Zelda & Arthur Morgan
Arthur could admit that he'd felt music before. It was hard not to feel the thrum of a properly played band or orchestrate. But at the same time, this was... wildly different from that, the dull backbeat shaking right through his bones as the tone that pulsed over it pounded into his head. If he were a little bit older, Arthur doubted that he would have been able to stand it in this room. But as it was, it was still... tolerable. Even if the preferred option would have been to have a conversation in a better lit and quieter room.
"Arthur," Arthur said, offering her a bit of a smile. "Arthur Morgan, if you're the formal sort. But it's nothing to bother with if you're not," He said, pausing for a moment as her expression shifted.
The question was... surprising, perhaps. He hadn't exactly been completely open about his condition. He hadn't been actively hiding it either. But he'd managed pretty well in the conversation so far to not fall into a nasty coughing spell that he'd have to frantically try and cover up even if he could feel the oppressive tightening in his lungs threatening to come on at any second. But even as much as Arthur thought that he'd been doing a decent enough job of not making it obvious, it was clear he'd failed somewhere.
"I'm as well as I can be, mis- Zelda," Arthur said, correcting himself at the last moment with a bit of a chagrined look. "And as much as I appreciate the offer, it's been made pretty clear to be that there's not much that can be done. Save a warm, dry climate. And well. Lucked into that one already."
Arthur had had to admit to himself a few weeks ago that he'd more than likely be dead already if he hadn't ended up here.