A Red Dead Redemption story.
A seasoned bounty hunter, you've buried your past beneath the weight of your work. But a brush with the notorious Van der Linde gang unravels everything. Amid bullets and bloodshed, you discover love and a sense of belon...
The shadows of the evening swamped the tree's and bushes that covered the breadth of Caliban's Seat. The cool breeze whipped your (h/c) over your face, your gaze still fixed on Arthur, your steady, delicate hands wrapped around your Revolver, positioned to shoot if he dared take a step closer to you.
"Everythin' I told y' was true, (y/n)." His voice played on your heart. However, your trauma response was fully triggered. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, unable to hear him for the anger that pulsed through your body.
"I trusted you, you've ran me out of the only place I felt safe after—" the tears burned.
"And Onyx—" Your voice cracked, repositioning yourself steady in the ground.
Not now, you pleaded with yourself to maintain your defensive composure; but you were tired of running and pretending.
You holstered your gun and dropped to your knees, exhaustion took over. Fury poured out of you in the form of tears. "I ain't cryin' 'cause I'm sad." Whimpering an explanation. Arthur wrapped his arm around you offering comfort.
"I know, I'm sorry, (y/n). Truly." You believed him.
Arthur stood up cautiously to unpack his tent and bedroll. "It's late t' be headin' back to my camp now," he started. "We best make do here until mornin' and we'll figure it out from there."
You were reluctant. Your trust in Arthur had dwindled, you felt a fool for even giving him the time of day. The code you so mercilessly stuck to escaped like a panicked deer in the Heartlands. But where else did you have to go? You admitted to yourself.
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With that, you gathered some kindling to get a fire going, Arthur tossed you a pack of matches from his satchel. Stuffing a few more logs into the campfire, the crackling and burning of the wood once again provided comfort.
Bringing your legs up to your chest, you stared into the fire, apprehensively waiting for Arthur to explain himself.
"Like I said, everythin' I told y' was true." He began. "Only thing I was dishonest about, was how I knew Micah. And believe me, if I had a choice, I would've left him to swing." He spat viciously.
Arthur told of his gang, how they'd been held up in an incident in Blackwater, made off up into the mountains and have settled just south-west of Valentine, in a place called Horseshoe Overlook. He spoke of the two men who raised him, Dutch and Hosea. Dutch having some questionable ideas, whilst Hosea being the voice of realism. Both skilled con-men.
"I love Dutch like a brother, Hosea like a father," he stated. "I try not to question Dutch, he's done a hell of a lot for us." Arthur took a gulp of a bottle of Guarma Rum he pulled from his satchel, for you both to share.
"We save the people who need savin', help the folks that need helpin'—" you scoffed, interrupting Arthur, "and kill the folks that need killin'?" you hissed.
