#outlawing

The gentle breeze whisks the floral aroma from the fields of flowers into the air. Zhang San closes his eyes and opens his arms, welcoming the loving graze of the wind against his cheeks. His DYI blond dyed hair sways effortlessly in the motion. The stray flower petals gently tickle his flesh as they ride on the wind's flow. 

Mistwood, as the locals call his place, reminds him of the lush mountainous range of the Qinling mountains. Full of fauna and overgrowth, the Qinling mountain range provided Zhang San moments of deep meditation-- if his mind would allow it.

Suddenly, Zhang San notices he isn't alone. He opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder to see another enjoying the beautiful scenery. Slowly, Zhang San lowers his arms to his side, nodding his head. "Remarkable, isn't it? In one part of his place is riddled with skyscrapers and smog... then you have the Mistwood, teeming with life." 

IT'S ENOUGH to jolt the cowboy out of his peaceful silence, his fixation upon his newly retrieved sketchbook--a black one, plain and cheap; the way it's bound but only confused him, round metallic spring keeping pages in place, rather than the traditional leather book binding Arthur had been so familiar with--a classic NO. 2 pencil in hand, worn fingers sketching the fauna and plant life he'd been dauntingly comfortable with.

Anything to get away from the oh-so frightening surroundings of RADIAL ISLAND; it's strangeness perturbed him, a distant future featuring nothing like the intimate aesthetic and livelihood of the Wild West.

THE MISTWOODS was his favorite location, one Arthur Morgan had quickly attached himself to; despite the distant noises--ones deranged and almost eldritch--the outlaw could not help but be drawn to the area, nature and wildlife enough to provide him some semblance of safety in this new, unforgiving world.

It's why he's caught off-guard in the first place, Arthur darting his head upward from beneath his gambler hat toward the voice filling his ears--something safe and cozy amidst the unknown.

The voice is almost gravel-y, tinged with a slick cowboy-drawl, tired; frustrated.

Eyes widen, but despite everything Arthur is able to keep his cool, only emotions expressed being shock in those ocean irises of his.

John.

Clasping his journal shut with a soft, 'FWUMP!', Arthur steadily approaches his brother-in-arms, boots creating a soft crunch beneath his feet with each step.

"... ... ..." Silence, ever so usual of Arthur Morgan, only ever speaking up when it was necessary; more than that, the brunette can't help but be at a loss for words, after all--he thought he'd been alone.

Yet, despite that, here John Marston was--in the flesh.

Welcome to scenic Isola Radiale, John!

You’ll be housed in CONDO 405!

You'll be given a BB gun.

Enjoy your stay!

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