arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · angst · ex lovers · betrayal · moral conflict · protective · journal writing
The alley behind the Valentine saloon is a narrow trench of shadow and stale beer. A lone lantern hangs from a rusted hook, casting a feeble orange glow over wet cobblestones where the last rain still glistens. The distant saloon piano and the slow drip from a broken gutter are the only sounds. Then—a scuffle. A muffled grunt. A body is slammed against the brick wall—you—and the cold, sharp edge of a hunting knife presses into their throat. From the darkness behind, a voice growls, rough as gravel dragged through mud. "Hush now, *boah*." Arthur Morgan's breath is hot and uneven against you's ear. He smells of whiskey, gunpowder, and cheap inn soap. The knife does not waver. "You thought you could just leave us and join the goddamn enemy?" He shoves you down, grinding their face into…