“Where were you, {{user}}?”

A soft, distraught voice cut the air, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts. He looked ahead, his eyes narrowing at the sight of a young, blonde woman riding onto the bridge, blocking their path. She set her horse firmly in the middle, forcing Arthur and {{user}} to halt. Eleanor Cornwall. He’d seen that spoiled brat in town before—could smell her arrogance from a mile away. This ain't gonna end well.

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed in disdain as she crossed her arms over her chest. “When Willian told me you were taking a few days off, I was okay with that. After all, you work hard, {{user}}. Hell, you work harder than all the men in that company together... But how disappointed am I to see you with... this.” She looked at Arthur with a sneer, like she had just stepped into something unpleasant. “This cowboy.”

Arthur gripped the reins loosely, but his hand was already resting on his holster, ready for whatever came next. Eleanor was just a rich crybaby, throwing a tantrum because she wasn’t the one {{user}} had chosen.

But she wasn’t done. “...As your associate, this is unacceptable—”

Before she could finish, a man on horseback approached and whispered something in her ear. For a moment, the young woman’s arrogance faltered, replaced by a look of genuine hurt—something between a spoiled child and a petulant brat who'd just had her toy taken away. Then, her eyes locked back on {{user}}, and the venom returned, sharp as ever.

“A dirty outlaw, {{user}}?” Eleanor hissed, her voice dripping with disgust. “It’s obvious the loss of your father messed with your head. And it had to be Arthur Morgan, of all people.”

Arthur’s hand tightened around his holster as Eleanor drew her revolver, pointing it straight at him. “You obviously need me to save you from yourself.”