Ghosts of the Past [ RDR2 - Arthur Morgan ]

Chapter 20 - Fighting is for the strong

WORD COUNT - 2218

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The small town of Valentine had proved a good place to settle for a few hours of wasting time. Arthur Morgan and Rosemary Levenson got along just as well as they always did while they sat and ate and prolonged their time alone in the saloon. As Rosemary had always remembered, Arthur was a perfect gentleman, through and through. So when he left to answer nature's call, she found herself smiling dreamily. Maybe - just maybe - things will work out in the end. She'll have her Arthur and he'll have his Rose. And it can be as though they were always together.

Although Rosemary, when left alone for any amount of time, found herself remembering why she decided not to move here. Sure, it was a bigger town than Strawberry. Had more amenities. Yet in the long run it was still mostly kept alive by women of the night, and the calibre of men of which accompanied them.

Arthur's vacant seat left an opening beside Rosemary. She was quiet as she sipped her drink, waiting for her companions' inevitable return - when the heavy thump of a man dropping down beside her, confirmed she was no longer having the luxury of a quiet drink.

Working as a bar wench for many years had given Rosemary the ability to shut rowdy men out. Ignore them, she'd tell herself, and they tend to get bored. But that only works when you have that seemingly magical safety barrier or the bar between yourself and the offending party.

"Hey... pretty." His voice stunk fowl. If she'd had any better eyesight, Rose was certain there would be green wisps coming from his mouth. His open disregard for boundaries, however, was, by far, his worst feature.

Attempting to put the man down gently, Rosemary simply said "Sorry, Mister. That seat's taken."

"I don't see no one sittin' here." He pushed, a hand finding its way over the back of Rosemary's shoulder.

The action had the immediate effect of Rosemary squirming away, a look of irritation clear on her face "Would you mind your manners? I ain't here to be groped in public."

"You're in a saloon alone, girl." The drunkard barked a laugh "You mind your place."

And as the stranger reached for her once more, he found his hand impeded by another. Far larger and stronger was the hand that gripped the stranger's wrist with painful force "She ain't alone." That slow southern drawl of a man quick to anger threatened more than a sore wrist "Why don't you take a hint and walk away. And don't touch her again. Ya hear?"

Arthur Morgan's glare was enough to send chills down the fiercest animal's spine. Yet the stranger seemed to have no sense of self preservation "Or what?" The stranger demanded with a slur as he looked up into the face of the man glaring down at him.

"Or I'll break both your wrists before you can get close."

"Oh big tough guy." The drunkard laughed, moving as though to get up.

One loud, sickening crack later, and Arthur let go of his hand. The drunkard crumpled to the ground in a wail of pain and sobs. "Shit! Shit my wrist. This man broke my wrist." He cried out.

The saloon seemed to hush into silence. "In my defence - he was warned." Arthur said, holding up one hand to the onlookers as a weak placation, while using the other to finish his whiskey left on the table. "C'mon, Rose, we should go."

Almost watching on in some form of confusion, perhaps apprehension, Rosemary stepped around the still wailing man to follow Arthur from the bar. Her eyes flickered to the onlookers, who watched her every move with equal trepidation. A cold sickness bubbled up in her.