Ghosts of the Past [ RDR2 - Arthur Morgan ]

Chapter 37 - The weight of dreams

WORD COUNT 2112

Pleasr vote and comment!!

Chapter 37 - The weight of dreams

Lagras was muggy and swampish. The air was thick and hard to breathe. Almost as bad as the smog of Saint Denis. Almost. Yet the people seemed friendly enough, however odd. Thomas was a fisherman that Dutch had met. The details of their fishing conquests with a catfish was all the information Arthur needed to know that Dutch had woo-ed the man, just as he'd woo-ed many others.

The trolley job had been a disaster. Ending in yet another massacre. It seemed no matter how hard Arthur attempted to avoid too many casualties, he always found himself stepping over bodies. He could only thank the lord that the disaster hadn't made it to the north of the city, and brought Rose into the firing line he'd created.

At the end of the day, they only had 15 dollars each as a reward for the entire ordeal. Nothing. Pennies, practically. Arthur had promptly used that money as an attempt at an apology to Rose, for leaving her in Saint Denis alone all night. But she'd refused his offered gift that morning. And mentioned to Arthur, Jacob Coors had been around to make sure she was okay. Equal parts happy, and irritated at that news, he'd let it drop. But had still bought Rose a new journal in Rhodes - as hers seemed to be running low on space with all the medical notes and scribbles she wrote in it.

But one other thing had come out of the failed trolley job. Dutch's newfound thirst for vengeance against Angelo Bronte. It had all been a set up. No doubt about it. Bronte had told them to rob the trolley station, and made sure the law was there and waiting. And now Arthur found himself wading through waist deep water, and pausing for alligators to swim past.

Not an ideal night time activity. He'd much rather be with the gang, humming songs around the campfire. But they didn't do that so much any more. So maybe not songs—but Rose's company would be better than the gators.

Now that they'd finally broken past the 10 year wall between them, he never could seem to get enough of her. Any moment spent without his hands on her was a moment wasted. But since the O'Driscolls invasion, Rose hadn't quite been - well - Rose.

Arthur chose in this moment he would spare Rosemary the details of Angelo Bronte's execution at the hands of Dutch. The fact Dutch had fed the man, mostly alive, to an alligator was so incredibly not Dutch, that Arthur and John had both had to take a long moment to silence to comprehend what they had just watched.

"Jesus." John muttered quietly, as the other walked away. Leaving him and Arthur on the dock. "That ain't right. Ain't right at all." A large hand scrubbed down John's scared face, greasy hair moving as he shook his head. He cast a glance at Arthur, trying to gauge his reaction to the events as the final echoes of Bronte's pleading rang through the thick swamp air.

It seemed the older man was no more impressed by the display than John. Arms folded over his large chest, eyes squinted at the still moving rippled of water where Bronte had just disappeared. "Naw." Arthur hummed "feeding a man to an alligator." He repeated the act as though trying to rationalise it in his head "Typ'a brutality I didn't sign up for." But with one sigh, he rolled his shoulders "C'mon, Let's get back to camp."

"Reckon we spare the ladies this particular story." John grumbled a little as he followed Arthur away. Bill, Javier and Dutch were already long gone, leaving Laurel and Old boy patiently waiting for their riders.

The darkness of the night felt heavy on them both as the mounted up to ride. "Couldn't pay me to tell Rose about this." Arthur mumbled.

"Abigail'd probably feed me to an alligator if she found out." John rumbled a little. The journey began slowly. As though John and Arthur wanted to ensure they didn't catch up to the rest of the group. "How is Rose? After... well she aint seemed to colourful."