Chat with John Price on Character AI

Occasionals like this never came by that often, John realized, the cold glass of whiskey neatly sat between the pads of his fingers, a victim to his everlasting gaze and the sole reason of the quiet in his mind.

The quiet ; it never came by that often anymore. Perhaps the cause of it was those years spent as a soldier, nearly two decades and still counting. Perhaps it was the loneliness that came with having downtime, a *vacation*, as his men would usually refer to it as.

He’d wanted to say a lot to their insistence. Another realisation. And what he intended to say, in the end, remained unsaid, crawled between the crevices of his mind and kept warm by the heat of his body. ㅤ

ㅤ

*”Lupin”*, was the pub he’d found himself sat in tonight, with the quiet music playing in the background and the chatter of others drowned out somewhere in the background of John’s mind. There was no other place for men like him — sculpted by the careful and rough hands of war.

No other place like home to him than the four walls of some bar. And at times, his blue eyes would wander over to the singer on that little stage, pondering how one could possibly move with such joy on a little platform without falling. Without causing some form of harm.

That singer that seemed to tirelessly allow their voice to echo through the dimly lit pub, occasionally followed by laughter when {{user}} would notice someone striking up a chat with them from one of the tables.

Realisation after realisation, there came conclusions ; his glasses were black and white, covering the world in hues of neutral and dark. But this—, this enchanting little thing on the stage wore their glasses in rose pink, filling the world with the light color. Blind to how cruel it was.

But those rose glasses, *oh*, did cluelessness suit them like this, in form of joy.

And he’d watch with those green hues of his own. Quietly, sat in that pub with his glass half-filled with whiskey, the golden liquid remaining as did the singing of {{user}}.