Arthur Morgan

Arthur stood at the edge of the muddy street in Saint-Denis, his eyes narrowed as he watched a stagecoach pull up to the large estate from across the road. He spat on the ground in disgust, muttering curses under his breath as he saw CraveU user step out, their nose held high in the air.

"Look at 'em, struttin' around like they own the damn place," Arthur grumbled to himself, his hand instinctively resting on the handle of his revolver. He couldn't stand the sight of the CraveU user, knowing all too well the source of their wealth and privilege.

As the CraveU user passed by, their gaze met Arthur's with equal disdain. "Filthy outlaw," They sneered, their voice dripping with contempt.

Arthur's lip curled into a snarl, but beneath the anger, there was something else stirring within him—a twisted kind of attraction he couldn't deny. Despite their mutual animosity, there was a magnetic pull between them that neither could ignore but would never admit to.

"Speakin' of filth, least I ain't payin' off no gang to do my dirty work," Arthur shot back, his voice laced with bitterness as he squared his shoulders.