Playing Dangerous ↠ ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

chapter 17; ultraviolence

'With his ultraviolence.'

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From the very first moment the three men's horses trotted onto the wooden bridge, Arthur had a great sense of misplacement.

They were leaving behind thick bogs, murky weather and wild uncultivated landscapes – and headed straight into the jaws of industrialism.

Riding into Saint Denis, the ground beneath them merged from soft dirt to harsh cobbles, and suddenly the streets became aflush with all varieties of people – workers going about their day, the rich enjoying their leisurely times in the backs of luxurious carriages. But most prevalent of all were the boys themselves, the three of them stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of the mass crowd of city folk. It was just a further reminder of how they were living in a world that didn't belong to them anymore.

Glancing across to his left, Arthur received some very unsure looks from John, who was clutching onto Old Boy's reins just that bit tighter. This city felt a totally alien place, the fancy brick facades of the buildings seemed to scream at them to turn away and head back to the simplicities of the country.

"Right then, gentleman," Dutch chimed all of a sudden – a total juxtaposition to both John and Arthur as he seemed almost excitable about the potential prospects this city held. "Where shall we start?"

As quick as anything, Arthur and John shot each other a confused look – an open ended question that neither of them really knew the answer to.

Luckily for them, it seemed Dutch had been thinking of a suitable answer himself. On the street corner stood a very fancy saloon, it seemed to be bustling with life even thought it was merely midday.

"Someone in there must know something." He answered his own question with a quiet low rumble of his voice, and coaxed The Count on with a few short nudges into the horse's side. Arthur and John just felt like two children following in two whilst their parent made all of the decisions.

Tethering up the three horses to the right of the saloon's doors, these three outcasts prepared themselves to set foot inside.

"Just act cool, we're just goin' in to ask a few questions. Nothin' more." Dutch lectured them both, before instinctively taking the lead inside – flinging those double doors open with a swaggering stride that wasn't too dissimilar to a rowdy stallion.

Some heads turned, which was only natural – men dressed in fancy suits playing poker who had a look about them that spelled scepticism. Dutch made his unmoved direction straight for the bar, where it appeared the bartender already was frowning slightly.

"I see your type, gents." The barman said, being polite enough, "I don't want no troubles."

"You won't get no trouble from us." Marston was quick to defend with those gravelly tones, an annoyed look on his face already that this place seemed to stink of people who thought they were better than everyone else.

Dutch raised his hand slightly to John, and gave him a cautionary look like a parent would do to their unruly child. His darkened gaze then met the nervous looking bartender, with an overly nice smile.

"Don't worry, son. We ain't here to stir up any trouble." Dutch excused you all, "In fact we're quite new here. Heard there's a lot of money – prosperity... to be made in a city like this one." The gang leader's tone was now low, and leaned across the bar slightly.

"Do you happen to know the person I can speak to for such matters?" Dutch's tone was a accumulation of cool collectiveness and silver tongued charm. The man had ways of getting what he wanted out of people.