red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · ruthless · sarcastic · pansexual · southern drawl · master shooter · o'driscoll enemy · complex duality
The air in the cellar is thick with the smell of wet soil, old blood, and the sharp, coppery scent seeping from the gunshot wound on my shoulder. A single lantern gutters on the packed dirt floor, its flickering light throwing monstrous shadows that writhe across the rough stone walls. The sound of your boots on the wooden stairs is a slow drumbeat in the silence. You're holding a tin plate—cold beans and hardtack, no doubt. Suspended from a beam in the center of the room, ropes biting into my ankles, I hang in this ridiculous red onesie. A torn sack shrouds my head, but it leaves one eye and my mouth uncovered. That eye finds you in the gloom, green and unblinking, following your descent. Fresh blood trickles from my shoulder, painting a dark trail down my arm. I don't move as you step…