the hat

Karen decided to have whisky with coffee instead of the other way around. Although she hasn’t been as close to Kieran as Mary-Beth, they still got somewhat along. And Tilly has been pretty rattled since that business with the Foreman brothers. It pains you that you weren’t able to join Miss Grimshaw and Arthur when they got her back.

It also pains you that you had no clue about her struggles in the first place. Something tells you that you could have done more to make her trust you enough to let you in on her troubles. But then again, you haven’t told any of them about your plans either. So far only Arthur knows and it’s just a tiny fraction of it too.

By now your secrets are stacked on top of one another like bricks of a tower. A very wobbly tower at that. They simmer inside you, desperate to break free. Telling the outlaw about Francis and his role in this whole mess has been beyond liberating, but it only started a chain reaction you fear. Now you’re craving to share more, to cut off more parts of your soul and hand it to someone else.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, the faint taste of copper coats your tongue and you stop for a moment. The taste transports of you back to yesterday and your two kills. Trembling, you force the memory to the very far back of your mind and nearly cry out with relief when a familiar outlaw steps into your line of sight.

“My lady.”, he greets you and you snort. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.”, you answer light heartedly.

“How are you today?”, he asks and you immediately fall silent.

Contemplating, you stare past him into the distance.

“I don’t know.”, you admit with a defeated sigh.

“Well enough to go to the city?”

“I think so.”

You have no idea if Saint Denis is the right place to go to at the moment with its grey brick walls and the filter of heavy, dark smoke draped over the streets. Breathing in, you can already smell the factory fumes, coal and horse shit. Amongst many other things that you don’t want to imagine right now.

Standing up, you nod and go to follow him to the horses when a set of blonde curls suddenly appears in front of you. Karen stops the two of you dead in your tracks and holds up a letter. Unfortunately, you can’t see who it’s addressed to, but your heart leaps all the way up into your throat.

Could it be Francis perhaps? Did he read Arthur’s letter and finally respond? Hope swells up inside your chest like a pot that’s boiling over.

“I got a letter from Mary.”, she says, dragging out the name.

Immediately your entire face drops. Not because you don’t like the woman, but because your disappointment is too great to mask. Averting your gaze to hide the shadow cast over your features, you step aside. This isn’t meant for you. Arthur reaches out to grab the envelope when Karen suddenly snatches it right out of his reach.

“It ain’t for you.”, she scolds and points at the name written on the paper. It’s yours.

With wide eyes, you accept the letter and just gawk at it for a solid minute. Granted, Mary and you have had quite a nice time together at the saloon, but never in a million years did you expect her to write to you. Suddenly grabbed by impatience and curiosity, you rip open the seal and fish the letter out.

My dear friend,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you again for helping me with Jamie and for the wonderful chat we had at the saloon. It was a nice change to run into a familiar face, but I just wish that the reason for this letter was a happier one.

You might have noticed during our conversation that something was troubling me and it does. It lies heavy on my chest and I am not sure who else to turn to. Seeing how you carry yourself, I am certain that you are more than capable and kind enough to lend a helping hand.

I am afraid we have gotten ourselves into yet another mess. It is not my fault, but I desperately need your help. Could you meet me at Hotel Grand when you have the time to spare?

Yours,

Mary

Your eyes sweep over the words repeatedly while your head is spinning. Concern is edged into your features and when you look up, it’s reflected on Arthur’s face as well.

“What’s wrong?”, he asks as you swiftly fold the letter and pocket it.

“Do you mind if we stop by Hotel Grand?”

“Why?”

The bite in his voice startles you and you stare at him with bewilderment.

“Mary’s in trouble and asking for help.”, you tell him, wondering where his sudden hostility is coming from. He wasn’t like this back in Valentine. There, he seemed to have been carried by the wind itself after receiving word from the woman.

Arthur throws a hand in the air in frustration and lets out an angry grunt.

“I bet it’s her father again. That fool brings nothin’ but trouble and we shouldn’t be dealin’ with it.”, he snarls and you draw your brows closely together.

“We should still hear her out. If you don’t want to then I’m going alone.”, you fiercely argue and he narrows his eyebrows at you.

“And how will you do that without a horse?”

Raising your chin in unwavering defiance, you size him up and hope that your gaze is sparkling with spite.

“You think I need you to get around?”, you drawl with such vigor that would leave Sadie bursting with pride.

“Since when have you two gotten this close to exchange letters anyways?”

“Oh, is Arthur Morgan bothered over the fact that he can’t police everyone the way he wants to?”

A part of you could scream at his thick and stubborn head, yet another finds delight in the familiarity of the situation. As ridiculous as it sounds, you find comfort in the argument. You find fresh relief and life at the routine of running against Arthur’s resolve like a wrecking ball into a concrete wall.

The two of you are caught in a staring contest, carrying out a silent battle, yet it has nothing vicious swimming in it. Quite on the contrary, something tells you that he’s enjoying this as much as you do.

“Fine. But if it’s about that bastard of a father, we’ll leave. I ain’t entertainin’ this any longer than I have to.”, he grumbles under his breath and swallow the retort on the tip of your tongue.

---

By the time you make it to Grand Hotel and hitch the horse on the side of the road, the sun is standing high above your head, indicating that it must be around noon. Craning your neck and ignoring the dull cramp that spreads when you lean your head back, you take in the hotel. It certainly looks finer than the establishments you have stayed in but then again, one can’t compare Valentine to Saint Denis.

Perhaps you could find the time and allow yourself a sherry afterwards. Something sweet to wash away yesterday’s blood and terror. Just as you cross the street to enter the hotel, a woman calls out from above. When you spot Mary waving at you from the balcony, you crack a wide smile.

“I’ll be with you in a second!”, she calls out and vanishes behind the railing.

When she comes barging out into the open, she pulls you into a tight hug. Then her eyes fall on Arthur and she begins nervously fidgeting with her hands and curtly nods in his direction. Judging by her expression, it does look like she didn’t expect him here at all and suddenly you feel guilty for doing so.

“I hope you don’t mind that Arthur’s here.”, you speak up to break the awkward silence and she hastily shakes her head.

“No, it’s absolutely fine. It’s better this way, I think.”, she answers and your shoulders slump down with relief.

Stealing a subtle glimpse at Arthur, you gauge his reaction. His body language is the polar opposite to Valentine. There he had handled her with so much care that you barely even recognized the man before you. Now you find nothing but a mask. You still seem to detect a hint of fondness in his eyes though.

“We came the moment I got your letter.”, you say and she immediately turns to you. “What’s wrong?”

Mary briefly glances at Arthur before her full attention drifts back to you. She squirms uncomfortably as if she has a tough time voicing her concerns.

“It’s daddy.”, she starts and before she could continue, the outlaw is at it again.

“I knew it!”, he barks and reaches for your elbow. “C’mon. This is a complete waste of time.”

Somehow you manage to weasel your arm out of his grasp, but he isn’t particularly harsh with you either. You’ve never had any issues escaping his grip as if he always makes sure to leave enough room.

“Let’s just wait a second, Arthur.”, you protest.

“Wait for what?” Now he’s glaring daggers at Mary. “Poor, old daddy caught himself in a scrape again, did he? He’s probably out whorin’ and gamblin’ as always!”

At this point, his voice is raised to a volume that’s attracting looks from passersby. They’re all gawking at you with either puzzled or bothered expressions and you shrink under the unwanted attention.

“Pipe it down, will you?”, you hiss in an attempt to control the scene that he’s causing. “There’s no need to yell at her.”

“I ain’t yelling.”

“Yes, you are.”

Huffing in frustration, you make it a point to theatrically turn your back towards him and devote your full focus on Mary.

“We’ll help you.”, you say to her, earning a tirade of curses from the man behind you.

She looks unconvinced, but still immensely grateful. With gleaming wet eyes as if she’s one millisecond away from bursting out into tears, she takes both your hands and gives them a firm squeeze.

“Thank you so much.”, she gasps and you smile.

“No need for that. Now tell us where he is.”

It doesn’t take long to find Mr. Gillis. Mary tells you that he’s indebted to one of the finer stable owners in the city. It’s something regarding a race horse, but you only understand half of it really. Since there’s no way for all three of you to fit on Arthur’s horse, you rent an open stagecoach to take you to the other side of town.

Mary and you are sharing the bench, as the outlaw is too broad to fit another person next to him. Throughout the entire ride, he has his arms crossed on front of his chest and making it a point to look anywhere but at the two of you. By the time you get off and arrive at the entrance of the stables, you tug at his sleeve.

“Will you get it together already?”, you quietly snap at him and he shoots a venomous glare your way.

“I am.”, he snarls.

Letting go of him, you stomp over to where Mary is standing. She looks like she’d rather flee than enter the building to face her father.

“How about you wait out here for us?”, you say to Arthur and much to your surprise, he nods.

Giving him a thankful smile, you open the door and follow Mary inside. You’re greeted with the sight of a finely dressed man drunk out of his mind and swaying violently from side to side. He could give Uncle a run for his money. When his eyes land on his daughter, his entire face contorts into a furious mask.

“What the hell are you doing here?”, he shouts and your entire body goes rigid.

The wrath oozing in his face leaves you as tense as a drawn bowstring and as you notice how he balls his hands into two fists, you instinctively reach for your gun. Not to shoot, of course, but give him a proper scare if he decides to act all tough and what not.

“Daddy!”, Mary whines and you can tell from her voice alone that it kills her to see him this way.

“No! You leave me be!” Then his piercing glare finds you and you feel like you’re being dipped into hot oil. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend of Mary’s, Sir.”, you answer, astonished at how calm you sound.

 “Whatever you are, go!”, he spits and stumbles past you.

For a man who’s probably had a bottle of whisky as breakfast and lunch, he’s incredibly quick on his feet. Immediately the two of you run out after him and you skid and slide over the slimy puddles scattered in front of the stable. Not having the time to search for Arthur, you rush right after Mary and her father.

“I have half a mind to kill you myself!”, he exclaims with a beet red face and his fists raised high above his head.

Afraid that he might strike down his daughter any moment, you squeeze in between them and lift both hands like one would when calming a skittish horse. The look he shoots you oozes with hatred and nearly sends you stumbling backwards from the intensity of it. It hits you like a slap to the face and you can’t do much except gape at him with wide eyes.

There’s no way that he’d start a fight with you out here in the open, but with a mind as intoxicated at his, anything is possible. Much to your relief, he doesn’t deem either you or Mary worthy of his attention anymore and theatrically turns around on his heels, which leaves him staggering. Then he stomps away.

“Still as charmin’ as ever, I see.”, Arthur says behind you and you’re grateful that the bark has left his voice at least.

He’s speaking softly now, probably not in the right spirits to give Mary a hard time about this. Not when her father is costing her her last nerves.

“He’s up to no good.”, she mumbles, completely ignoring of his comment. “We better follow him.”

“Of course.”, you immediately agree.

She’s on her way in an instant, seemingly not minding the mud and filth that’s being dragged along by the hem of her dress. You, on the other hand, lift your skirt. You assume that she has a bunch of clothes waiting for her back at the hotel. Meanwhile you’re so unlucky to not have the option of changing into a fresh pair every day. Not even every week when it goes bad, which it does a lot lately.

The three of you are keeping a generous distance as Mr. Gillis marches through the maze of dubious side alleys. His steps are carrying a certain purpose, like he knows exactly where he’s headed. Dread looms over your small group like a dark rain cloud. All of you know is that he’s up to no good, Mary more than the rest of you.

As you round a corner, Mr. Gillis suddenly whirls around and a yelp gets caught in your throat. Mary, who was right in front of you, hurries backwards, colliding with your chest and you crash right into Arthur’s. Thankfully his hands shoot forwards to stead you by your shoulders and you all hold your breath.

“Do you think he saw us?”, you whisper, heart beating all the way up into your throat.

“No.”, Mary replies with an equally hushed voice.

When she glances over her shoulder at you, her eyes drop down to your arms. You become painfully aware of the outlaw’s touch. His palms are burning into your skin and it doesn’t go unnoticed how his thumb gently traces circles over your blouse where he’s holding you. Almost absentmindedly, like a reflex.

You throw him a bewildered look and his hands immediately retreat as if he just snapped out of something. Now they’re hanging helpless by his sides and you force your focus back on Mr. Gillis. You nod towards the direction he’s currently disappearing into.

“Let’s keep following him.”, you say and Mary seems to flinch.

She has an odd look in her eyes, but she turns away so quickly that you have no time to decipher its meaning. Instead, she squares her shoulders as if bracing herself for a fight and marches on with you attached to her heels. The awkwardness hanging in the air vanishes in a matter of seconds.

“You know, this is kind of fun.”, Arthur remarks behind you and you throw him a chastising glance.

A retort dances on the tip of your tongue, a decent reprimand for his comment. After all, it was beyond insensitive towards Mary, who must be in agony at her father’s actions. Surprisingly enough she beats you to it by harshly shushing him. Somehow you didn’t expect her to be capable of producing such a sound.

“He’ll hear you.”, she hisses closely afterwards and sizes up the outlaw without stopping in her tracks. Her brows are furrowed together and her nose is wrinkled up ever so slightly. The expression isn’t exaggerated, yet clear as day. “You could have cleaned up at least.”

Her words hit like a bomb. Arthur huffs out a bitter laugh behind you and you desperately try to school your features. The slight wasn’t the least bit funny or light or teasing and coming from her, spoken with such sincerity, you almost feel targeted yourself. You even dare a glimpse at your own clothes to make sure you’re not the one she meant.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t think I was here to impress anybody. Didn’t even wanna show up in the first place.” He mutters the last part under his breath and you doubt she heard it.

You steal another glance at the outlaw. It only lasts for a split second to avoid drawing attention. He doesn’t even look that bad, but maybe your standard has dropped during your time with the gang. After all, it’s not like any of them wash off regularly, including you. Not that you guys have the means for it anyways.

Suddenly you feel awfully dirty and you scratch at your arm, growing convinced that a thick layer of filth is caking your body. Before you could spiral down further this hole, the chase finally comes to an end. Mr. Gillis stops behind a building and knocks at a door. It doesn’t take long for someone to answer and step out.

“What is he doing?”, Mary whispers.

“Well, he’s either waiting for a woman of dubious morals or he’s tryin’ to sell somethin’.”, Arthur answers and you peek from behind the two to get a good look at the scene as well.

You’ve fallen behind as Mary slowed down to avoid detection. Arthur is pressed up against the brick wall and Mary is standing closely in front of him. Your eyes wander between the two of them, soaking up the sight. Tensions are still high accompanied with an air of familiarity that’s undoubtedly coming from a very long history together.

But something in their dynamic has shifted and you can’t quite put your finger on what or why or how. You can still sense the faint fondness, buried deep under years old conflicts, but something about it is so off. Detached, in a way. You end up so lost in your own thoughts that you miss the entire conversation that you’re supposed to eavesdrop on.

Only when Mary darts out of hiding, fuming, judging by her rigid posture, do you snap out of it. Quickly you follow together with Arthur, worried that it’s going to escalate as you have been anticipating it back at the stables.

“That’s theft!”, she yells at her father and you fight the urge to holler a cheer after her.

Whatever it is that got her so upset, you’re certain that it’s only just. Mr. Gillis notices the movement in the corner of his eyes and his eyes brush right over you, instantly snapping to Arthur. Hate and disgust latches onto the glare as if he’s trying to poison the outlaw with it.

“Speaking of thieves. I see you’ve found your outlaw again.”, he spits and you suddenly get the strong sense as if you landed in the wrong movie or something.

This feud has been going on long before you joined the gang. Long before you were born even! A subtle snicker escapes you, but you keep the joke to yourself. They won’t laugh nor would they even understand it.

“Hello, Sir. Have you been well?”, Arthur replies in a throw-away manner as if he’s simply talking about the weather.

You watch him walk right past the quarreling pair and that’s when you notice a man running off into the distance. It dawns on you that he’s most likely fleeing with whatever Mr. Gillis stole from his daughter and you nudge Arthur’s arm with your hand. He looks at you.

“Arthur, can you…?”, you begin, but find yourself unable to finish the request.

After dragging him out here against his wishes and listening to the passive-aggressive comments thrown his way, guilt swells inside your chest at asking for yet another favor. You can’t explain what’s stopping you now when you’ve never shied away at hurling insults or snide remarks at his head.

And you still stand by what you told Mary at the saloon the other day, when you pointed out that you wouldn’t want your own child to bring home a murderer. But staring at him now, you can’t help but feel horrible on his behalf. Taking in his appearance, you have to admit that he has cleaned up quite nicely actually.

His clothes are free of any dirt, except for what he picked up on his way to Saint Denis and you even seem to detect a hint of soap when you breathe in the air surrounding him. You recall him writing to Francis for your stead and offering up the money he earned from the bank robbery to ensure you a safe way back into civilization.

The stubborn part of you would like to claim that you’re falling for the sad-eyes propaganda. Yes, he’s killing and stealing and exploiting, but oh look! His hard eyes are softening for once! Surely, his crimes are excused now, for he is merely misunderstood by everyone. Shuddering you rip yourself out of the trance.

“I’ll get it.”, he then says before you can even think about opening your mouth. “Wait for me here.”

He’s gone in the next second, sprinting down the same alley the other man had disappeared into. His heavy steps drum over the puddles and cobblestone, echoing along the narrow brick walls. You turn your focus back to Mary and her father and tears are glistening at the corners of her eyes. At once, you’re at her side.

“You again?”, Mr. Gillis snarls in your direction and you narrow your eyes at him into small slits.

“You leave her alone now, daddy! She’s here to help.”, Mary rushes in to defend you.

“I don’t need no help.”, he snaps, having already forgotten about you and directing all his fury at his daughter.

Watching him degrade and threaten her, you start to be less and less confused about Jamie joining a suicidal cult. Suddenly he pushes both palms forward in an attempt to shove her back and you jerk towards him. You don’t know where the reflex of pulling out your gun is coming from, but before you know it, the metal lies heavy in your hand.

Mr. Gillis freezes, thankfully not too drunk to comprehend the danger of a revolver being aimed at him. Mary gasps next to you and the side of your head prickles as her appalled stare bores into you. Shame burns under your skin and you slide the gun back into its holster, biting your tongue.

You desperately want to explain that you never meant to pull the trigger. It didn’t cross your mind once when you had reached for it to point it at the man, but you keep it to yourself. They wouldn’t believe you anyways and you take a pathetic step away from the pair to give them room.

Mr. Gillis, having been pushed over the edge with your little stunt has run out of all patience and curses leave his mouth in a steady stream. Throwing his hands up into the air, he stomps off and this time, Mary doesn’t put any effort into chasing after him. Instead, she slumps down onto one of the crates and buries her face into both hands.

Silent sobs shake her body and you shift your weight from one foot onto the other. After your overreaction earlier, you feel like you’re the last person she wants to be comforted by. Pushing the gnawing guilt and burning humiliation aside, you sit down next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

Much to your relief, she leans into your side and you quietly release the breath that you were holding.

“I’m so sorry about all this.”, you tell her with a gentle tone.

“It’s all right. I’m sorry that you had to see it in the first place.”

Wiping the tears on her cheeks away, she straightens her back and you remove your arm.

“Listen. The thing with the gun…I didn’t mean to…what I’m trying to say is that…”, you stammer haplessly.

When Mary glances your way, you stifle a flinch. It’s evident in her eyes that she doesn’t quite believe you, even though she wants to. Falling silent in an instant, you drop the topic and she doesn’t continue it either. The horse is dead and there’s no need to beat it.

“Thank you though. For helping me.”, she then murmurs.

“Of course I helped.” You roll your shoulders to get some of the tension out of them. “But I’m sorry that I brought Arthur. I knew that your father and him didn’t get along, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Don’t worry. You couldn’t have known.”, she curtly answers.

You squirm at how clipped she speaks to you. You really don’t want to overthink things, but you’re also getting a sneaking suspicion that she’s avoiding your gaze as well. Not able to bear the discomfort lingering between the two of you, you stand up and pace around. Every now and then you glance at the alley that Arthur has vanished in, hoping for him to return soon.

Mary notices your longing stare every single time, but swiftly averts her eyes whenever you try to catch her.

“Are you okay?”, you blurt out, too curious to stay silent any longer.

“Yes.”

“If it’s because of the gun, then please let me explain-“

“It ain’t the gun. Trust me, I think about shooting him more often than you can imagine.” Your brows fly upwards at the unexpected confession.

“Then what is it? It feels like you can’t even look at me.”, you point out and take a step closer. “Mary, you know that you can talk to me.”

She stares at the ground for the longest time and you begin to believe that she’s just going to ignore you. Then finally she lifts her head and a deep sadness is edged into her delicate features.

“It’s complicated.”, she reluctantly admits as if she’s making herself uncomfortable by simply speaking up. “It’s about Arthur.”

Somehow everything is always about Arthur. Not just with her necessarily, but with yourself as well.

“I see.” That’s all you can think of and you trace along the leather of your belt with a finger. “You still got feelings for him?”

The long sigh is answer enough. You don’t know why it bothers or you or if it bothers you at all. A pang of something indescribable, yet sharp cuts through your chest and you recall all the soft moments you’ve witnessed between her and the outlaw. The soft moments that could have been with you instead.

These thoughts terrify you. You were certain that you’ve been doing well at keeping him at an arm’s length, but as it turns out, it has been all for naught. Your attempts at driving him away were for nothing and now you find yourself in a dirty corner of a dirty city, wondering where you heart had first led you astray.

“Arthur and I are in the past.”, Mary suddenly starts and you completely forgot that she’s still here. “Even if we’d give it a second chance now, it wouldn’t work. We’re simply not meant to be, as much as I wish it to be different.”

“He wouldn’t leave the gang.”, you point out, earning a nod.

“No, that he wouldn’t and I ain’t ready to leave my family.”

“No one can hold that against you.”, you tell her and her eyes momentarily widen with surprise.

“Thanks.” Another sigh leaves her lips. “But it doesn’t have to be that way for you two.”

You flinch and gape at her. “Excuse me?”

“He’s too stubborn to leave his life and to stop livin’ that strange code of his, but you’re livin’ it too. You’re already in his world. There’s hope.”, she continues ranting and you feel like you’re missing a lot of important context.

Why the hell are you part of this topic now? Having noticed your confusion, she furrows her brows closely together.

“What’s wrong?”, she asks and you shake your head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mary.”, you admit breathlessly.

“But Arthur and you…”

“Are nothing.”

The words are absolute and your tone isn’t leaving any room for compromise. Arthur and you are absolutely nothing, nor will you ever be anything. Something about it fills you with an overpowering wrongness like entering a mall at night or being the only car at a parking lot. You assume it comes from the fact that you’re from two entirely different eras.

But at the same time, it feels so, so right. You and him. It’s like seeing pictures of nature reclaiming ruins or abandoned buildings or soaking up the first rays of the spring sun after winter’s many harsh months. When you try to picture yourself with someone, Arthur is the first person to pop up. Your throat closes up painfully as you process Mary’s observation.

“I’m sorry. I thought…”, she stutters and you give her an apologetic smile.

“No, I get it. But I won’t stay with him and the others for much long.”, you explain.

“You’ll be leavin’?”

Utter disbelief swims in her question as if she can’t imagine you outside a life of crime.

“Yes, and pretty soon if everything goes as planned.” You try not to notice that you’re forcing yourself to sound cheerful.

Suddenly the sound of heavy boots echoes along the alley behind you. The daunting sound reverberates in your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake and you fill your lungs with the smokey Saint Denis air. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is. You’ve dreamed of his footsteps approaching you before.

You’d picture yourself in a bedroom, tangled up in soft silk sheets and listening to the slow sound of Arthur’s soles over wooden floorboards. Next, he’d appear in the doorframe, eyes fixed on your form and his lips parted ever so slightly in awe. You shake off the memory of the dream and ball your hands up into fists.

Your nails dig deeply into your calloused palms and a warm sensation spreads at the spots.

“I got the brooch!”, he says and drops the thing into Mary’s open hand.

“I won’t ask how you got it back.”, she mumbles and a grim shadow is cast over his features.

“Better that way.”

When the two begin walking towards the main street, Arthur looks at you over his shoulder.

“You comin’?”, he asks and you take a moment to just stare at him.

Nodding, because you don’t trust your voice, you hurry after them and make sure to keep Mary in between the entire time. The three of you almost take up the entire sidewalk, forcing the other passersby to step onto the road to walk past you.

“I’ll take the trolley back.”, Mary says.

“We can walk you all the way.”, you offer, worried about your friend.

“No, it’s fine. Really.”

Bells ring through the air, announcing the trolley rolling into position and she pulls you into a swift hug. It’s bone crushing and it takes everything within you not to wince at the unexpected force. For Arthur she only offers an awkward nod and a longing glance. Their gazes collide and you’re haunted by the same sensation as before.

You’d probably call it jealousy if it weren’t for the fact that it feels so vastly different from how it did back with the working woman inside the saloon. This isn’t vicious in any form, but the pain cuts deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before. The ache spreads through your veins like a cramp and you swallow the lump in your throat.

Arthur takes her hand to help her through the entrance and her eyes sweep over the two of you. When it stops on your face, she slowly blinks and you detect a hidden message beneath the gesture. Before you can think about asking her what she’s trying to tell you, the bell rings again and she’s carried away.

The knowledge that this is most likely the last time you’ll ever going to see her, lies heavy in your guts. Arthur and you just stand there for the longest time as if none of you know how to act without a third person around as buffer.

“So…”, the outlaw starts and adjusts his hat. You notice that the skin of his knuckles is split open.

“Yes?”, you ask.

“Do you wanna go back to camp?”

The question sinks in, reminding you that there is a camp to return to in the first place. Thinking about it, you frown. If you go back now, you’re going to be greeted with grief and loss and you remember that you didn’t have the time to properly mourn Kieran. Or process his death at all!

After spotting him on top of that horse, you got ambushed, leaving you without the necessary means to grasp the situation. Now that it’s settling you dread going back to the others where you might end up smothered by the weight of it all. So, no. You don’t want to go back to camp.

“How about we stay here? Just a little bit longer.”, you suggest and look at him.

You haven’t noticed that he’s been staring at you this entire time and he blinks. Whenever he carries that expression, you feel like you could tell him anything. No, in fact, you feel like you don’t even have to tell him anything, because he’s already split your body open and read your soul.

“How about a drink then?”

The corners of your mouth curl up into the smallest of smiles.

It's mainly the fun of creating something on your own. My favorite part about writing is the process and not the result in the end. Like, yes I totally love finishing a story and then going back to read it, but writing scratches a very specific part in my brain lmao. I often times forget to eat or drink when I sit down with my laptop though

Reading books and fanfics also keeps me very motivated. I noticed throughout the years that when I enter a reading slump, I automatically enter a writing slump too. Another reason is my fiance and the support he gives me. He is super interested in my hobby and reads every single thing I write (except for the smut lmao)

I've been writing since I was a little kid by the way, but after I graduated school and started to work that passion kinda disappeared over the years. Only last year did I pick it up again and that was because I joined the rdr fandom. It's my absolute favorite game of all times and idk, but something about it just turned a switch inside me.

When I finished the game, I had this urge come up that I hadn't felt for several years and I immediately opened my notes app on the phone to start writing what eventually became the original Set in Sand. The games are still what drives my passion but it has evolved now and I even started working on an original piece! It's always been my dream to publish a book one day so maybe that will become reality now.

Also, I want to add that I wouldn't be so invested in writing and trying to improve myself with each story if it weren't for all those wonderful people I met online over all this time. The fandom has some true gems and I've gotten so close with some of them that I can't imagine them out of my life.

And I'm still so amazed and baffled by all the warm support and kind words that people leave on my works. I've been in and out of some fandoms during the years because I was yearning for some type of interaction, which I'm getting so much of here! And it makes me so incredibly happy. I wouldn't have been able to finish any of my longfics if it wasn't for the nice reactions.