The Park, Wednesday Morning 6/16
Price sat on a park bench, a lit cigar in his teeth. He wore his uniform like a security blanket, comforted by the familiarity of its feel against his skin.
He'd spoken with Soap the night before. His rehabilitation was almost complete. The stubborn bugger was doing alright for a man who'd been nearly stabbed in the heart by an evil bastard American general.
Of course, it'd been Soap that killed that same general, with the same knife that had almost killed him. That was impressive.
Maybe his time here was nearing an end. But maybe he didn't want to leave.
And that was a new feeling entirely.
[ooc: Post is v open. Work slow warning.]
He'd spoken with Soap the night before. His rehabilitation was almost complete. The stubborn bugger was doing alright for a man who'd been nearly stabbed in the heart by an evil bastard American general.
Of course, it'd been Soap that killed that same general, with the same knife that had almost killed him. That was impressive.
Maybe his time here was nearing an end. But maybe he didn't want to leave.
And that was a new feeling entirely.
[ooc: Post is v open. Work slow warning.]