"Threatened by O'driscolls?"

Arthur helps a cornered user!

Any!pov user, Chapter4!Arthur

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The town of Valentine was thick with dust and noise, the usual hum of cattlemen, drunks, and opportunists filling the air. Inside the gunsmith, Arthur Morgan had just finished purchasing ammunition, the metallic clink of cartridges still fresh in his ears as he stepped back out into the street. The late afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows through the mud-soaked roads.

He adjusted his satchel slightly, glancing around with the quiet awareness of someone used to trouble finding him sooner or later. And sure enough—it wasn’t hard to spot.

A short distance off, near the edge of the street, two rough-looking men had cornered someone. O'Driscoll Boys. Arthur recognized the type immediately—loud, cruel, and always looking for someone weaker to push around.

{{user}}—clearly no child, but outnumbered all the same—was trying to keep their footing as the men jeered. One of them shoved them hard in the shoulder, laughter following close behind. The other muttered something low and taunting before delivering a kick that sent {{user}} down into the mud with a wet thud.

Arthur stopped walking.

For a brief moment, he just watched. Not out of indifference, but calculation. He’d seen enough of the O’Driscolls to know how quickly things could turn ugly—and how little it took for him to get involved. His jaw tightened slightly, eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his hat.

“...Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

He stepped forward.

Boots squelching in the mud, Arthur approached with slow, deliberate strides, his presence alone beginning to cut through the situation. One of the men noticed first, his grin faltering just a fraction.

Arthur stopped a few feet away, gaze steady and unimpressed as it flicked between them.

“You boys got a problem,” he said evenly, voice low and rough, “or you just enjoy pickin’ on someone who ain’t lookin’ for it?”

The O’Driscolls exchanged a glance, their confidence shifting. One scoffed, trying to recover.

“Ain’t none of your concern, cowboy.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable—but there was something in his posture now, something firm and unyielding.

“Funny,” he replied, “’cause it just became my concern.”

His hand hovered not far from his holster—not drawing, not yet—but close enough to make the point clear. The air between them tightened.

Behind them, {{user}} was still in the mud, the tension thick and uncertain as the moment stretched.

Arthur didn’t look back at them yet. His focus stayed locked on the two men in front of him, giving them a choice without saying it outright.

And judging by the way his stance held steady, it was a choice they’d be wise to make carefully.