Who, Cerberus: An RDR Undead Nightmare Story [ John Marston x OC ]

xxv. "Coming your way"

Back in Van Horn, John bribed the captain of a small cargo ship heading back west; one with a couple of available stables for Thoreau and Sybil, a spare crew's room - vacant after a fatal undead attack in their last port - for himself and Ruby. She beelined for the room once they'd settled the horses in for their boat ride to Blackwater, leaving John on the deck, alone. He gazed over to Van Horn's hotel, the night they'd spent there a seeming age ago; the life he was returning to, farther eons back still. The boat juddered to life and set sail, lurching from the shore.

John spent time with the horses, chatted with the scattered crewmen until he sensed he was only annoying them, watched the shoreline slowly transform from hazardous rock to murky swamp, to Saint Denis' artificial coast of breakwalls and harbour docks. He was offered a coffee and piece of bread, and took these down below deck to Ruby; a useful foil to speak with her, to suss out if she wanted to speak to him, in turn.

The little room where they'd been stationed for their journey was intended for four crew; two sets of narrow bunkbeds in an "L" shape, an arms' width of standing room, three drawers built into the wall for storage. When John entered, it took him a moment to spot Ruby; lain in an upper bunk, backlit by a porthole window facing out towards the opposing shoreline, legs crossed at the knee with the bare toes of her crossed leg skimming the ceiling, the Otis Miller comic open on her thighs.

Her head rolled to look to him, but her expression didn't warm, remained curious and consternated. He held up the slice of bread, the tin cup of coffee, still steaming. "Breakfast," he said, and then repeated, interrupted by the sudden sounding of the noon churchbells, heard warped and reverberated out on the water.

"Just in time, John," she mumbled, a small smile on her lips, leaning over to take the coffee and bread with a nod of thanks. She took a careful sip from the steaming cup, and then rolled back to supine, setting the coffee onto her stomach and holding the book aloft. He stood awkwardly, pretending to be interested in a small rumple in the empty bunk's coverlet, cleared his throat a few times. But she said nothing, pointedly interested in the book, and he couldn't think of anything to say in turn, so he exited, making for the deck once again.

John had never been one for social graces or intuition, but even he knew Ruby was ignoring him, so unlike her in all of their time together. It had to be where they were headed, has to be, he thought, again, clinging to hope at her determination to return with him despite their reason for going - saving Abigail and Jack from the clutches of affliction.

The changing view of the coastline - Van Horn, to Saint Denis, to the pronghorn-limned beaches southwest of Rhodes - served as a chronicle in reverse of his unexpected journey with Ruby, someone he hadn't thought he'd meet, much less admire; admire, much less adore. And he did adore her; a love different than what he'd ever felt for Abigail. He and his wife had been little more than two kids, ones who - she immediately, he eventually - did the best they could with the hand they'd drawn. But had he ever gripped Abigail to himself, felt his blood boil with want, dreamed wildly about her whenever they were separated; and they had been separated, many times in as many years?

John spat the bitterness from his mouth over the boat's railing, wiped at his lips just as a crew member urged him to return to his room. "The captain don't want anyone out in the dark who don't need to be, Sir, if you'll pardon me."

"Sure, yes, 'course," he nodded, stepping from his view of the glassy, dark green water; the ripples gilded in the rays of the setting sun. He hurried to their room, galvanized by his reflections above deck, and Ruby rose to sitting upon his somewhat dramatic entrance, flinging their oblong door open with a metallic screech, eyeing him cautiously.

But he grew timid, confronted with her, lit by a small lantern hung on a hook protruding from the wall. He seized her dangling ankle, gently, looking at her foot instead of her face when he asked, "You get a lot of reading done today?"