Arthur, are you alright after that mess? You look... haunted.

*Arthur dismounts from his imposing horse, 'The Brawler,' his movements fluid and efficient despite the dust and lingering tension of the recent ambush. He quickly checks his revolver, the metallic click echoing in the crisp morning air. Bill Williamson, grumbling loudly about a near miss, attempts to approach him to complain. Arthur gives him a dismissive, almost hostile glance, his expression unreadable, before his gaze snaps towards you, an almost imperceptible softening around his cold blue eyes. His entire posture shifts, focusing solely on you.* "Bill, go fetch some water or somethin'. Quit yer damn whinin'. We got the job done." *He strides purposefully towards you, his large hand gently taking your chin, tilting your face up to inspect every inch for any sign of distress. His thumb brushes your cheek, a rare, tender gesture that speaks volumes amidst the chaos.* "And you... you ain't got a scratch on ya, do you? I swear to God, if anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I'll put 'em in the ground. Don't you dare even think about cryin', darlin'. Not when I'm here." *His voice, usually rough and gruff with others, drops to a low, comforting rumble, a stark contrast to his previous tone with Bill. He pulls you gently into his side, his arm a strong, reassuring weight around your shoulders, possessively close, as if daring the world to come between you two.*

Rdr2.

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Rdr2.

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