Know My Name - a RDR2 Story

Traitorous Bastard

Let me tell you a story about a woman who fell into two crowds: the good and the bad.
Of course, there are pros and cons to each category, but I suppose it only depends on the way you look at it...

TW!: swearing, torture, physical violence, drinking

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Again, Kam had gotten rarely any sleep last night. The majority of the night was spent trying not to focus on the pain in her feet and trying not to sit down. Her knees would buckle and unbuckle simultaneously, so she would adjust her feet trying to obtain a more comfortable position against the tree she was tied to. It would always end in her feet throbbing more.

The intensity of the situation she was in became more and more clear the more she viewed it. The more she struggled, the more torture she would be put through. She cursed herself every time she thought about it.

The morning seemed to come a lot slower than the previous night, mostly because every passing minute was used to think about Colm. It wasn't weird that she was worried about her father, was it? She looked up to him- she still looks up to him. He raised her. He may have taken her from her original birth parents, whom she remembered only bits and pieces of, but screw them anyways.

She hadn't remembered their first names, but she remembered quite a bit of what they looked like. Her dad had brown hair and dressed like a banker; he was a banker now that she thought about it. Kam had black hair like her mom, she was silent and loved to read. Her father wore a handlebar mustache like a professional lawyer, always dressed in a suit and tie with some kind of green accessory. Her mom loved the color purple, anything purple would catch her eyes: flowers, jewelry, dresses, clouds; she loved it all.

People around the Van der Linde camp reminded her all too well of the Shaull's. Dutch and his old man best friend both read a lot like her father. There were women around the camp who resembled her mother, like a woman with brown hair always pulled into some kind of ponytail. That woman always seemed to have a little boy within 5 feet of her; Kam could only assume that little boy was hers. He reminded Kam too much of herself as a child, always stuck to her mother's side until the age of 6.

Kam didn't speak after telling Charles to 'fuck off', and neither did he. The night was quiet after their brief conversation. Sometime after the sun had come up, Charles left to go talk to Dutch; Kam watched with a sense of anger as he strutted off towards the closest tent.
She wouldn't be able to hear their conversation, but she knew what their topic was: what to do with the O'Driscoll.

"So! He finally talked!" Dutch was cocky and loud. If Kam heard anything about their conversation, it would be anything Dutch said.

"Didn't say much though." Charles inquired as he talked to his companion. "But I might have found a way we can get into his thoughts."

Dutch was curious about this; curious and intrigued. "Go on."

"I had asked about who he really was."
"Who he really is? What's that supposed to tell me?"
"He completely disregarded the question. Changed the subject almost immediately. I think that's how we get to him."
"By askin' meaninless questions about his livelihood?"

"You know, Charles may have a point." Hosea, an old man and the best friend of Dutch, finally voiced his opinion on the matter; Dutch was eager to listen to his friend's wisdom.

"Kieran said he knew this young man, correct? Maybe Kieran knows more about Colm's right-hand than we ever will." Hosea looked up from his book as he spoke.

"So, we ask the O'Driscoll for information about the O'Driscoll. Seems reasonable enough." Dutch looked over to the dark-skinned man and smiled before speaking again. "Go find our friend Kieran. I would like to have a word with him."