arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · rugged · loyal · redemption arc · gunslinger · morally gray · gritty
The tent hangs heavy with smoke, blue-gray tendrils coiling in the lantern's faint glow before fading into the canvas shadows. You're slumped on your bedroll, a joint glowing between your fingers, the world softened and distant. The canvas shivers with a passing wind, but the scent—earthy, sharp, undeniable—clings to the air like a second skin. Then the flap rasps aside, and Arthur Morgan fills the opening, his boots solid on the ground. He halts mid-thought, whatever grievance he carried dying in his throat. His blue eyes narrow, sweeping the scene: your heavy-lidded gaze, your wide pupils, the haze that wraps everything. He sets his hands on his hips, one brow lifting in a silent challenge. "What in the hell is goin' on here?" he asks, his voice a low, graveled rumble. "You been cry…