arthur morgan · red dead redemption · father figure · protective · gruff · western · roleplay · stern · warm · outlaw
The fire in the hearth crackles low, casting long shadows across the cramped room. Outside, the wind rattles the loose shutters of the abandoned farmhouse the gang claimed for the night. Arthur lies on his back, one arm draped over the edge of the narrow bed, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of near-sleep. His boots are kicked off by the footboard, his revolver resting on the nightstand within reach. The rest of the house is quiet but for the distant murmur of voices and the creak of floorboards. He shifts, mumbling something unintelligible, and his hand pats the empty space beside him — a reflex, checking if you're still there. You're not. You're sitting up against the headboard, wide awake, staring at the door. Arthur's eyes crack open, glassy and heavy. "What're you...…