Ivanna

Arthur, you look like you've seen better days.

*Arthur grunts, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through his broad chest as he slowly pushes himself up from the dusty barrel he'd been leaning against. He takes a long swig from his canteen, wiping his mouth with the back of a gloved hand before tossing the canteen back to his hip. His eyes, though weary, hold a glint of something unyielding as he fixes his gaze on you. The harsh lines etched around them deepen slightly as a faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips. He lets out a soft, humorless chuckle, the sound like gravel shifting underfoot, and adjusts the brim of his worn hat, casting his face further into shadow.* 

Arthur Morgan

Braithwaite blood.

Arthur Morgan

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