldn't stop thinking about anything else. The room was starting to feel cramped for him. The glass seemed to be shaking as he was gripping it, thoughts had clouded his mind and he would have been close to see blurry, had it not been for one of the soldiers nearby, Who put a hand on his shoulder to call him back.
The captain recovered with a sigh and a polite laugh, then, after drumming his fingers on the table, rose from his chair.
"I'm going to the bathroom if you're looking for me."
He said it only out of courtesy and haste.
Owl’s head tilts as he watches Price leave, letting a few minute pass before he too, stands up and slips away. He heads to the bathroom, tho remains outside at the halls, keeping an eye out on everything. Call him weird for following the captain, but from what he’s observed- he’d rather not leave the man alone. In case something might happen, he’ll keep watch
The tap water was running fast. Price splashed his face with cold water to calm himself. What was wrong with him? He didn't remember alcohol having such an effect on him. Maybe he was getting too old.
The mirror reflected his figure, and the more he looked, the more he didn't recognize himself. What the hell had the Captain of the 141 done? He'd locked himself in a pub bathroom and drank too much just because he didn't want to remember. Remember things that happened every day. He was getting soft and that wasn't good.
After settling in and regaining control of the situation, he left the bathroom. He couldn't wait too long; the others would suspect something if they noticed his long absence. When he opened the door and turned the corner he saw Owl and stopped to look at him. Was he standing there, waiting for him?
"Hey kid. The bathroom is free if you need it."
Wasn’t planning to use it, cap’n.
He said, watching the captain
Got worried, needed to check on ya. Don’t feel comfortable leaving someone on-team alone without anyone ‘round
He tried to explain
Don’t trust…. Crowded space, kidnapping too easy, getting drugged is too easy, high chances of conflict happening too
Price had a feeling the younger man was eyeing him
…. Plus, you’ve drank a lot, sir.
Price nodded slowly at her words. He wasn't wrong, after all. In a place like this, anything could happen. He patted him on the shoulder, giving him a faint smile.
"Don't worry, Owl. I'm fine. Go back to having fun with the others."
The offspring emerged from him like a father trying to reassure his son. He didn't want to expose his weakest side to someone he was supposed to protect. To someone to whom he always had to show himself at his best.
Owl stares quietly, mask blank and unredable as always. His hand raises awkwardly, patting the top of Price’s hand quietly
Don’t really know most of the other soldiers, sir. Would prefer to keep…. Watch duty
He muttered awkwardly, tugging at Price to try to get him to walk with him
My uhhh…. Definition of ‘fun’, if you could call it that- watch duty….
He tried to joke awkwardly, talking a bit more than usual- doubting the captain would remember how much he did talk tonight by the morning anyways-
Price smiled again. He didn't know Owl well, but he knew he was reserved and didn't like crowded places.
"Good. Then you can keep watching."
Okay, I sounded quite amused, finding that funny, partly thanks to the alcohol. They walked together toward the table, but when Price saw the boys talking and drinking, he stopped for a moment. Did he really want to go back there? Drink some more and start thinking again?
"...Do you want to...go get some fresh air?"
He asked in a low murmur toward Owl. He was more serious than he meant to be, but controlling himself was a bit difficult now.
Owl pauses in thought, looking to the front door, then back at Price. His head tilted quietly, examining Price once more before nodding “You comin’ then, cap?” He asked
Without being asked twice, Price followed Owl out. The crowd standing there seemed almost an impossible obstacle to overcome at that moment. John had to apologize to two people because he bumped into them while trying to leave.
Once outside, however, he began to find a calm he hadn't had before. He took a deep breath, drawing air into his lungs and letting it out. Then he turned to Owl without sounding too tired.
"This is a special evening, huh?" Price used a wry tone as he picked up a cigar and began smoking it to calm his nerves.
Owl nods silently, looking out into the night and up at the sky. Seeing the stars not visible (bcs they’re likely at a city)
Shame you can’t see stars from all the pollution ‘round here….
He muttered softly, still sober despite the many, many bottles of vodka earlier
"Yeah. The bad thing about industrial evolution, huh?"
Price leaned against one of the pub's fences and watched what Owl was saying, smoking every now and then.
"That's why I prefer more isolated places."
He was a man born and raised in a house surrounded by greenery. Then he had to move to the city because of his parents' work, but sometimes he returned to those places.
"What do you tell me Owl, what do you like?"
….
My home’s remote.
He answered after a bit
Uhh…. Big property, far from any other place. Tons of trees n’nature— actually an animal sanctuary
He trailed
So it …. Feels like a vacation whenever m’on leave
"So you like less populated things, huh?"
Price nodded to himself, thinking it made sense. He vaguely remembered having two pets, so it wasn't surprising that he liked the natural side of this world more. He took another drag on his cigar, the ash falling off a bit.
"Do you go back to your home often?"
Owl hummed
Whenever I could, cap’n.
He mused softly, humming quietly
Wildlife, I have kids to go home to. Animals to care for- tho the place is designed to be sustainable for them for at least 2 to 4 years without human intervention— y’never know with nature. Chaos theory n’all
Price smiled genuinely at what he'd just learned. He hadn't expected Owl to have so much to do at home. But then, not everyone was like him. Many of his soldiers had a place to return to and loved ones. Even animals.
With a pat on Owl's shoulder, Price spoke.
"You're busy, huh? Good job."
And then he realized she knew very little about him. That was probably the best time to find out more.
"Are you already planning on coming back? After a mission, there's a short break."
A tipsy night (open RP)
John isn't one for drinking, but that evening, after a mission, they'd decided to party. A few people, nothing too special. A glass of whiskey, bourbon, A drink at the soldier's pleasure. What's Captain Price like when he's drunk? And what's he most likely to say when he's not lucid?
------------------
The captain poured himself another glass of whiskey. He didn't know how many he'd had so far. One? Two? Four? He didn't care. Not at that time. He was usually a man who did not overdo it with alcohol, especially when in company. He didn't like to be seen drunk. But for that evening he would make an exception.
The mission went well. Not as he'd wanted, but they'd all returned in one piece. A few injuries, but nothing serious. Not like his last mission. Those guys... another sip was swallowed in silence. His soldiers talked, even laughed. They managed to joke and keep the evening light-hearted. But the captain couldn't do it the way he wanted. That's why he didn't like getting drunk.
In the moments of silence, he continued to think, and the more he thought, the more he drank. A cycle that would soon have him returning to his room with no memory of the evening.
Price snorted a laugh and took Valentino's hand, sitting up like an old man whose legs don't work anymore. Once he was standing, he seemed to be able to stand up straight. He was drunk, but not so drunk that he couldn't walk.
They left, and the cool evening breeze sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He'd only realized he felt warm once he'd stepped outside.
"Thanks for offering to take us to the barracks, Camilla." John followed them in half silence, beginning to feel the tiredness of the day and the alcohol that had now taken its effect.
Camilla gives him a thumbs up as a 'no problem' as she continues walking, Valentino, meanwhile, walking beside Price, the man holding Price's hand in a gentle grip, force of habit I suppose.
When John felt the pressure on his hand and looked down, it took him a second to realize what had happened. He watched for about a minute as he walked straight ahead and followed Camilla. He could feel his cheeks tingling. But why the hell?
After a few minutes, they arrive at Camilla's truck, that was parked next to the sidewalk. Camilla unlocks the truck and gets into the driver's side while Valentino got into the passenger side and Price into the backseat. Camilla started the truck and starts driving towards base.
Price rested his head on the seat and closed his eyes, bringing an arm to his head. It seemed as if the car had acted as a tranquilizer, because he was starting to feel sleepy.
"How long will it take us?” He actually should have known how far the barracks were from the pub. He'd been the one who'd brought some soldiers there with his—"The car."
John remembered his car. That stupid car that was now parked there in that place where it absolutely did not want to return.
"I'll come back to get it tomorrow..."
He muttered to himself in a tired sigh.
Valentino glances at him over his seat and says as he cracks a small smile.
"Ya'll have the chance to come get it tomorrow, not sure someone will try to break into a military car."
Price smiled at her words and gradually began to chuckle as he imagined the scene. Maybe he wished someone would try it. He would have enjoyed looking for the culprits.
"Surely." He said between giggles.
Camilla glanced at Price with an amused expression in the rear view mirror before glancing at Valentino and whispering to him in Spanish.
"Tú novio está hecho polvo... probablemente te toque cuidarlo esta noche, Vally~"
Valentino scoffed and said as he lightly shoved her shoulder.
"Cállar.."
Camilla snickered before focusing back on the road.
For the rest of the trip, John remained silent. His eyes closed, as if trying to lull him to sleep. He had heard murmurs from the seats in front, but he hadn't understood a word. He didn't know if they had spoken in another language or if he just couldn't understand anything anymore.
The drive was fairly calm, Camilla and Valentino talking every now and then quietly but mostly just vibing to the music on the radio.
They arrived at base almost an hour later, Camilla and Valentino getting out the truck and Valentino opens the backseat door, looking at Price with a fond expression and he whispers.
"Ya asleep, John?"
He didn't immediately notice that they had stopped, much less that Valentino had opened the door. It took him a moment to realize it. And when he did, he opened his eyes as if someone had closed them with strength.
"No. I'm awake."
With that, he got out of the car, a little dazed. He couldn't wait to throw himself into bed and wait for tomorrow.
Valentino hums before he walks beside the man towaards base as Camilla bids them a good night before getting back in the truck and driving back to the bar, probably to be transport for others when the time comes.
Price stretched his back, hearing bones crack. He wasn't sure if it was the work or the fact that he was getting older. With a low hum, he placed a hand on Valentino's shoulder.
"Thank you for your concern and for bringing me back here."
Valentino smiles softly and says as he pats Price's back. "No problem, Amigo."
Price remained leaning on Valentino as they walked to his room. If he'd gone alone, he probably would have crashed into some wall.
Once they arrived, John opened the door and thanked him before entering.
"Thanks for your patience, Val."
Valentino smiles and says as he gives him a nod while turning on his heel. "No problem, cariño. Have a good night's rest, wake me if ya throw up." He then walks down the hall to head to his room.
That night, Price tried to sleep. And he managed for at least two hours before waking up abruptly in the middle of the night and vomiting his last breath into the bathroom toilet.
He felt so dumb that he somehow thought it was a good idea to get up off the floor, leave his room, and go to Valentino's to knock. Why did he do it? He didn't know. The only thing that had driven him there was extreme tiredness and a half-remembered memory.
It seemed to him that the commander had told him to come to him if he ever felt ill.
When Price knocked on the door, Valentino awoke quite slowly but oh well, the man sat up with a sleepy groan, rubbing his eyes before he looked towards the door and got out of bed and walked over to it. The door opened and Valentino stood in front of Price, his expression mostly half asleep, the man only wearing a raggy t-shirt from god knows when and boxer briefs, his hair messily cascading over his shoulders. He then spoke up as he looked down at Price. "John... Threw up?"
Price snorted and nodded slowly. He felt stupid, like a teenager who went to a parent after being sick because he wanted someone to reassure him. He didn't need reassurance, but he didn't want to be alone in his room.
"Strange, right?"
He said in a sarcastic tone.
Valentino huffs out of amusement and says as he nods towards the inside of his room.
"Wanna go in?"
Price nodded slowly. As he did so, he clearly felt another urge to vomit come back, but he handled it well enough.
Without saying anything else, he entered Valentino's room.
A tipsy night (open RP)
John isn't one for drinking, but that evening, after a mission, they'd decided to party. A few people, nothing too special. A glass of whiskey, bourbon, A drink at the soldier's pleasure. What's Captain Price like when he's drunk? And what's he most likely to say when he's not lucid?
------------------
The captain poured himself another glass of whiskey. He didn't know how many he'd had so far. One? Two? Four? He didn't care. Not at that time. He was usually a man who did not overdo it with alcohol, especially when in company. He didn't like to be seen drunk. But for that evening he would make an exception.
The mission went well. Not as he'd wanted, but they'd all returned in one piece. A few injuries, but nothing serious. Not like his last mission. Those guys... another sip was swallowed in silence. His soldiers talked, even laughed. They managed to joke and keep the evening light-hearted. But the captain couldn't do it the way he wanted. That's why he didn't like getting drunk.
In the moments of silence, he continued to think, and the more he thought, the more he drank. A cycle that would soon have him returning to his room with no memory of the evening.
Mint was just... sitting to the side.
He was wearing some casual clothes, basic stuff. His hair was tied in a high ponytail.
He was just sitting and staring at the glass in his hands. He didn't really drank any out of it since he got it almost hours ago. He just looked around and observed it. It was clear he didn't really liked these kinds of stuff.
He always shrugged off some of the women coming close to him, by either telling them he is 60 or just staring at their face and acting like he didn't heard them. Because of that he was pretty alone.
Mint finally saw Price and got up, walking over to him. Once he got to his side he sat down and looked at him. He sighed and spoke a bit lowly:
"What's got you lookin' like this, Captain?"
John didn't notice the commander beside him until he spoke. The low voice had come to him with an annoying buzz, but it was something that had pulled him from his thoughts. His eyes flicked from Mint's glass to his face.
When Price realized it was him, he tried to straighten himself out, but it was unsuccessful. Both because of the alcohol and because he didn't really care at the time. They were two men, off duty, having a drink too much. Or at least, he was.
"I was thinking." He said, moving the glass, letting the orange liquid move inside it. Then he changed the subject. "Nice evening, isn't it, Commander?"
Mint just studied him for a moment and then sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He looked pretty exhausted and drained, he was sitting like a hunchbag of course. Then he opened his eyes and turned his face to him.
"It's not a good evening, all this was not necessary."
He pushed his glass a little and then clasped his hands together.
"I don't like these kinds of events and I find them pretty useless."
He shook his head and then paused a bit.
"And... don't dodge my question, Price."
Price's gaze became a little more serious, as much as the alcohol would allow. He looked at the soldiers; they were enjoying themselves, drinking, talking, and laughing. They seemed to have forgotten that they had just completed a mission and had just come out of it unscathed by a stroke of luck.
"Entertaining them every now and then is good forfor their mind."
John couldn't remember the last time he'd had a post-mission drinking session. He'd never gotten drunk in the company of his soldiers. But that night was different. He was trying to forget, like those kids at the tables were doing. He looked down at his glass, taking a moment before speaking.
"I was thinking about the mission. Second thoughts, things that could have been improved. But I know that nothing can be perfect." His tone was low as he tried to explain himself. "The important thing is to get it done."
Mint looked at the soldiers when Price looked at them too. Mint looked at them in a bit of a disgust. He didn't even liked alhocol but here he was, sittin in this god damned bar.
Then as Price's gaze turned down, Mint looked back at him. As he listened to him he couldn't help but let out a huff.
"Yeah, but I would've liked it if it wasn't with ... alcohol and stuff. Besides, you should stop overthinking. I don't want anyone becoming me."
A pause.
"And overdrinking."
Price smiled. A smile somewhere between thoughtful and amused by her words. He understood the commander's state. A mission celebrated with drunken soldiers wasn't exactly a good idea, especially if you were someone who didn't drink and didn't like that sort of thing.
"You can go home, Commander. What... is holding you here?" John paused briefly between each word, taking a sip of whiskey every now and then.
"But if you don't go, you can explain to me why you don't want anyone to become like... you."
Mint looked a bit suprised by his smile. But he quickly shrugged it off. Then he looked at the glass in his hands, he lifted it with one hand and shook the glass a little bit, making the liquid move around. He sighed.
"I don't know. Something pulls me here and pushes me away at the same time. Mostly I feel like I should stay here and watch everyone like a paternal figure. Besides I don't think I have a home."
He paused a bit, putting the glass back on the table.
"I'm not a good person. I always do stupid decisions, I never sleep, I always think too much that I will probably go insane sooner or later, I can't touch people too much, I can't drink because I'm lightweight, I can't think straight in some situations because I am sensitive to too much light and too loud noises, everything has a bad meaning to me. And... I'm drained. Most of the time."
Price had listened in silence. The sound of the background music complementing the monologue the commander had just delivered. He didn't expect him to open up like that, to tell him those things, especially without having drunk first. John nodded slightly, letting him see that he was listening.
"Who doesn't think they're going crazy doing this job? Making choices that seem right to you, but are actually wrong?" A hint of a smile once the commander had finished speaking. These were thoughts he too often had. Too often. But he had learned to hide them in the deepest recesses of his mind. Hoping that maybe one day they would disappear. They never did.
"This is a job that will drain your soul if you let it." His tone was a little more serious. His hand tightened around his glass. "But at least we're not alone."
Mint looked at him. He knew he overshared a little bit but he didn't really cared about it. It was John after all, what could he possibly do about this information? Mint listened to him, the music going on in the background.
"I kind of let every single thing drain me, it's nothing new to me. And because of that I am wrecked. Too much than anyone sane can handle I guess..."
He let go of the glass, put his arms to the table and then put his chin on top of them. He buried half of his face. He then looked at one of his hands, which is still gloved.
"Yeah... at least you're not alone."
John's eyes fell on his white hair. It was captivating, especially now that he was drunk. Her words struck him. The emphasis on the informal "you" in that sentence. It was true that he wasn't alone, even though he often felt that way. But it was also true that everyone had someone to talk to.
"You are not alone, Commander." Price placed a hand on the commander's shoulder, the gesture of a friend letting them know he would be there in time of need. "No one is left alone in this job. Ever."
Two pats on the back and John went back to drinking his whiskey. He'd said what he'd wanted to say. He just hoped it had arrived.
Mint huffed and lifted his head, lookimg a bit embarassed he turned his face to John. Then he looked at John's hands and before John could continue drinking he grabbed the glass and held it as high as he can.
"From this moment I will start stealing your drinks, and there is nothing you can do."
A pause.
"And I can do something else, sounds fair?"
Okay, John had become serious again for a moment. Taking away a drunk person's drink wasn't a wise move. The commander's only luck was that he still had a shred of sanity. At that question, Price looked at him perplexed, frowning.
"What would you do? Keep me away from that drink all night?"
Mint pointed a finger at him.
"I have the privelege to take away your drinks and you have the privelege to do something to me, or make me do something. Good enough?"
Mint said, and then afterwards instead of giving gim the glass back he drunk all of it in one go, putting the glass down.
John wasn't sure whether to be pissed off or amused. But the latter didn't sit well with him at the moment. Especially when he saw how the commander had drunk all his whiskey. Price sat composedly in his seat and gave him a quick glance before answering.
"I could punch you, does that sound funny?" But it was just a sentence that came out because of the alcohol. Maybe. Then he snorted. "And let's hear it, what could I get you to do? Get me another whiskey?"
Mint grimaced a bit at the taste of whiskey , it was probably clear that he really hated drinking. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Price again.
"You can make me do anything or do anything to me, as long as no alcohol involved." A pause. "You could get me to say something stupid, tell you my secrets or literally anything that normally I wouldn't allow..."
He continued to look at him with slits for eyes. The man was a question for the captain. Could this be the chance to get to know him better? But why without alcohol? Because he didn't want to let him drink, at least that night?
"You worry about your soldiers even when you don't have to, isn't that right, Commander?"
His tone was stiff, without any hint of warmth. He looked at him in the face and then sighed to himself.
"Can I ask you anything, huh? Then tell me. Why did you join the army?" It was going to be a little get-to-know-you chat, the only thing was that he couldn't drink anything.
Mint coughed a bit and then nodded
"Worrying is something that I can't help myself on. I always worry."
Mint looked at Price a bit curiously, why was he a bit cold all of a sudden? Mint leaned back and sighed as he answered the question:
"My dad was a real prick, he was a gambler and he endedup in so much debt that I had to join the army. But that's not a problem because I love designing guns and stuff."
"Hmm. I guess it was tough at first."
Same tone, but now a little more mellow. He was starting to get over alcohol, especially now that he was perhaps starting to feel the consequences.
"And how did you end up with the rank of commander? You must have impressed someone."
It wasn't an easy rank to attain. You needed certain experience and a good command sense. Even "good" was a vague adjective. By now it had become difficult to distinguish something from good or bad.
Mint shrugged.
"I don't know, the US loves giving out ranks I suppose. But don't worry, I am good enough for my rank."
Mint leaned back as he took out a pen and started spinning it in his hands
"And... considering the fact that every rookie does what I tell them to do even when I am not in role... it's not suprising, is it."
"They know who you are. But respect and fear of the consequences walk a fine line."
Price knew he was coming across as an asshole, especially when he'd been drinking and had his glass taken away.
"But I guess being a commander allows you to travel more on the first lines."
An ironic smile, one of those he used when he didn't believe what he was saying. For a moment he looked around, at the boys dancing and drinking. Then he asked a new question.
"What roles do you have as a commander?
Mint huffed.
"Classic stuff all of the higher ups do. But unlike them I join missions. Not always but sometimes."
He shrugged
"Believe me, being high in the rank is boring as hell."
A pause.
"And I'm sorry that I stole your whiskey. I.... really hate the smell of it, more accurately everything about any alcohol makes me wanna vomit. Besides it's pretty harmful for you."
"But you drank it."
Price raised an eyebrow, confused by the commander's earlier move. He had downed it in one gulp and now the captain found it almost funny that he had done it only because he didn't have to drink it.
He shook his head, his arms resting on the bar counter, as he looked at him again. His gaze softened now.
"I believe you. Being a captain already seems like the most boring thing in the world. I can't imagine being a commander."
Mint took out a napkin and coughed a bit on it.
"I shouldn't have pulled that move."
He put the napkin away when he finished coughing and cleared his throat. He tried to look as composed as possible.
"I was gonna retire before coming here but thanks to the government I am here."
He cleared his throat again. Did Alcohol really shake him that much?
John's eyes became more attentive. The commander had been coughing since the beginning of their conversation. Short bursts, but he thought it was the alcohol.
"Did you want to leave because of health problems? A cough at your age can be dangerous."
Price joked, smiling slightly, wanting to lighten the question.
Mint stared at him.
"I'm only 40, captain. I'm not as old as I look. Half of my hair is paint to be honest, just to match the vibes."
He clasped his hands together.
"And despite that I have so much health problems. And I don't know how I am alive anymore. But luck I guess."
John looked at him more closely and, indeed, he couldn't have been more than forty. His hair had deceived him.
"There's someone up there who's pardoning you."
Price didn't believe in God. He had asked himself that question many times and had never found the answer. It was more of a joke. If the commander was still there, it was because he still had the strength to stay standing.
"If you're feeling so bad, why don't you ask for leave? They're not that strict, especially when it comes to your health."
Mint put his arms to the desk.
"Well, I don't have a home anymore, just the base. So I have nowhere to go. Besides, my time's running out."
Mint tilted his head to the side a bit. Looking pretty curious he pointed a hand at Price.
"What about you? You seem to hate your job too."
Even though he felt drunk, Price still couldn't understand why Mint was so pessimistic. Or maybe he did, but didn't want to admit it. When the question came to him, he looked at his hands on the table in front of him.
"I don't hate my job." He said with a hint of annoyance that he had thought that. "Sometimes it can be stressful, dangerous...but what I do, I do for the good of the country." If they had attempted a broader, more philosophical discussion, John probably would not have been able to cope. Not because he wasn't sure of his ideas, but when you're drunk you start to question all your certainties.
"Why this question?" Then she asked, looking back at him, trying to divert the discussion but seriously curious to understand if he had made it clear with some words.
(Sorry for the late response ｡ﾟ(ﾟ＾Д＾ﾟ)ﾟ｡)
Mint shrugged.
"I thought you would hate it at some level. It's stressing."
Mint stood a bit straighter. And Price could see the bags under his eyes and the lines on his face a bit more clearly. And Mint's eyes were red...
"Everyone eventually starts to hate their job in a few years. To be honest, protecting the country is kind of a lie that I think everyone believes. I don't think we protect the country but rather something else."
(oh dw really!)
Price stared into his eyes for a moment. Until then, he hadn't noticed the redness or the dark circles under them. For a moment he wondered if it was due to lack of sleep or health problems he was having.
"I hate it when I'm forced to do things I don't think are right."
He'd often found himself making choices to protect his soldiers, but many other times I'd listened to those higher up than him because 'it had to be that way.' Especially when he was a lieutenant. Then he was surprised by Mint's words.
"What do you mean?"
*takes your boonie hat and puts it on my head*
"You. Give my hat back. Now."
"What if I don't wanna?" Smiles cheekily.
"Do I really have to be a father who threatens his own children?"
Sigh
"Ok. No video games for a week."
*gasp dramatically and clutches chest* A week?! Nooo.. I'm dead.
*takes hat off and puts it back on Price's head*
"Mhm. Good boy."
He ruffles his hair amusedly.
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@john-captain-price (continuing thread)
Tundra had gotten used to writing reports. If she had to estimate, at least a third of her career had been her writing up some reports. Mostly medical related. But this time it was the most recent mission.
Tundra leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. A headache forming from her staring at the computer screen for hours on end. She glanced over at the clock. 4:04am. The medic let out a sigh. Maybe she could rest, for just a few minutes-
Knocking on the door woke Tundra up with a jolt. She looked back at the clock. 8:05am. "Shit." She cursed, shut the laptop close, and went to open the door. "What do you need?" She asked, trying to not look tired.
"So vomiting and nausea as well?" Tundra looked back at him. "Let me see..." she trailed off. Nausea and vomiting knock ibuprofen out. "I have meds that'll settle the nausea." She put on a pair of rubber gloves and put two nausea meds in a tiny cup. Then got him a little cup of water for him. "Here, if you start feeling worse let me know."
"I was just finishing up my report." Tundra leaned against the counter. "You'd think a mission going well would make it easier. But trying to write too reports at once isn't easy." She glanced over at her laptop. She just need to get that done then she'd be home free in a few days. If nothing else went wrong.
Price took the small glass of water and medicine and, without much hesitation, drank it all in one gulp. For a moment, he thought he might vomit again, but he held back, coughing slightly. With a nod of his head he answered her request.
"You can take a break. You don't have to give it to me all at once." As he spoke, he had the glass in his hand and was squeezing it. "Do you know when I'll get the mission reports from the others?" A raised eyebrow and a wry question. Obviously, at least three days would pass. One to recover, one to write it down, and one to go to his office and give it to him.
Then John thought for a moment. "What other report are you writing?" Maybe he had forgotten, maybe it wasn't for him, but in that moment he just knew that if he didn't want to vomit he had to keep distracting himself.
Daisy knocked on the Captain's office door before slowly pushing it open.
"Uuuh, hello sir! I was instructed to come meet you with my transfer packet! It's a pleasure to meet you!"
The bright eyed young woman beamed at Price with a big smile.
@daisy-everly
Price raised his head to look at the person who had just entered. A young woman with a transfer packet in her hand. He nodded. They had mentioned a new arrival.
"Nice to meet you. Welcome to the barracks, then."
He gestured for her to sit on one of the chairs in front of the desk.
Daisy happily walked over with a slight skip to her gait as she went ahead and placed her folder onto Price's desk.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too sir!"
She chirped happily in reaponse before takimg a seat in the middle chair sitting directly across from him. Her beaming smile did not go away as she sat there quite eager and happy.
As he rearranged the papers on the desk to make room for what the girl had brought, he couldn't help but smile himself.
"Why all this happiness? Were you so eager to come here?"
The tone was amused and a little incredulous. He'd never seen anyone so happy to walk into his office.
Daisy nodded her head happily.
"Yes sir! It's been my dream to join the SAS! My pa was a former SAS member! He always told his cool stories and always sounded like a hero!"
She spoke quite excitedly.
"Want to make him proud and keep people safe!"
She smiled brightly.
Price returned that strangely infectious smile. Again, he'd never heard anyone so happy to join the SAS.
"Good. We need more people like you."
Price took what the girl had placed on his desk and began reading some of the papers.
"Who was your father?"
*takes your boonie hat and puts it on my head*
"You. Give my hat back. Now."
"What if I don't wanna?" Smiles cheekily.
"Do I really have to be a father who threatens his own children?"
Sigh
"Ok. No video games for a week."
Send "You're really pretty" for my muse's reaction
@f0xinthefield @amara-angel-price @heyimlostuwu @john-captain-price For funsies because it could be said in any way lol. Sarcastically, in a platonic manner, begrudgingly, and so on!
I'm gonna melt, you're so sweet (*´ω｀*)
*takes your boonie hat and puts it on my head*
"You. Give my hat back. Now."
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Service information
I won't be very active today, but you probably noticed that yesterday. XD
I'll probably answer short roleplays/questions you send me. But unfortunately, I won't be able to answer more in-depth roleplays until late this afternoon.
I'm sorry.
Have a good night/day, everyone!
Hi mod,
can my oc beef with the Captain on occasion?
Sincerely, the mod of,
@general-shepherd-fucker
Of course! No prob about that.
