Bards Crossings • Arthur Morgan x Reader

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈

"Will you slow down!?" Your fingertips desperately clenched to Arthur's shirt as he raced the dirt track leading to Saint Denis bridge.

"Speed up?" He teased, spurring Caliban to inch that little bit faster.

Laughter shrieked from your lungs as Arthur eventually pulled the reigns on his stallion, slowing to a comfortable trot through the cobbled streets of the city.

"I don't understand why I couldn't have just taken Onyx." Your eyes skimmed the different cafes and restaurants of the Western quarter of the city. Fried catfish weaved it's way through your senses, stomach rumbling with hunger.

Arthur's urgency to leave camp this morning barely left you time for a cup of coffee, promising you'd be back to camp in the afternoon.

Gradually halting Caliban, you searched the periphery for clues as to what Arthur had planned. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out to you, nor any sign of the gang left you perplexed. Arthur tied his mounts reigns to a black iron hitching post moulded into the shape of a horses head, "M'lady," reaching his hand to help you down from the saddle.

"Alright—what in the hell is goin' on, y'r actin' real strange there, cowboy." You smirked, folding your arms over your chest in defiance.

"Jus'—get down." He man-handled you from the saddle, a little less gracefully than he had originally planned.

You smirked at his frustration, "just tell me what we're doin' here, Arthur." A smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Arthur held his arm in the direction of a small boutique. You knew Evie's Bazaar well, and feared Arthur had planned to rob it.

"Are y' crazy?! In the middle of the day!? She's a nice lady, Arthur." Arthur cocked his head in confusion, "wh—no?! We ain't robbin' it, y' fool!" He whispered, guiding you on the the path.

"I—I made an appointment, for you, t' get a pretty dress for this damn garden party at the mayors house Dutch got us goin' too."

Your eyes lit up, "really?" You uttered in sheer disbelief.

"Arthur—I, I don't know what to say," you uttered in disbelief, "how are we gonna afford—" Arthur interrupted your worried thoughts before they could be voiced, "I got money, don't you worry about that."

•

The seamstress hauled you into a singular fitting room with five dresses, the underskirt and netting of the heavy materials barely left you any room to manoeuvre in the cramped box-like space; a singular curtain separating you from the rest of the shop.

Evie tightened a laced corset around your waist. The stiff material caught your breath, hoisting your chest up to your chin. "Holy—", gasping as Evie looped the ribbon through the eloquently sewn loops on the back of the girdle.

Taking a look in the wooden foot mirror, the corset gave you the perfect hour-glass shape; accentuating the curves to your waist and hips. Next came one of the many underskirts, achieving the look of royal.

"Okay—which one first, sugar?" She questioned, her distinctive Lagras accent rolled with her tongue.

You cast your eyes over the dress, each one prettier than the other. Your fingers traced the different textures and materials, "let's go for this one first." Picking up the black and cream detailed number, it's velvet bodice sat perfectly over the corset. Cream lace netting draped the front of the dress, a black silk-satin train sloped at the rear. Gold velvet hemmed the lining of the gown and the front of the bodice.

"Whad'dya think of this one?" Wafting the curtain back, crooking your neck slightly to inspect what you could of the back of the gown.

"Uh—wow, I—hm." Arthur's words failed him, leaving you feeling unsure.

Pulling the curtain once more, Evie helped you out of the dress. This was going to take longer than you'd originally hoped.

•

You turned to Evie, "I think I like this one." Eagerly grinning at the seamstress.

Subtle puff sleeves sat just under your shoulders, the sage green sweetheart neckline dipped slightly, remaining conservative enough with Evie's reassurance.

Silk-satin material hugged the civil-war waistline of the bodice, pluming out widely at the bottom. Thick hemming lace lined the gown, just darker than the original material of the dress; giving dimension as you moved across the wooden floor boards of the boutique.

"Arthur, isn't it beautiful." You gushed, unable to recognise yourself.

"How much?" Arthur wet his thumb, sieving through a bill clasp he pulled from his satchel.

"Corset, decency skirt, underskirts... uh, the chemise... oh and drawers," Evie tallied a rough estimate in her head, "fifty dollars—but y' can't be wearin' work boots to no ball now, can y'?" Raising her brow at the dusty, steal-capped leather boots peaking from the bottom of the dress.

Two large boxes gripped between your arms protected the dress and all it's counterparts. A smug smile narrowed your eyes.

"Y' quite happy there, princess?" A sarcastic tone to Arthur's voice, although he offered to pay, it didn't mean he was overjoyed at the final pricing of the outfit.

"Camp won't be when they realise they ain't gettin' nothin' from me tonight." He muttered under his breath.

"Oh—shush, I'll put a few dollars in for ya'." Resting your head on his back as Arthur guided Caliban through the Bayou marshes.

Lifting your head, you pressed your lips on to the linen covering his torso. "Thank you, Arthur." Squeezing his waist a little tighter.

"You're welcome, it was my pleasure." Letting out a hearty chuckle.

Material items never mattered in the life you both lead, but the sentiment was greatly appreciated. You imagined this is what it felt like to be some high-society, Saint Denisian woman; attending afternoon tea during the day, rubbing shoulders with the elite in the evening.

"Tell me if I'm over-stepping a boundary here," you started, "but—if you don't put all y'r money in the ledger, what do you do with the rest of it?" Repositioning your self in the saddle.

Arthur tugged on Caliban's reigns, slowing just outside of Shady Belle, "I—well, it just stays in my satchel, I guess.. why?"

"Anyone could rip that flimsy satchel from your shoulder, get a damn lockbox." You reprimanded the cowboy.

He shook his head, "if Dutch found out, well, I'd be a dead man." He chuckled.

Arthur jumped down from the saddle, reaching his hand to help you down with the carefully wrapped boxes. "Why?" Prying further.

"'Cause, well, everything's supposed to go in the pot, but, I don't know.." Arthur brushed down a sweaty Caliban before facing you, "nice to have a little spare if perhaps a lady comes into my life needin' a new dress, huh?" He smiled.

"Okay.." You trailed, not fully satisfied with his answer. Nevertheless, it wasn't your concern.

You rushed to the girls, gently tearing the tissue paper, exposing the gorgeous sage silk-satin ball gown.

Gasps and coo's echoed as you lifted the fluffed material out it's box, "(y/n)—it's beautiful, where did y—" you cut Karen off, pointing towards the Gunslinger lingering still at the entrance to camp, afraid to come any further.

"Well, I be damned, Arthur Morgan—y' big soppy romantic!" Karen's load shrieks boomed over camp.

"My gosh—I'm so jealous, y' do have a heart, Arthur." Mary-beth gushed over the romantic gestures of your Outlaw.