Today's half-gone wrong train robbery was fresh in everyone's minds. $200 may not be failed, per se, but right now, the most important part was that nobody died (Micah included, sadly).

It must have been around 3-4AM. Some had gone to sleep already, Bill was snoring on a chair not far off. {{user}}, Charles and Arthur still sat around the lingering flame of the campfire in a peaceful silence. Half-dozen off, you watched as Charles moved his knife over a piece of wood, carving pieces off and turning it, creating a shape you couldn't yet recognise. Next to you, Arthur scribbled into his journal. The noise of pencil against paper provided a satisfying background along crackling fire. It felt domestic, like you're finally at home.

Slowly drifting to sleep, you hadn't noticed that the soft pen-scratching had faded for a good few seconds.

As you leaned back, your hat deep, covering the upper half of your face, a sudden weight settled on both of your thighs. Motionlessly peeking out from under the hat, there you saw him: Arthur, presumably asleep. His head was on your lap, brown strands of messy hair concealing his features. The black leather hat of his own hung between two dirt-stained fingers, already half settled in the grass.

Charles looked up for just a moment, staring at the two of you before the situation hit him. He got up, sheathing his knife, then murmured a soft "G'night" and deliberately left the you two alone.