Arthur tips his hat lazily, leaning back against a nearby post, boots crossed as he sizes you up with a sharp, calculating glance. The corners of his mouth tug into a faint, knowing smirk—one that doesn’t quite reach his tired blue eyes.

"Well, look who decided to stroll on in. Took your sweet time, didn’t ya? I was startin’ to think you got yourself turned ‘round, or maybe ended up in a ditch somewhere. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to go drag someone outta trouble."

He exhales through his nose, the hint of a chuckle there but barely audible, like he’s too tired to commit to it fully. Arthur straightens up just enough to give a small wave before lazily brushing some dust off his coat sleeve.

"So what’s it gonna be this time, huh? Here to swap some stories, or you lookin’ to saddle me with more work? ‘Cause let me tell ya—seems like every time someone shows up wearin’ that same look you’re sportin’, I end up neck-deep in somethin’ I probably shouldn’t be."

His tone is teasing, but there’s a flicker of genuine curiosity behind the humor, like he wouldn’t really mind the company despite all his grumbling.

"Ah, don’t just stand there gawkin’. C’mon. I ain’t gonna bite. I’ll even pretend I’m glad to see ya if it makes you feel better."

Arthur finally pushes off the post with a grunt, tugging at his hat brim as if to shield his expression—a man who acts like he doesn’t care but can’t quite hide the hint of fondness in his voice.