Arthur Morgan was ashamed to say that he ran away when things got too hot to handle. When jobs got to be too much. When he felt himself getting too attached. His only exception was the fathers he found in Dutch Van der Linde and Hosea Matthews, and about the most dysfunctional functional family they built out of vagabonds and ruffians. His heart and life belonged to them and them only. He only wavered the day he found out Mary Linton was pregnant via a lavender scented letter sitting prettily on the crate next to his bedside. Years of asking her to marry him and time and time again she had declined. Even with a baby now added into the mix, she still refused to budge despite his insistence. He could leave all of this behind. They could be happy. 'Daddy would never approve, Arthur.' 'You'll never change. We both know this.' He knows this. He knows he could never leave the gang, but it doesn't lift the dull ache of loss that settles in his chest. As sweet as he was on Ms. Linton, he knows she would never be his. And for years the most he did was send any money he could to the family. As tainted as it was, he would only hope they'd accept what little he could offer.

And it would stay this way. And Arthur would learn what little he could about his daughter that Mary would write to him about. Granted it wasn't much, but it was still something. He slipped into a comfortable live of outlawing and sending money and waiting for letters. So. Much. Waiting. It was agonizing, but the bustle of bank robberies and train heists kept his mind distracted on other things. He would never admit that once or twice he'd forgotten about his stranger family, oblivious to their existence until another lavender letter showed up at his bedside.

Today would take a turn. Whether for better or for worse he didn't know. But he was in for the ride of his life.

Arthur had been propped against a tree, overlooking the plains from their camp in Horseshoe Overlook and sipping coffee from his tin. It was a peaceful morning. Just earlier he'd been having a quiet chat with Charles and watching the sunrise. Even once the bustle of the morning routine began, there was an odd peace about it that Arthur relished in. He wouldn't have thought anything of Bill Williamson's yelling until the word O'Driscoll was thrown. The man tensed, tossing what little contents in his tin remained and shoved it in his bag, replacing it with a revolver as quick as a flash. He turned and noticed that quite the crowd was forming around the "O'Driscoll". Approaching, he took notice of Dutch who had stepped forward from the crowd.

--

Dutch eyed the young girl curiously, yelling at Bill to "Shut the hell up for a moment." while he looked her over. She was young and certainly didn't sound like an O'Driscoll. Certainly didn't look like one either. Looked the fancy sort. A city girl. And that made his even more curious, lifting his brow in odd fascination. "Now, let's all just calm down here." he began smoothly, bending down a bit to meet her at eye level. "Hello there little miss. I sincerely apologize for my compatriot's lack of kindness. We don't normally get such ah... young visitors to our camp. You can call me Dutch." He sticks out his hand, hoping to gently take Amelia's in his and offer a gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. "To whom do I owe this unexpected visit?" he asks, offering a smile her way.

--

While this is going on, Arthur stops himself beside Tilly near the edge of the gathered faces, brows furrowed in confusion as Dutch took on a more gentle demeanor. Kindness to an O'Driscoll? Either there was a mix up or Van der Linde was going fuzzy in the head. But as things played out, it was all to quickly discovered that this was no enemy gang member, but a child that had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with them. Slowly, he inched himself forward to get a look at the intruder. He caught sight of the girl for a moment- wispy brown locks and a fire in her eyes that could melt steel. His stomach turned. He knew something was off about her but he couldn't quite place it. He sheathed his revolver, now folding his arms across his chest in confusion. He did not speak however, instead choosing to watch to see how things unfolded.

"Bill for the love of all that is holy, shut your yap or I'll shut it for you!" Hosea's voice rang out like a gunshot over the commotion the other outlaw was causing, stern and quite frankly done with the horsehit spewing from his mouth. Hosea didn't snap often, but his patience was wearing thin. While his caution was commendable, what on God's green Earth would they need to feel scared over a little girl? And honestly, what would they even do if she did turn out to be an O'Driscoll? Torture her? Kill her? As low as their morals are, the Van der Linde Gang weren't the sort to torture women. Maybe keep her as a prisoner of sorts to keep her from talking, but nothing in terms of physical harm. Then that would really make them no better than O'Driscolls.

Dutch, after flashing a thankful look to Hosea, turned his attention back unto Amelia. "Just "Dutch" is fine, sweetheart." he mused. What nobody was ready for however, was the name she introduced herself with. You could hear a pin drop, everyone in camp had quieted down so intensely. Ms. Grimshaw looked ready to squawk out of surprise but kept it in.

Morgan?

Arthur felt all eyes on him in less than a second. Some were knowing (he had confided in a few people of his illegitimate child.) and others were bug eyed with shock. Never had he wanted to throw himself under a moving train than in this moment. He hates the attention. He hates the mixed looks. He hates that the first time he actually sees his child- or so she claims- is when she's being flung straight into the middle of the gang. Dutch calls for everyone to give them some room, and hesitantly, the gang obliges, backing away like mice and leaving Arthur facing his- Mary's kid. He doesn't know what to do and he scratches at his arms nervously as he starts to test the name on his tongue. "Amelia... Morgan...." He pauses, brows furrowing in thought. "Gillis?" He doesn't know what to do. Should he be happy she's here? Should he send her back home? She shouldn't even be here in the first place! The outlaw's brain in a mess and it takes a firm squeeze to his shoulder by Charles to release the breath he didn't even know he was holding.

A visible flinch can be seen in both her and Bill. Bill lowers his gun, strapping it to his back. He mumbles something about having caution about how to trust. He glares at Hosea, his chin lifted up a bit, as if he was confident. He walks behind a bit, waiting for this to be over with.

He stops, eyes wide as that name seemed to roll so smoothly off of her tongue. He looks around and notice the other outlaws. Pearson stops cutting the meat, his knife clinking against the board. Sadie nearly drops her box.

An embarresed look immediately crosses her face. She had to admit, like her father, if given the chance she would gladly go on train tracks and wait for the next one. Half of her hoped the gang knew, and the other half feels like an idiot for introducing herself in such a manner. She would apologize later.

They were mostly staring at her father. Arthur, was his name, she thought. If she remembered correctly. When they leave the two to their own vices, she tries to smile at him. She tries to think, of something-- anything that would him not lookike the devil just sucker punched him. "Are you a Mister Arthur Morgan?" She waves, a bit shyly. She did not think that this was how it was gonna go. When he says her name -- what she wants to be her name, at least -- she nods, blue eyes holding tiny bits of hope.

"Gillis?" That question caused her to visibly cringe, as if she heard something disgusting escape his mouth. "By blood. I hate that name." That is what she settles on. Hell, being a Linton would be better. Not that disgusting name. Ever again.

"Amelia? Sweetheart, don't look like that. Nothing happened. Nothing at all." That voice plays in her head as she looks at Arthur. She doesn't see his brown hair, his blue eyes. What she does see is a pale man, his eyes unfocused, his face holding the expression of the worst news. She tries to choke something out, but no words form.  Blood rushes to her ears, her eyes widen and she tries to take in everything. Now she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Why?

Arthur looked ready to hurt her. His friend, too. Which was exactly why she tried to find him, find someone who wouldn't do that. She shuts her eyes, tightly, and runs into the crowd of outlaws. That's when she opens her eyes, and sees Dutch. She bolts towards him, trying to cling to his clothes like a puppy dog. She shuts her eyes once more, whether she managed to cling to him or not. She didn't want more bruises... she didn't want... Her breathing speed up, and she sinks further, trying to make herself look less noticeable. "Oh God... oh God oh God... He's gonna... gonna hurt me." She manages to get words out, her eyes shutting more, if it was possible. If she did grip onto Dutch, she would try to grip tighter.

Amelia Gillis- no... Morgan. Amelia Morgan. He would've laughed at the thought of their shared initials if he hadn't been consumed by the wave of emotions he didn't know how to process. All too quickly he found himself picking out little details about her he hadn't given much regard to before; the way the sunlight makes her hair shine, the way her eyes spark, even the way she carried herself- it was like looking in a mirror. Almost. He was admittedly much more scrappier. To look in a mirror at his teenage self, hell he'd be covered in dirt and gunpowder, there was no doubt. Other than the fact that Amelia had been bathed more regularly that him, they weren't much different at all. There was a small part of him that was smug knowing that his kid didn't succumb to the fruity upper class lifestyle Mary had tried and failed by the looks of it brought her up in.

He was unfortunate to not have the time to even answer her questioning if he was in fact Arthur Morgan. To him it looked like her mood changed on a dime, causing him to take a step back as she regarded her grandfather with such disdain it even rivaled him. But seeing her scared of him, hurrying to shrink beside Dutch, it planted seeds of guilt in Arthur's gut. He must have done something wrong. He did do something wrong. Bringing up that man was a mistake, yes, but he wasn't ready for how badly it affected her and he didn't know what to do other than stand silent and cast Hosea a pained look.

--

Dutch peered down at the girl, offering her a small pat on the head. Hosea meanwhile, hurried on to usher the crowd to scatter. "Go on! Get back to work, the lot of you. Dutch and I will handle this." And one by one, the crowd disperses and while the tension in the air is still thick, it lightens some now that it isn't confined to one space. Dutch offers a comforting smile to Amelia. "Arthur? That big teddy bear? My dear, Mr. Morgan here wouldn't hurt a fly- let alone a sweet girl like you. 'sides, if anyone wanted to hurt you, they'd have to answer to me first. And that's a promise." he assured. "Now-" He motions Arthur over and makes a slow and gentle attempt to separate from the girl. "Why don't you two get the chance to get to know each other?"

--

Arthur takes a few steps forward, still leaving a wide enough space for Ame to breathe. His hands wring nervously, Eventually though, he greets her. "Hullo." He pauses, thinking. "I am.. um, Arthur Morgan. It's nice to finally meet you, miss." Hesitantly, he holds a calloused hand out to her and does his best to smile.