Dutch's Daughter [[RDR2 Arthur Morgan x OC]]

chapter 26; wolf in sheep clothing pt. 1

"You say one goddamn, smart mouthed thing, Mr. Morgan and yer' dead." Charlotte sneers through gritted teeth, attempting to smash down the fluffed layers of the royal red skirt swallowing her waist. 

Arthur raises his hands to shoulders, attempting to keep back a boyish laugh. "I wasn't gon' say a thing."

"Oh, I'm sure." Her eyes narrow in on him briefly before she's distracted trying to stretch enough to breath in the tight contraption cinching her waist.

"It's not everyday we gang women get invited to high class garden party, I envy you Ms. Van der Linde." Abigail chimes, spinning around her masterpiece. She'd spent the better half of an hour working Charlotte into her carefully curated outfit. Her interlocked hands press to her cheek, tilting her head in admiration as she looks her over. "I think you look beautiful!"

"More life a wolf in sheep's clothing." Arthur chuckles, poking at the long peacock feather protruding from her elegantly twisted hair.

"What did I tell you, you son of a-" Charlotte lunges forward, hands stretching out to claw his face but her wrist is caught in Abigail's hand. 

"Don't you go dirtying your dress, this was expensive! Behave!" Abigail scolds, forcing her into the cabin of the wagon.

"This is just ridiculous... how do you expect this-" Charlotte waves a hand down her body. "to fit in with all those fine city women with their rich husbands and big mansions? I ain't exactly... well mannered." She groans with disgust. 

Bill stifles a laugh as he climbs to his seat. "You look... like a lady." Before he can tease any further, a sharp elbow jabs between his ribs.

 "Lottie, one evening masquerading as a civilized woman won't kill you." Hosea gives her a sheepish smile. "You looking as good as you do makes the rest of look better just for knowing you." There's a long silent pause before all four men burst with laughter. 

"Damn you all!" Charlotte huffs, wishing her knife wasn't buried beneath a hundred layers of clothing. "I don't look any less ridiculous than the rest of you do!"

"We do look pretty ridiculous..." Arthur summarizes, looking at the other men in their cheap suits and poorly pomaded hair. The statement earns another round of hearty laughter. "I ain't never been to a ball in my life."

Dutch cracks open a bottle of liquor. "Nor have I, if I'm being completely honest."

"I used to, quite often back in the day." Hosea starts, taking the bottle from Dutch. "There could be fine pickings with all these rich folk attending."

"No, no... no pickpocketing!" Dutch warns. "We are here to make contacts, learn whatever we can. We are attending a prestigious party at the mayor's house and the guest of honor is the worst crook in town. I'm sure that we will find something!" He laughs, the rush of alcohol already making the crew a little more bubbly than usual.

At the front gate, they're immediately searched for any hidden weapons. Leave it to the Van der Linde's to try to sneak something in. In their own ignorance, they fail to search Charlotte, assuming that such a "fine lady" would never carry a vulgar object such as a gun. Dutch, Hosea and Bill lead the way inside, Arthur lingering behind. He looks to Charlotte, offering his arm only for it to be batted away. 

"You're a lady, don't you remember?" He teases, offering it once more. Begrudgingly, she takes it this time, straightening her spine to walk elegantly beside him into the mansion. "You don't look... that ridiculous." 

"Shut up, Morgan." She warns through her teeth.

"I mean it, you look real nice. I just ain't used to seeing you so dolled up. Course I'll always prefer the real Lottie than can outshoot me any day." He leans closer to plant a kiss on her head when the feather jabs into his eye. "You tell John I said that and I'll kill you." He jokes, swatting the feather out of his face. 

"What a way to die..." She smirks.

Dutch sends off Hosea and Bill to begin socializing. Luca, their escort, leads them upstairs to the balcony where Signor Bronte watches over the party, smoking overpriced imported cigars with equally rich colleagues. The french doors open and the Italian man lights up with sudden excitement. "Ah, the angry cowboys! You've arrived. And you've washed!" He exclaims, rambling something in his native tone to the men around him before shaking hands with Dutch and Arthur. His eyes land on Charlotte, looking her up and down. "And you've brought something... bellisima."

"Signor Bronte, this is my daughter, Charlotte Van der Linde and you've met Mr. Morgan."

"Of course, of course... Morgan. What beautiful creature hangs from your arm, no?" His Italian accent rolls from the tongue as he takes her hand, pressing it to his lips, looking up at her with hungry eyes.

"So, this is Saint Denis high society?" Dutch leans over the railing, looking down at the finely dressed people sipping champagne from crystal glasses.

"Yes, apparently so. They certainly are afraid of me..." Bronte steps to Dutch's side, starting up a conversation about local politics as he points all of the important people. The mayor of Saint Denis, Henri Lemieux is the first he points out, followed by an Alberto Fussar, come all the way from his sugar plantation on the island. Luca returns to the balcony with a selection of cigars to hand out to the men. Arthur takes one, bumming a light from the stranger beside him. Charlotte reaches to take one but he turns away just seconds before she can grab the last cigar. Without thinking, she grabs Luca by the wrist, twisting it back in sudden anger.

"Uh, darlin'..." Arthur mutters, pinching her side briefly. Reminded of the setting they find themselves in, she gathers her composure, loosening her grip with a kind smile. "Be a dear and bring me a drink, would you?" She coos, batting her eyes.

Luca shakes off the shock. "Er... of course, miss." He manages to stutter before scurrying back inside.

"That is Hobart Crowley. A confederate major in the war. A big hero they say, but that is his... his very young wife." Bronte gestures to the thin woman barely over twenty pressed into the elderly mans chest. "A wife so young, it's unseemly. Now, a young mistress-" his eyes dart back to Charlotte. "that is the natural order of things, no?" 

Arthur snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her close in defense. Dutch's eyebrows knit together in frustration, eager to get the attention off of her. He points down at a pair of gentlemen approaching the mayor with a letter in hand, rifling off questions for Bronte to eagerly answer.

The conversation winds to an end on the important note of a trolley station stocked full of cash. "It has been wonderful conversing with you, Signor Bronte." Dutch shakes his hand once more, stumbling on the word signor. "It's clear you are a very busy man, we won't take any more of your time."

"Yes, yes, go enjoy yourselves and mingle with these vulgar scums. It'll make you long for the days when you could shoot each other and screw cows out on the open range." Bronte laughs.

"Those were the days..." Arthur feigns, Charlotte's teeth audibly grinding.

"You, my dear..." Bronte takes her hand once more, petting it fondly. "Come visit soon, a face as beautiful as yours is such a rare treasure meant to be worshipped." He kisses her hand delicately, lips lingering a moment too long.

"Well, how lovely it has been to be in such fine company for once. Thank you so much for inviting us, Mr. Bronte." Charlotte curtsies, waving a delicate fan bashfully in front of her face. "Good day, gentlemen." Practically dragging Arthur by the arm, they strut back to the party, leaving Bronte and his men to watch like vultures alone.

"Va bene uomini, ora il buon vino." Bronte snaps his fingers, relieved to be rid of the foul country hicks.