When Hearts collide (An Arthur Morgan Rdr2 fanfiction)

Chapter 10: Fishing for trouble

The next few days, could've gone better. Everyone in camp, were either staring at us, or whispering about us. It looked like Strauss had indeed made mine and Peyton's relationship, public. I wasn't too surprised, seeing as I had a feeling, he was going to. Even still, Peyton and I should've been the ones, to announce it, when we felt ready to do so. Strauss had taken that opportunity, from us. And neither Peyton or myself, were too happy with the man. In fact, we refused to even talk to him. We avoided him, like the plague. I found it better that way, honestly. I didn't much care, for collecting his stupid debts, anyhow. Too much of a hassle to deal with.

As I was pouring coffee for myself and Peyton, I overheard Karen whispering to Mary Beth. Only, they weren't exactly whispering. Karen was known, for having a rather big mouth. Especially, when she hit the bottle. Which judging by the looks of it, she was doing just that. Even still, the things she was saying, were really starting to piss me off.
"I don't understand, what Arthur even sees, in her. I mean, hell, she ain't even beautiful. She's plain, compared to the rest of us women," she says.
"Are you kidding? She's drop dead gorgeous. And, honestly, she makes him happy. He deserves that much," Mary Beth says.
"I could've made him plenty happy. I mean look at me. I'm beautiful, and I got a nice pair on my chest, here. You'd think he'd notice that, and beg to be with me," Karen states.
"You know, Arthur only sees you like a sister. He sees me that way, too. Why can't you realize that, and leave the poor man alone?" Mary Beth replies, sticking up for me.
"Because, I wanna know, what's beneath them clothes, of his," Karen says.

Angered, and very uncomfortable with what she'd just said, I turn and make my way over to them.
"Well, you ain't ever gon' find out. Mary Beth, would you please excuse us? I need a word with Karen, alone," I say.
"Sure, of course," Mary Beth says, making her leave.
"Hey, you can't just butt in, on our conversation," Karen says, hiccuping drunkenly.
"I can, and will. You've no business talkin' that way, bout me. Nor do you have any business talkin' trash on Peyton," I say.
"I can say, whatever I damn well want. It should be me, you're kissin' on. It should be me, you're sharin' a bed with. It should be me, you're rollin' in the hay with. Me!" She says, drawing attention to us both.
"You're drunk, Karen. You need to toss the bottle, and go back to bed. Wake up in better spirits," I say.
"I'm not drunk. I ain't never been drunk. And I ain't gotta do nothin'," Karen says, her voice raising an octave.

Finding this whole mess humiliating, I try to focus on my next words.
"You are drunk. And, I'm advisin' you to stop, while you're ahead," I say.
"I don't need your advice. I need your love," she says.
"Well, I'm sorry, Karen. But, I don't see you as anythin' more, than a little sister, to me. I'm sorry, if hearin' that hurts you. But, you are not now, nor are you ever, goin' to be anything more than that. And, you ain't never gonna live your fantasy, of ever seein' me naked, either," I say.
My comment, hit home. Karen whirls, preparing to hit me, when Peyton shows up, stopping her in her tracks.
"You even dare, touch my man, and you'll regret it," she says, gripping Karen's arm, in a strong yet tight grip.
"Let go of me," Karen says.
"Drop the bottle," Peyton snarls, applying pressure, to Karen's wrist.

The bottle falls to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces.
"There, now. Now that you did what I asked, get the hell out of our sight. Oh, and uh, you may wanna go to the wash barrel and wash your face. You look like a clown, had sex with it," Peyton says.
The coffee I hadn't yet swallowed, nearly spewed from my mouth, at that comment, as I tried to hide a laugh. Peyton had guts. I'd give her that.
Embarrassed, and appalled by the comment, Karen stalks off to her tent. Peyton turns to me.
"Sorry, about that," she says.
"No, don't apologize. That was by far, the funniest encounter, I've ever seen," I say.
"Not like she didn't deserve it. Coming onto you like that," she says.
"Ha, not a chance in hell. She ain't my type," I say.
"Good. Who wants to be with a drunk, anyhow?" She asks.