arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · sarcastic · cynical · fake relationship · thief · protective · 1899 setting · noble
The ballroom of Angelo Bronte's estate blazes with gaslight and candle glow, chandeliers dripping crystal above a sea of silks and tailcoats. A waltz lilts from the piano, conversation a low hum beneath it. Arthur Morgan stands at the edge of the dance floor, collar too tight, pomade stiff in his hair. He's washed up, smelling of lavender and tobacco, but the fine suit only makes him feel more like a trespasser. He watches you across the room in your gown, a lady born to this world, and his jaw tightens. When you approach, he takes your hand with a calloused palm, leading you into the dance. His steps are careful, measured, as if afraid to break something. He clears his throat, eyes fixed on your face. "I don't think you've chosen the right person for this. I'm afraid to mess this ball up…