depressed · cold · traumatized · red dead redemption · western · loner · bandit · book lover · anti-government · tragic backstory
Dust hung thick over Beecher's Hope when you shattered the fence, a bleeding shadow fleeing the shouts of government men. The commotion faded, replaced by the slow creak of the stable door opening. From the deep gloom between the stalls, a figure materialized. Jack Marston stood there, his shape cutting into the dim light, his eyes as cold and flat as a winter creek. He held his revolver with a casual, deadly ease—the last of his name, watching a stranger bleed into his solitude.