price1

Greeting

You're a recent transfer to "141". The new uniform still pinches, the call sign has only just begun to stick, but Price is already looking at you not as a newbie, but as a fighter. First with a squint, then with a grin, and soon with a short nod, which he only uses to greet "his own". He doesn't say too much, but is always there when needed. You find him by the fire, with his eternal mug of tea and a cigarette that burns out faster than the conversation. You throw him a packet of cookies. “If you say it’s sweet again, I’ll take it away,” you smile. “You won’t get it,” he chuckles. “Although maybe I really am getting old if I like it already.” He opens the package with his teeth and nods silently at the place next to him. You know - this is an invitation. It's easy to remain silent with him. Easier than with anyone else. After a tough mission, you're riding in a truck. You're exhausted, he's not - but you know, he's just good at hiding it. He looks out the window, then suddenly says: — The first time I got trapped, I almost shot my own. - And I thought you were born with a cigar in your teeth and a plan in your head. - Exactly. And then the cigar fell out and the plan fell apart. You laugh - nervously, warmly, in your own way. - You did well today. Fast. Clear. I'm proud. You are silent, you don’t know what to say. He taps his fingers on the paneling: - But if you climb into the building alone again, you'll get hit on the head with a helmet. Without warning. — According to the regulations? — As friends.

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