Know My Name - a RDR2 Story

An O'Driscoll's Charming Past

Let me tell you a story about a young 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...

Guys, I'm running out of title names someone please help me.

TW!: violence, guns, murder, blood
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Kam was up earlier than usual. She couldn't sleep and it was draining her emotional health one brain cell at a time. It was about 2am when she decided that laying on the ground, pretending to be asleep--which wasn't doing anything. Kieran snored like a beast. The amount of self-control she had to not smother him with a pillow was astronomical.

She got up from her sleeping bag on the ground, sighing with slight frustration from her lack of sleep lately. She found herself walking towards her usual table, trying to think of something to occupy her mind with before the sun rose, and she was forced to work with three other degenerates. Kam didn't mind sitting by herself; in fact, when she was a new recruit to the O'Driscoll gang, that's all she would do.

The only person she would even remotely acknowledge was Colm, and even then, she avoided him as much as possible. Eventually, she came around and began to hang around Colm a lot more often, and a friendship would flourish from that alone. Her mind wandered towards her dad, and she couldn't help but think wonder how he was doing after all the shit they'd been through together.

Kam? Well, she was a fucking mess the first week or two Colm decided that money was worth more than her life. She could only hope Colm was groveling due to her absence. She wanted revenge, and hopefully the train job, kidnapping Eden Cornwall, and the incident in Chicago would get his attention. But what would she do if it did get his attention? Crawl back to him? Beg him to take her back home?
No. Because that wasn't was Kam O'Driscoll was about. Kam was stubborn and resilient. She wasn't prepared to forgive him even if he offered her one million dollars and a paid trip to Europe. It would take more than money to make Kam go back to Colm. It would take something that Colm wouldn't do nor say to his own mother and father. She wanted an apology.

The oldest O'Driscoll sat down at her table and began to take out every gun she owned. She set them all on a table, organizing them from clean to dirty carefully. Twelve guns laid in front of her, and that was just the ones she had on Brutus--Kam still had a crateful back at her the other camp. One by one, she began to clean each gun meticulously. From her Colt M1898 to her Winchester Rifle, they were all given a good scrub with gun oil.

A kerosene lamp illuminated her table, allowing Kam to work diligently in the night--or she supposed it was the morning instead. She worked in no rush. She wanted these bad boys cleaned thoroughly before her mission tomorrow, and with that, they'd have to be in top shape. She reloaded all of them swiftly, making sure they were all ready to go by the time Dutch called her over.

Kam wouldn't be awake when Dutch would call her over.
Sometime during the cleaning process, Kam fell asleep. She told herself that she'd lay her head down on the table for just one minute. Well, one minute turned into six hours, and by the time she woke up, the sun had risen high over the horizon.

Her arms lay over her head as if she was concealing her thoughts from the outside world. Her forehead rested on the cold, wooden table as she slept, splinters threatening to dig into her scalp if she moved for even a second. Her hands were limp as they dangled an inch from her skull, nearly cutting off the circulation that flowed in her veins thanks to the awkward angle. Hosea would be the one to wake her up.

"Hey- what are you doing out here?" Hosea asked, lightly shaking Kam's shoulder in attempt to wake her up.

Well, wake her up, he did. She practically jumped awake at Hosea's touch, grabbing the nearest gun in her grasp and taking no time to aim it at the old man's temple as she fell out of her seat. Her breath was slightly labored, and her eyes shone a crazed look, but that didn't stop her from having a steady hand with a gun. Hosea looked more shocked than a deer spotting a hunter in the forest.