An Unfortunate Face (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

(12.) A Cold, Loud Night

The saloon was crowded, and you were thankful for Arthur's broad stature. Everyone moved out of his way, clearing a small path for you to the bar.

"I'll take a beer and a...uh...?"

"(Drink of choice)," you smiled at the bartender.

"And a (drink of choice) for the lady," Arthur finished, and you sent him a quick smile. Arthur was being a lot nicer than he had been, and you felt like it was finally time to apologize for all you had said.

You both downed your drinks quickly and as the first waves of inebriation hit you, your apology rolled out.

"I'm sorry for last night, and this morning. I—I just know what it was like to be one of them men, barely scrapin' by. We ain't by no means the good guys, but that don't mean we gotta let people like Strauss take advantage of others."

He ordered another drink and you did as well, waiting awkwardly in the silence for his reply. He took slow, measured sips of his alcohol before finally spilling his thoughts.

"You were right, you know," he said, slurring his words gently. "About me, a-and Dutch."

"What?" you said, turning to face him. The drinks were beginning to take their toll on him, and he was slowly letting out all of the words he'd never speak sober.

"I'm loyal to Dutch more 'n, well," he laughed, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "I guess I let it control me too much sometimes, ain't right," he finished, and you stared ahead.

"You don't gotta sacrifice loyalty to your own morals. And in the case that you do, maybe you should question who you're loyal to."

You hadn't expected your own words to surprise you, but you were being unnervingly blunt at the moment.

You trusted Dutch, possibly even looked up to him. But from what you had observed, Dutch was no where near the man that Arthur was; that much was clear.

Hosea and Dutch were a pair with arguments and disagreements on policy, but Dutch always seemed to have the final call. From the way Hosea spoke, the gang hadn't always been a gang of killers and robbers.

"You work here miss?" You heard from next to you.

You turned to the voice, expecting a barely mobile drunk man making a joke at your expense, but the sight was worse. You recognized the hat, and then the black coats, and worst of all—the green neckwear each member wore.

"I said, do you work here? Cause if you do, I might just have to pay for you."

Arthur was watching the situation from a few feet away, but he wasn't in the stable mind to interfere. You wanted to de-escalate the situation before Arthur, or rather Arthur's fists, got involved.

"I don't work here, sorry," you answered, turning back to your half-empty glass.

"Then why are you dressed like a three dollar whore?" he laughed, sending anger through your bones. You had never been proud of your prostitute past, and he was digging some unfortunate memories back to you.

"Excuse me," you said, leaving the bar. It was either that or you'd take out the quickest weapon you could find and smack him with it. You were never one for violence, except when it came to men like him. They were the only thing that got your blood boiling like that.

Arthur watched as you left, his mind a confused cloud. He saw the O'Driscoll that had been in front of you now, and he managed to string together a few dots.

"Y/n...?" he gently stumbled away from the bar and out of the swinging doors. "Where'r ya goin'?"

"We should probably head back to camp," you said cooly, leading Arthur to his horse. "Don't quite like the company here."