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...
Arthur and John tacked through the crevasse that lay between Twin Stack Pass. John made numerous inquiries into a train robbery tip off; figuring the best way to carry out said job was to steal an oil tanker from Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, blowing the tracks and inevitably stopping the train.
"Marston," Arthur started, "y'r the only person t' have nearly half his brains eaten by a wolf, and come back smarter." Arthur played off his jibe with a laugh; John knowing fine well he meant what he said.
"What's y' problem, Arthur?" Marston snapped back at his brother. "My problem is y' nearly left us, again." Arthur snarled.
"Let it go, for Christ's sakes," John elevated his rasped tone over the galloping of hooves. "I'm back now, ain't I?"
"Yeah, for now." Arthur muttered underneath his breath.
Caliban and Old Boy continued to carry their horsemen through the vast open plains of the Heartland's. Rather than focusing on the job at hand, Arthur's mind floated back to you; his mild hangover also leaving him wondering if he had made a fool of himself.
"So," Marston bringing Old Boy to a slower canter, "What's happenin' with that girl, (y/n), n' you?" John smirked, prying for details.
"Agh.. Nothin' much," Arthur lied, down-playing his feelings towards you, "I—hm, I—prob'ly made a fool of m'self." He admitted, slowing his steed to meet John's pace.
"I saw you two dancin'," John teased, "she's sweet on you, Arthur, be a damn shame if y' didn't let her in." Marston referred to Arthur's well guarded feelings; his heart had been broke by a woman once before, swearing he would never let it happen again.
"I know.. y'know, Mary n' all," John tested his boundaries, skirting around the subject, "But (y/n).. She's different, she's—One of us." Marston was right, you were different, an all kind of different that made Arthur's heart excited again.
"I'm too old for that now, Marston," Arthur scoffed, "what in the hell woulda' girl like her want in a man like me? Not to mention the life we chose," Self-deprecation filled Arthur's tone.
"A relationship couldn't work proper anyway, hell, yours n' Abigail's is barely hangin' on by a thread." John knew Arthur's harsh words rang true. "Y'r right, but we make it work somehow, jus' like you and (y/n) could, if y' just let her in."
"Who said I was sweet on her in the first place? God—Dammit, Marston." Arthur fumbled, digging his spurs in to Caliban's sides; escaping from the verity of Marston's words.
John chuckled, he knew he was getting through to his brother in arms, "Whatever y' say, Morgan!" Kicking his steed to stride with Arthur.
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Safely stowing the oil tanker amongst a wooded area in Dewberry Creek, Arthur sank to the ground in exhaustion; back propped against one wheel of the wagon. John had detoured in to Valentine to pick up a list of items Abigail had requested, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts.
Pulling his journal from his satchel, he skimmed his eyes over the entry he made about you. Arthur bullied himself over the validity of John's observations, he was closed off and for good reason. You were an outlaw, and had chosen this life; just the same as any of the gang had. What Arthur doubted was whether you were as fond of him, as he was of you.
Arthur's mind wondered off to the night you shared in his cot bed, the way your skin felt under his finger tips; your (e/c) irises, blood shot and glassy; the way his named rolled off your tongue; how good it felt to see sunrise with you wrapped in his arms. "Agh—Christs sakes." Arthur slammed his journal shut, rubbing his forehead in frustration.
Nightfall quickly eloped over Scarlett Meadows, foxes screamed as the Gunslinger raced Caliban back over the Heartlands. Even if the future of the gang was uncertain and turbulent, Arthur knew one thing was set in stone - he needed to speak to you.
