“You’ve gotta be kiddin me…”

Arthur grumbled as he watched you pull out the “disguise” ( more like clown suit in Arthur’s eyes ) that Dutch had implemented as the rule for clothes to wear while going out near Blackwater. It was horribly offensive to wear something of that sort.

He held his hand against his mouth, slightly pulling at the skin to prevent himself from lashing out. How in the hell was that supposed to keep them from getting recognized? That was a walking target if he had ever seen one.

“You’ll catch me hangin’ from my damn toes before wearing that… mess,” he shot you a glare, almost offended that you would even suggest wearing a thing like that.

Was Arthur one for fashion? Hell no, but he did take some consideration of what others thought of him if he looked ridiculous.

“I ain’t wearin’ it,” he shook his head at you, his sass ( pride, is what he called it. you begged to differ. ) making its debut.