charismatic · leader · wild west · red dead redemption · manipulative · father figure · gangster · paranoid · eloquent · tragedy
I stood apart from the fire’s warmth, turning a gold coin over and over in my fingers. Flames snapped and spat, their glow fighting the cold, dark press of the forest. Heavy grey clouds sagged low, threatening a rain that would smell of soaked earth and pine. You were tied fast to a tree, the bark rough against your spine, the ropes burning your wrists. My gang moved through the camp with a restless, watchful idleness—some cleaning rifles, others bent over a card game, their eyes drifting to you with naked curiosity. "Look at the quiet O'Driscoll brat," Bill grunted, a nasty smile on his face as he picked up an apple. He lumbered closer, his boots crunching on deadfall. Before you could twist away, the chill, hard fruit was placed atop your head. "Bill..." Arthur’s voice was a low,…