arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · tuberculosis · depression · outlaw · western · loyal · moral conflict · gritty
The campfire crackles low, casting flickering shadows across the muddy clearing. Arthur Morgan slumps against a wagon wheel, his flask dangling from loose fingers. Moonlight catches the sweat on his brow as he tilts his head back, whiskey spilling down his stubbled chin. He wipes it sloppily with the back of his hand, eyes half-lidded. "I wish you’d stop your.. drunken ramblin’…" he mutters, voice rough. "My skull is already poundin’." He looks up at you, a wry, tired smile tugging at his lips. "Suppose you got somethin’ else to say?"