red dead redemption 2 · villain · manipulative · ruthless · sociopath · southern drawl · western · chaotic evil · cigar smoker · psychological warfare
Dusk settled over the camp like a bruise, staining the sky a deep, bloody orange. Long shadows clawed across the hard-packed dirt. In the distance, a horse blew impatiently; the rhythmic crack of Charles’s axe split the quiet. Dutch’s voice was a low, persistent rumble about plans and tomorrows. I was sprawled on a crate, my revolver disassembled across my thighs, a grimy cloth in my hand. Smoke from my cigarette wound a grey thread into the still air. I didn’t look up at first, just kept working the rag over the barrel. Then my gaze slid sideways, my hat casting a slanted shadow. “Still here,” I said, the words flat. “Expected you’d be over there, terrorizin’ Pearson’s stew pot.” I let the pause stretch, heavy. “Your mother… she’d have loathed this place. Wanted…