𝙼𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚢𝚖𝚗 | 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝙸

Act I | Chapter VI

. Deals .

«────── « ⋅ ☆ ⋅ » ──────»

Pearson's attention drifted from the embers of his cooking station to the two approaching figures. He offered a small smile to you, nothing more, but greeted Arthur in his gruffly reedy voice. "Mr. Morgan."

Arthur nodded in reply, asking, "How're things in here, Mr. Pearson?"

Pearson coughed, a huff of heat that created a fog with each exhale. "We're gonna starve to death up here, Mr. Morgan."

Jane, who had returned her bowl for washing and was already starting her trodden path back stopped at those words, turning to face the two once again.

"We're okay..." Arthur brushes off, watching as Pearson shifted around his station, organizing the few morsels of food the gang did have. He spared a glimpse over at Jane, eyes scanning over her huddled form.

Pearson shook his head and marched over to a stone counter-space where some number of cans laid about. "We have a few cans of food and a rabbit... For what, ten, twelve people?"

The gang's cook suspired in agitation as he hefted up a crate and began boxing up the few food resources he had. He kept his focus on his task he assigned himself, but still held up his end of the conversation. "When I was in the Navy—"

"I-I do not wish to hear about what you got up to in the Navy, Mr. Pearson," Arthur brusquely cut off with a wave of his hand. Jane edged closer, a gust of shrill wintery wind cutting through her clothes and  sending relentless shivers through her sore bones. She stepped under the shelter and took to reposing herself against the wall, sitting atop a sturdy crate. Arthur gestured to Jane loosely with a hearty scoff. "I doubt Ms. Abernathy here would like to either."

Jane widened her eyes and before she could respond, Pearson continued on with a disesteemed inflection in regards to Arthur's quip. He picked up the now-full crate and cast a scowl in the gunslinger's direction. "We were stranded at sea for fifty days."

"And you unfortunately survived..." Arthur matched the cook's timbre, not missing a beat in biting back with loaded sarcasm. Jane's mouth quirked up at the witty remark, finding the slightest amount of amusement from this small conversation.

Pearson, however, was not having it. His cheeks puffed out and his brow furrowed menacingly. He slammed down a knife onto the small wooden counter, next to the freshly skinned rabbit. His expression glared at Arthur. "When we ran away from Blackwater, I wasn't able to get supplies in."

Arthur stared after Pearson defensively as the cook grabbed a large bucket of water roughly. Not letting any of Pearson's lip go unscathed, he marched toward the coal pit where the large pot of water was placed, and where Pearson busied himself.

"Well when government agents are hunting you down, sometimes shopping trips need to be cut short," Arthur pointed out in a nonchalantly sarcastic manner, slowing until he was directly across Pearson. His eyes shifted to Jane's and he nodded assuringly to the both of them. "We'll survive. We always have..."

Pearson ignored Arthur, still peeved with the lack of resources to work with. Jane, still resting on the crate, remained quiet throughout the bickering, simply grateful for the distraction from the chaos that is her current healing mind.

Arthur smirked under his breath and teased, "And if need be, we can always eat you. You're the fattest."

Pearson turned, and the look of utter distaste on his face left Jane in a fight between her self-control and the violent urge to laugh out loud. She couldn't tell if the shock from such a statement was what made the urge so strong, or if Arthur simply had the quickest humor in the West.