Dutch's Daughter [[RDR2 Arthur Morgan x OC]]

chapter 7; irishmen can party

Charlotte trades her nightgown in for a simple black, long sleeved dress and boots, matching nicely with her signature wide brimmed hat. The party is roaring with music and laughter, Sean's nasally accent ringing distinctly over the mixture of voices singing horrendously loud. She grabs a dark amber bottle from the box, not caring whether it's beer or whiskey, just anxious to numb herself. Dutch stands, applauding her entrance, sending a wave of cheers through the rest of the group. Charlotte can tell things haven't gotten too rowdy yet given that Jack and Abigail are still enjoying the party, dancing and smiling together. 

Arthur has taken up a seat on a log between Charles and John, singing along with the others. She decides to join them, scooching in beside Charles. The man flashes her a smile, cheering his bottle with hers. Sean is dancing in a circle around the flaming pit, whisking Karen along with him, pulling her in tightly before swinging her back out. Seems like she's forgotten all about her flirtationship with Arthur now that her beau was back in camp, making a galant escape from the noose.

"Feeling better, Char?" John leans forward to look at her.

"Much." She winks, both eyes shut, poking fun at her still forcibly shut eye.

Sean hears her voice and swirls Karen into a seat, a little too harshly before turning to offer a dance with open arms to the bruised and battered girl. Shaking her head no with a light hearted laugh, Charlotte rejects his notion, not wanting another fight with Karen. She glances over at the curvaceous woman, seeing her lips pursed into a pout, arms and legs crossed like an upset child. 

"Oh come on, didn't you miss me at all?" Sean interrupts her stare, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her to her feet, attempting to charm her with his thick Irish accent.

"Have you been missing? Huh... thought camp seemed quieter than usual." Charlotte laughs, Sean's bright green eyes glimmer with humor, thankful to be home at last. He lifts her off her feet, spinning her in a tight circle, her black skirt flowing brilliantly through the air. Just as fast as he'd scooped her up, her feet land back on the ground, his attention returning to his girl. She is silently grateful the dance didn't last long - she didn't want to give Karen any excuse to start swinging again.

Charlotte's head spins dizzily as she finds her way back to her seat, tripping on an untrimmed branch in the log and landing in Charles lap. Turning to apologize, chuckling lightly, she's bites her tongue when she finds herself in Arthur's lap, his hand resting in the small of her back to help balance her. She blushes, cheeks blooming bright red with embarrassment. Jumping up immediately, she scurries to find a more distant seating position.

"Sorry... dizzy. Doesn't help I can't exactly see where I'm going." 

"Don't worry 'bout it. Charles went to get another beer, probably just confused me for him." He insinuates. John turns the angle of his body away from the conversation, sensing another one of there three round fighting matches coming on.

"Wait... what?" Charlotte tilts her head to the side, confused at what he's implying.

"I seen the way he's sweet on you." Arthur takes a swig of his whiskey, his face void of humor.

"You're seeing things. Now who's the one making shit up?" Her voice rises with irritation but levels out, successfully playing it off as though she's teasing. To her surprise, Arthur rejects the excuse to fight with her, turning his attention back to the party, pretending she's not there. 

"You got a problem if he is?" Charlotte jabs a knuckle at him but his stare remains focused on the fire, lips unmoving. Out of character for him to drop a chance to torment his rival.

Before too long, she forgets all about him, joining in on the chaotic fun of the gang. Abigail has whisked little Jack away, a sure sign that it's time for the real fun to begin. Two... three... four bottles of liquor in and she begins to feel the effects taking over her, actions becoming more and more questionable. At least this time the setting was appropriate and she was far from being the only sloppy drunk at the party. Karen and Sean are obnoxiously sucking on each other behind a nearby wagon, not hidden near as well as they think. Uncle is face down in the dirt, sawing logs and making a puddle of drool under his smooshed cheek. Several gang members have retired for the evening, leaving the younger few to enjoy their juvenile fun. Tilly and Mary-beth have swung Charlotte into another ring around the fire. They spin around, hand and hand, making her dizzy all over again but the bellowing laughter erupting from the girl makes the motion sickness more than worth it. The joyous moment is a welcome distraction from the emotional and physical turmoil she'd recently endured as she slips further and further from reality.

A cool feeling collides abruptly with Charlotte's face. She presses a crooked hand forward, trying to establish what happened. Grass. Cold, damp grass. In her distracted, intoxicated state she hadn't even felt herself descend downwards. But there she is, a puddle of girlish giggles in a mud puddle, looking like a bigger fool than even Uncle. Brand new clothes, ruined by dirt and spilt alcohol in one night. She gasps dramatically, feeling herself levitate back to her feet.

"Ha! John... I thought *hic* I was floating!" Charlotte titters, leaning onto the arms that hoisted her up.

"Look at you... A drunken mess all over again. What we gonna do with you, Lottie?" 

"Hey... don't fucking call me *hic* Lottie. Only Arthur calls me that anymore... *hic* and I hate that bastard!" She feels the hands pull to a stand, holding her, and then pressing her into a walk.

"Come on, Charlotte, let's get you back to bed. Party's over."

Her tent is only a few stumbles away but she manages to make the path even longer. Tripping over her own feet or the air, struggling to stay vertical the entire way there. Finally, she can tell she's back in her tent when her side clumsily collides with her night stand, a few of her belongings crashing to the ground. She steadies herself to a stand using John's shoulders for balance. Or at least she thinks it's still John.

"I was just joking..." She mutters, her one good eye still closed tightly as she fights waves of nausea.

"'Bout what." He helps her to sit on the foot of the bed, pulling her boots off.

"'Bout Arthur, what else? *hic* He's not all bad... I have hated him for a long, long time but things have changed... I think."

"What changed?"

"I've been having these strange dreams, John. *hic* About Arthur. Hosea told me to look at him differently and boyyy did I ever. I don't know what I'm thinking...he hates me."

"He don't hate you."

"He couldn't save me..." Her voice trails off, her drunk happiness turning into sudden sorrow. Laughter to tears. Once a laughing mess, she now couldn't stop crying. Alcohol has a way of bringing her true, raw emotions out whether she's wants them out or not.

Lips smash into hers, hurried and borderline aggressive, silencing her sobbing. She jerks her head back, her one eye popping open, a hand raising to ready itself to smack Mr. John Marston senseless. But it's not him.

"Arthur..." 

His hands grab her face, kissing her again with less force. Calloused thumb rests on her chin, just below where his bottom lip caresses hers. Soft... tender... exactly as she'd dreamed. She gives in, pressing herself into his embrace. He lets go, keeping their foreheads pressed together, breathing heavily in unison. 

"Oh no..."

The blissful moment is ruined as she shoves his shoulders away from her with a mighty heave, retching aggressively, painting his boots with alcoholic vomit. 

"Well... that's not exactly how I pictured this going." Arthur mutters, a slight chuckle in his voice.

Before she can apologize, she's flopped back on the bed, burying her face in the pillow. Completely unconscious, Arthur knows there is no way to salvage the situation. He pulls her blanket over her shoulders, kissing her forehead before departing from the tent to clean his shoes.