Outlaws for Life (Red Dead Redemption 2)

Chapter One: A Quiet City

Hello friends! Welcome to the rewriting of Outlaws for Life. If you are knew, I hope you'll like it, if you have already read it in the past, well I hope you'll enjoy the changes. I felt the story was written too badly and I wanted to dedicate it more time, so here we are!

Enjoy!

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Valentine. Sheep and mud. Curious how they can call it a city.

The high chimneys that spit their black smoke towards the sky; the stink of sewer that fills the nostrils; the noise of trains and stagecoaches that swarms the air together with the voices of thousands of people.

Here, there is nothing like that. Here, they have no idea of what a city is and people are much different than in one of those big urban conglomerates: they are kinder and simpler, or at least that's the first impression they have given me; they seem to live without many demands, day after day, they help one another, and they are friendly even with people who are, like me, new to the surroundings.

There are some flaws in it of course. The wide street that goes through the various shops and bureaus is covered in mud, which is marked with the wheels of stagecoaches and horses's hooves, and this is a terrible flaw because... I've never liked mud, even though I think I've got used to it after many years spent in a ranch.

And moreover, Valentine people's conversations are kind of boring: I swear, I've been here for almost a week and I've heard the same things again and again. I guess they don't have much to talk about.

Since I'm here, I've kind of created my own routine. Every morning I go to the city stable where I take care of my horse and those they keep there for the sale. I take no money from the horse keeper, so he won't ask me anything for keeping there my Isabella: an appaloosa of dark brown coat with a black and white spotted back. It's called barter.

Then, I sit outside on one of the numerous benches with the "city old men", chatting, making myself known and trying to appear kind and friendly, but not anyone likes me: apparently women with trousers are frowned upon even here in the "West".

At noon, I reach the saloon where the barman, who has become like a sort of friend to me, gives me something to eat and I keep myself busy helping him with the serving and cleaning.

Like this, I've spent days here, but still I have no news. No one's heard a thing about a group of people that left Blackwater and that could buzz around. And now, I'm doubtful. Yet, they have to pass through here if they're going east. I'm quite sure they can't go west, but if they moved through the north, they can be everywhere by now.

Wait. That's all I can do. Wait and hope and think of a plan B just in case they won't show up in the next few weeks.

.................

Another day has passed. I wander in the streets, greeting the citizens and, between an argument and the other, I ask them if they've seen some new faces around.

The answer is yes, new faces have appeared in the surroundings, but for them it isn't something odd because Valentine is a place of transition from the west to the east and vice versa. Quite a bummer, right?

I'm outside the hotel seated near two elders who are talking lively about taxes, when I see three man at horseback passing right in front of me. Two have dark hair and skin - one seems a South American and one a Native - and the last one is white with brown hair and beard. New faces, but nothing familiar. I only know three of the gang members, those I've seen on the posters in Blackwater, those with the biggest bounties on their heads.

The three stop the horses in front of the saloon and get down slowly. They exchange a few words and give a few looks around, and then two of them go inside the saloon while the one with the long beard keeps walking down the street.