This will [hopefully] eventually be a fan-fiction about my OC (Willa Hart) based on Red Dead Redemption 2 that I've been planning and storyboarding for a while, but I'm lazy so until I actually get around to drafting a cohesive story here are some m...
OC x Sean (formerly) Angsty and sad as hell. Sorry.
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Arthur and I rode along in silence most of the way back to camp, my eyes fixed forward. A few times I caught him turning to look at me in my peripheral, but if any of those times he had planned to say something he always ultimately decided against it. For once I appreciated that Arthur was an emotionally unavailable oaf of a man. Trivial sympathies were the last thing I wanted to hear right then. He will be missed. He was a good man. He deserved better. Too young. Too cruel. I'm so -
Am I blinking? My eyes are starting to sting. I'm still just staring forward, like a corpse. Corpses don't blink. Someone else needs to close a corpse's eyes for them. Or the ravens come. My brows furrow. Did anyone close Sean's eyes? I can't remember. It's harder to breathe. Arthur looks at me again and this time I look back. He brings his horse to a stop and mine follows suit. Without the rhythmic beating of hooves on dirt the world feels quiet.
"Willa..." he starts to say, finally breaking the silence. That's when I remember. No one closed his eyes. No wait, his eye. One eye. Singular. The other one was blown out with the rest of his head by a Gray's rifle, right onto me. I look down at my hands, then my arm, then my chest. I see the blood, I see him, and I break.
Screaming turns to sobbing as I wipe and pull and claw at the stained fabric clinging to my skin. Before I know what's happening, Arthur is pulling me off of my horse and lowering me onto the ground. Tears stream from my eyes making streaks in the dried blood on my face. I scream and gasp for breath, fist clenched tightly around some loose fabric from Arthur's shirt. We stand there like that for a few minutes, him holding me as I weep. At first all he can manage is a solemn "I know." He repeats that a few times as my shouting becomes crying becomes whimpering and my grip on his shirt relaxes. Eventually he speaks up again, this time saying a sympathetic, "it's all gonna be okay." He really should have quit while he was ahead.
Anger replaces grief as I shove Arthur away from me and take a step back. "Fuck, Arthur! How?!" A mixture of shock and concern spreads across his face as I yell at him. "How the hell could anything be okay again after that?! After what I saw! After he-" the words catch in my throat and I stop myself before breaking down again.
"Shoot, Will, I don't know! I was just tryna help!"
"Well maybe you should stop!" I snap at him.
As much as he probably wants to, Arthur resists the urge to shout back. Instead he watches in tense silence as I make my way over to the short stone wall on the side of the road and sit down. After a moment I hang my head. "I'm sorry, I didn't... it's just-"
"Hey now, none of that," he cuts me off. "This whole... business... it's fucked. And you... well... there's nothing to say."
After a pause I meet his gaze. "You should really stick to shootin, old man. Talking isn't your thing."
Arthur lets out a short chuckle, which turns into a quick cough, then holds out a hand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up before we head back."
