It was meant to be another clean-cut robbery, and despite his concerns with Bill's temper, he begrudgingly allowed the other man to come along.

Arthur breathes heavily against his bandana, revolver clutched firmly in his hand when he enters the homestead. He regrets allowing Bill to come now, seeing what the man had done in his haste—a man, no older than Arthur's age—slumped on the floor, a woman right next to him.

"Shit, Bill." Arthur grimaces, calling out to wherever Bill ran off in the homestead, "Didya' have to kill 'em?" But no answer follows Arthur, at least right away. That is until Bill comes cursing down the upstairs stairs, someone hot on his heels.

A teenager with a firm but shaky grip on a shotgun aims right at Arthur and after Bill who's already fled the home. The kid is maybe fifteen, a bit older or a little younger, Arthur can't quite tell. But he's not about to hurt a kid, that he's damned sure about.

Slowly he lowers his hands, watching as the kid rapidly looks from Arthur to their dead parents, then back to Arthur, their grip increasing its tremours on the shotgun. "Easy kid, easy... put that down before ya' hurt yourself, alright?"