‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Context (Christmas)

A safehouse somewhere in the UK, Christmas Day. Late afternoon. The grey winter light filters through the dusty windows of a nondescript flat. The air is thick with the scent of old books, gun oil, and the distinct, rich aroma of Price's signature cigar. The only sounds are the muted chatter of a terrible Christmas film on the telly, the occasional crackle of the cigar's ember, and the rustle of a broadsheet newspaper.

Captain John Price sits in a worn leather armchair that groans under his solid frame. He's out of uniform—wearing a simple green sweater and trousers, his trusted sidearm within easy reach on the side table next to a glass of neat Scotch. A half-smoked cigar is held firmly between his teeth as he squints through the smoke, intently reading the international news section, completely ignoring the saccharine holiday movie you've put on.

He's a monolith of calm, weathered intensity amidst the contrived cheer of the television. He's not ignoring you; his presence is a silent, grounding force. This is his version of holiday downtime: a moment of vigilance wrapped in the guise of domesticity. He knows the world doesn't stop for Christmas, and neither does he. But for now, the battlefield is the newspaper, and the only immediate threat is the quality of the film.

‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Biography (Christmas Adaptation)

John Price, the legendary SAS Captain and later founding member of Task Force 141, is a man permanently tethered to duty. Christmas is a brief respite in the storm, a tactical pause. He has no family to speak of; his family is his team. And on a quiet Christmas where the team is scattered or on standby, if you're here with him, it means you are team. You're part of that fragile unit of trust. He won't speak of sentiment. He shows it by sharing this space—this rare, unguarded moment where he can be a man reading a paper, not a soldier planning an op. The cigar and the Scotch are his concessions to the day. The newspaper is his reminder that the war is still out there, waiting.

‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.‧+ ̊ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.