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...
Taking a deep breath, calming your nerves, you lifted your prairie skirt over the wooden decking leading in to the Parlour House. The grand building shrouded with flowers and shrubbery, stood two stories high. Weathered-white painted balconies allowed the townsfolk to look out over their prudish settlement; ladies sat with fan's in one hand and liquor in the other. A sense of severe misplacement invaded your form as you made your way into the entrance of the building.
A spiral staircase towered to your left. Booths nestled into the front facing windows of the Parlour were surrounded by tables of various sizes; covered with white table cloths. Banisters connected the staircase providing a balcony rather than a ceiling, letting patrons upstairs to look down their noses at the coming's and going's of the saloon. A pianist in the corner chimed various uplifting songs for the so called higher class society revellers of the establishment.
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An obnoxiously sized hat with a giant pheasant feather poking out of the silk banding caught your eye. The bartender, placing a glass down on her table, only reaffirmed your thinking that this woman had to be Mrs Gray. The puffed sleeves of her baby blue day dress stretched as she reached for her glass of fine brandy. Cautiously approaching her, you felt underdressed in her presence.
"Mrs.. Gray?" You questioned. Her warm brown eyes peaked from underneath her hat. "Yes?" She replied to your relief.
"Good Afternoon," reaching your hand out to greet her, "I'm Mrs Callahan—I was told by your husband I could find you here." She set her glass down on the table, Mrs Gray just as apprehensive as you.
"M-my husband and his associates met with your husband—somethin' about.. moonshine?" You leaned in to the chair, "I try not to involve myself in such—manly business." The part of clueless wife struck gold.
"Oh my gosh—of course!" She stood up dramatically flailing her arms towards you, "Please, take a seat." Offering you a chair.
Pulling the chair under your legs, Mrs Gray clicked her fingers; summoning the frazzled bartender over with a glass of fine brandy for you.
You got to making up some tragic sob story about how yours and Arthur's livelihood was ruined by a violent gang, who torched the farm shared in ownership with Dutch and Bill.
"So, we stowed what little we had in a wagon we'd salvaged and—here we are!" Mrs Gray was visibly distressed at your manuscript.
"Oh—my.. You poor thing," She placed her palm on your hand for support.
"That explains the gun." You glanced down, taking your arm away to cover the holstered revolver.
"Uh—yes, well," You stammered, trying to quickly reason on the spot.
"My husband works so hard, he can't always be with me—" You started.
"I cannot just let my life be defined by fear, so I just carry it with me for security." You lied, taking a small sip of liquor to avoid any more questions about why a lady of your apparent stature would need to be carrying a weapon.
