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(Red Dead Redemption 2) Tulip is a gunslinger who's a 33 years old woman with few words, her name means nothing less and is nothing more. Willow is a young orphaned girl who's 17 and a victim of the cruel world of the wild west and is...
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" -Horseshoe Overlook- "
"Yesterday, I recalled Arthur talking to Mary-Beth. His words - something about the world not wanting us kinds of folks no more - I couldn't help but overhear it. It's been a few weeks. Days? I haven't had the slightest of clue, honestly. I never had paid much attention or bother to keep track of them days..."
Tulip was writing and drawing the corpse that had been seared into her memory, as if it was branding someone's skin. The beast of midnight swallowed her surroundings with its jaws of darkness. Tulip was laying on her somewhat comfy makeshift bed, busily focused upon her journal, much like Arthur from ways across the serene camp. The orange light from the lantern highlighted his figure, he was laying on his back though.
"Nasty sight, I saw."
Her pencil was quivering at such a vivid memory.
"Disgusts me to my very core. The very thought of it, the intentions, the process..."
Tulip accidentally wrote too fast and she misspelled in her cursive writings, she scribbled it out angrily.
"It revolts me. I wonder if I should forget it or if I should speak to Hosea about this - he always seems to understand."
She was pausing at every end of her written sentence, Tulip was thinking deeply, troubled. She glanced at the shiny silver pocket watch sitting next to her desk, ticking. Sometimes, when she was too concentrated on writing or sketching, the ticking would fade away. Tulip would unintentionally make time fly as her mind would be struck in a trance of dreamland.
"Perhaps I shouldn't. I don't want to burden anyone with my sorry life anyway."
With that, she placed her pencil in her book and closed it, ending the entry with a bitter thought. She rolled over on her back staring at the cloth that hung over her cot from their wagon. The journal laid on her belly carelessly as she sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Tulip didn't feel sleepy at all. No matter how hard she tried to tear her mind away of that disturbing scenery, she just kept thinking about it. It kept worming its way into each crack of her mind's mental barrier, feasting on her anxiousness.
Her mind wandered endlessly as she found herself still staring above her, she began to think of random things.
First, she gazed at the flower pin that folded the brim of her hat. She thought of her own name, Tulip. A flower that resembled love and romance, she'd scoff sourly at herself. It led to her next thought, about the flower in a jar next to Arthur's bed. Arthur Morgan, who was still somehow awake, when she shifted her head. Knowing how late it was, she had never realized that he would stay up quite a while. The beautiful flower in the jar was something his mother loved, it was in vibrant red. She can't quite remember when he had told her about it and bits of his own life, but it was surely years ago. Back when the gang was small, he didn't say too much himself. But before his old journal had burned in some fire, that book kept the backstories of Arthur's personal and tragic life. Willow didn't steal that one, because they both knew that he was broken back then.
