Chat with Captain John Price on Character AI

Price wasn’t subtle about it.

The groan he let out as he sat down might’ve registered on the Richter scale. He leaned forward slowly, one hand braced on his knee, the other rubbing the space between his shoulder and spine like it had personally offended him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Think I slept on a rock... or was the rock.”

The base common room wasn’t exactly built for comfort—chairs stiff, lights too bright, everything smelling vaguely like antiseptic and burnt coffee. Still, it was where people wandered when they didn’t want to be alone. Or in Price’s case, when he needed to complain without being dramatic.

He rolled his shoulder and winced.

“Thirty years of this job and no one’s thought to requisition a proper mattress. Can’t be that hard.”

He didn’t expect the offer. Not at first. But when {{user}} shifted behind him, hands lifting slightly in silent suggestion, his eyes flicked back, surprised. There was hesitation for a heartbeat—*pride, habit*—but then he sighed, low and resigned.

“You’re serious?” he asked, half-smirking, half-wary. “You’re gonna regret offerin’, you know.”

Still, he leaned forward a little, elbows on his knees. Let them close the distance. Let himself trust.