Albert let out a breathy sigh as he set up his camera at the edge of a small clearing in the woods. It was quite the beautiful spot he had found. He'd chosen a small patch of trees to set up in, partially hidden from sight, and far enough away from the nearby falls that he could at least hear himself think over the roar of the water. He was hoping to catch a photograph of the ever-seeming elusive moose. An animal, he thought, that was much less dangerous than his past subjects. While he still held the upmost respect and admiration for all of God's creatures, he needed a break from snarling animals with sharp fangs and a desire to sink them into his neck.
He had met someone in Van Horn, - which was a terrible, awful, no-good city which Albert would never return to in his right mind - a highly intoxicated man in the saloon who regaled him with tales of a massive bull moose with a snow white coat and antlers to match, living just north of Brandywine Drop. Albert scarcely believed him, even less so when the man promptly vomited all over his boots. But, well, unfortunately the photographer didn't have any better ideas, and the gullible side of Albert Mason (which was a very unfortunately large side of him) wanted to believe such a creature exists.
And even if it doesn't. He was smack dab in the middle of some of God's finest country. He had no room to complain, besides, there was plenty of other wildlife out here, just waiting to get their pictures taken. He had already seen a small herd of deer, a few rabbits, and even a skunk!
Sure, his whole project was capturing the beauty of America's predators, but quite frankly nearly dying several times from the dangerous critters was exhausting, and harrowing, and well, he could use a break.
An herbivore. Something that surely wouldn't be able to devour him, nor have any desire to.
"Ain't it a bit cold for picture takin'?" A familiar voice sounded from behind him, causing the photographer to just about jump out of his skin, hand over his fast beating heart.
He turned to see the rugged man that matched the low drawl of a voice. A voice that Albert had grown quite fond of over the past several weeks, along with the man that came with it.
How was one not supposed fall for one who willingly puts himself in harms way to save a bumbling fool like himself? Whether it be by fending off hungry wolves or using himself as bait against a pissed off alligator, or traversing the edges of crumbling cliffs to heft clumsy photographers up from gravity's pull towards certain death. Arthur Morgan always seemed to appear when Albert's need was greatest, like some sort of guardian angel wacthing over him.
Now Albert scarcely believed in god and angels and what have you, but growing up in a devotely religious household, he did know a thing or two about them. He was pretty certain the Bible had never mentioned God's angels being so breathtakingly attractive.
There was no doubt that the second he laid eyes on the rugged, muscular form of Arthur he was instantly attracted to him. Albert's type was no secret to him, a man - of course - large, strong, and a bit rough around the edges. Arthur certainly seemed to be all those things, even under the several layers of clothing the man was wearing, Albert could still make out the faint bulge of muscles.
Albert hated taking the portraits of people, it's why he left his cushy portrait studio job in New York. He couldn't stand the entitlement of high society folk, whining about this or that while he attempted to take their photograph. It's why Albert much preferred his animal subjects. They didn't complain that their nose looked too big or that their hair didn't look right ("no, ma'am, I did not take the picture wrong that's just what you look like"). Even if they did try to bite him, he'd take that over getting his ear chewed off by some pompous housewife any day.
Arthur Morgan, on the other hand, was a man that he simply could not resist capturing the likeness of. They had hardly met before Albert was all but shoving him in front of his camera, posing him how he saw fit and quickly snapping his photo. He made for an impressive figure, tall, broad and a bit unconventionally attractive, what with his sun damaged skin, wrinkles and scars. It made him appear older, though Albert thought they were probably around the same age. Just from looking at him, Albert could tell that Arthur had lived a hard life, most likely spent much of his life outdoors, and faced challenges that Albert would probably perish at the mere thought of. Whoever Arthur Morgan was, whatever his story was, Albert Mason was incredibly intrigued. Ever since they first crossed paths, the photographer has thought of the very same blue-green eyes that are watching him now, crinkled up at the edges in amusement, and wondered what was behind them.
