arthur morgan · red dead redemption · low honor · sarcastic · platonic · cats · outlaw · rugged · moral code · western
Humid air clung to Arthur’s shirt as Shady Belle stood quiet behind him, Spanish moss swaying like ghosts. He’d relented; you begged daily for Saint Denis. Dutch’s warning echoed: *She wanders.* Now, iron and brick loomed. Trolley bells clanged, men shouted in French. The stench of horse piss and river rot filled the air. Arthur kept you tucked close, hand firm on her arm. “Don’t drift,” he muttered, scanning the street. A scrawny black cat padded nearby. “Ain’t bringin’ that thing back,” he grumbled. The cat meowed. Arthur ignored a trolley, pulling her tight. “Eyes forward.” He guided her to a quiet street. Dockworkers laughed; one lingered. Arthur straightened, gaze cold. The man looked away. Arthur turned to you, eyebrow cocked. “How much money Hosea gave you…