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...
GUESS WHO'S BACK BITCHES!! Since I've been gone for over a year (sorry), I'll treat y'all to a little treat for being patient. This chapter is much longer than the others. Have fun.
TW!: blood, gore, graphic violence
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The ride to Rhodes was quiet. Tense, but at the same time, the air around the two outlaws felt light--flat, almost.
Typically, when Kam rode with another outlaw--whether it was Colm or Dutch or Hosea--there was a heavy feeling in her chest that made her feel uneasy, almost nauseous. She felt almost obligated to say something, start some sort of conversation with whomever she was riding with.
But right now? With Arthur? Kam welcomed the silence.
It had been a while since she was able to hear silence like this. The gentle wind pushing around leaves and dust, the sound of Brutus' hooves clopping against dirt trails, his breath strong and powerful. She missed this silence.
Being anywhere near the Van der Linde gang made it seem like silence was a luxury she could not afford. Sure, she could afford to pay off her--or rather her parents'--debt to Colm, but silence? She couldn't pull together enough money to bring silence to the Van der Linde gang.
"You're quiet," Arthur's voice breaks through the peace she had found comfort in.
"I'm always quiet," comes her reply, her eyes glued to the trail ahead as they ride down the same road they always rode through.
Unlike the last moment of quiet, the next period of silence that passes through them is tense, heavy. Forced.
And this time, Kam is thankful that Arthur breaks the silence, because--unlike the quiet before--this quiet no longer carries that peace she wanted.
"Read a newspaper left behind at camp," he says, "house caught on fire. Big fire, small house. Owned by some Pinkerton by the name of Michael Wills."
The name forced Kam's back to stiffen, a shockwave sent up her spine and into her brainstem like a cold shiver enforced by steel. She said nothing.
"You have anythin' to do with that?" Arthur asks, his tone firm yet gentle at the same time as if he was scolding her with a sort of tenderness.
Kam took a second to answer, trying to decide her next words carefully based on the tone of his voice. "Yes," she finally admits, her brows furrowing at the thought of that fucker. That lying bastard. That... she loses her train of thought--or rather, the motivation to curse a dead man.
Fucking backstabbing pig-fucker.
Okay, now she was done.
"Any reason as to why?" Arthur asked.
Kam huffed, starting to get annoyed by his constant questions and the knowledge that if she didn't answer all of them, he'd find out on his own, and that was the last thing she wanted to happen. "You remember that Pinkert'n that we caugh'?" she asks.
He nods.
"Found his boss," she tells him, "killed him. Set his house ablaze because he had incriminatin' evidence on yeh. On me. On Dutch."
Arthur looks at her, almost wary of the information given. "He's dead," she reassures him, "I made sure o' it."
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Know My Name - a RDR2 Story
FanfictionAt the young age of merely 13, Kambria was taken by a ruthless gang who go by "the O'Driscolls" while being robbed from her home in Saint Denis. She knew nothing about the West, didn't even know where BlackWater was, nor did she know who Colm O'Dris...
