Arthur Morgan did not intend to survive when he gave his hat to John Marston and stayed behind to gain his redemption. As he crawled towards his final resting place, he never intended to wake up again.
But he does wake up. Thanks to time travelers F...
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1884
Arthur's head pounded as though two large men with sledgehammers were taking turns beating him on the temples with all their might. He was lying down in a mud puddle, but managed to pull himself to a seated position just as he felt the first wave of vomit coming.
Thankfully, he managed not to get any on himself, seeing as there was a conveniently located horse trough for him to bend his head over. His vision swam as he pulled himself out of the stinking trough and looked around him. This was certainly still Reno, but Arthur couldn't remember how he'd come to be lying in the mud at first.
Then, like a locomotive, it hit him. Mac's tequila.
Arthur groaned. "Son of a bitch."
Painfully, he pulled himself to his feet. His clothes were coated with a thick layer of mud, vomit, and horse shit from lying in the street, and he knew he probably smelled awful. Thankfully, he always kept a change of clothes in his saddlebag, and knew of a hotel down the way where he could get a hot bath.
Mac and Pearson were nowhere to be seen, unlike Boadicea, who stood tied about thirty yards to Arthur's left, right where he'd left her the night before. Mac's shire, however, was notably absent. He'd probably gone back to camp and taken Pearson with him, knowing Arthur was more than capable of fending for himself.
In spite of all that, Arthur knew Mac had consumed more alcohol than he had, and had barely begun wobbling by the time Arthur staggered out drunkenly across the saloon, where he'd probably slipped out a back door. The details were still hazy, but the point remained: Mac Callander was excellent at holding his liquor, especially when it was tequila.
Muttering obscenities, Arthur plodded forward, trying not to pass out from the pain in his head. He rescued a set of clean clothes from Boadicea's saddlebags, and shuffled towards the hotel down the road.
Thankfully after a hot bath, he felt much better. He even spent a bit of extra money to have one of the hotel ladies bathe him, feeling too lazy to even scrub himself properly. Normally, such deluxe baths were uncomfortable and Arthur felt compelled to make small talk to lighten the mood, but today, he'd sighed and said, "I don't feel much like talkin', if that's okay."
The girl bathing him had been only too grateful for the silence. Arthur imagined such women must hear some rather unsavory things from most of the naked men they bathed. In any case, he got no complaints for his silence. Instead, he drank a glass of the wine that came with the bath in hopes it would help his head some. He wasn't much of a wine drinker, but it was sweet, and he'd found sweet things helped with the pain of a night of drinking.
"A hot meal is a good hangover cure, you know," the woman said helpfully as she finished his bath. "We serve those here if you want one."
Arthur only grinned at her. "No thank you, ma'am," he said. "I got jerky in my saddlebag, and some canned fruit. Ain't failed me yet."
