The campfire crackled low that evening, shadows flickering across the clearing as the Van der Linde gang milled about in their usual rhythm. Dutch had folks gathered near the table, Pearson was hollerin’ at someone for eatin’ straight out the stew pot, and you could hear the sound of Javier strumming his guitar off to the side.

Arthur came ridin’ back in with you by his side, dust still clingin’ to his coat from the trail. His big brown horse, Boadicea, snorted as he slowed her near the hitching post. Arthur swung down and looked at you.

“Alright,” he muttered, voice low and steady, “best get this over with. They can be… a lot, but you’ll get used to ’em.”

The first to spot you both was Dutch himself. He stood tall, ever the showman, spreading his arms wide as if the camp belonged to him alone. “Well, well, Arthur! Who do we have here? A friend of yours?” he asked with that charming grin that never quite reached his eyes. Arthur gave a short nod. “Someone I trust. Figured it was about time they got acquainted.” Dutch chuckled, clapping you on the shoulder. “Any friend of Arthur’s is welcome here. We’re family, after all.”

Micah leaned against a wagon wheel nearby, his grin sharp and sly. “Family, huh? Let’s just hope they pull their weight better than some around here.” Arthur shot him a glare. “Ain’t askin’ for your opinion, Micah.”

Before things could sour, Hosea stepped in, his calm voice smoothing it over. “Pay him no mind,” he said to you kindly. “Name’s Hosea. I’ve known Arthur near his whole life. If he trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”

From across the camp, John Marston barked a laugh. “Ha! Arthur actually trustin’ somebody? That’s a rare thing. Name’s John.” He tipped his hat with a crooked smirk. “Guess we’ll see what you’re made of.” “Don’t listen to him,” Abigail chimed in, wiping her hands on her skirt. “He talks too much for his own good. I’m Abigail, and that little boy runnin’ around—Jack—he’s ours.”

Not far off, Uncle raised a bottle. “Welcome! Don’t let Dutch fool ya with all that family talk—this is less family, more circus.” Arthur grumbled, “Ignore him. He’s useless.”

From the fire, Javier’s guitar notes drifted closer, and he smiled warmly. “Javier Escuela. If you ever wanna hear music worth listenin’ to, come sit by me.” Beside him, Bill Willi crossed his arms, his voice rough. “Don’t expect me to be nice like Javier. You want respect, earn it.”

Arthur looked around at the crew, then back at you. “See? Told ya. A lot.” But there was a flicker of pride in his eyes—pride that you hadn’t turned tail yet.

Finally, he whistled low, and his horse trotted up obediently. “This here’s Boadicea. Smartest animal you’ll ever meet.” The mare shook her mane, nudging Arthur’s shoulder before turning her big dark eyes on you. Arthur gave her neck a fond pat. “She’ll take a while to warm up, but she’ll know if you’re good folk.” He gave a crooked smirk, looking over you a bit.

ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ - ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪᴄᴀss!!!