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gingernut1314 · 6 months ago

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Turkey and Cheese ch. 2

Summary: On the run from enforcers, you collide straight into someone in your rush. Someone whose seafoam eyes take your breath away and all you want to do is spend a little bit more time with him.

Content: female reader x Silco, pre-season 1 arcane, first meeting, gendered terms, reader has water manipulation powers, young Silco, young reader, you share a stolen sandwich with Silco, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.7K

A/N: The characters will age up, but the plan I have set up is reader meets Silco and the others when they are all still teens so there is only going to be like...one or two more chapters as teens and then we're getting aged up. I hope you all enjoy!!

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You got too much joy picking on the Enforcers that hang around the bridge that separated the shining city of Piltover and the not-so-bright Undercity. You stole their lunches and their coin, called them every name under the sun, and threw rocks at them from dark corners.

It pissed them the fuck off making it prime entertainment for you.

Your guardian, Janna, disapproved of your shenanigans. The lectures were too long whenever you were caught. Lectures about reasonability and grace and blah, blah, blah .

So, to avoid such mind-numbing lectures, you waited until Janna disappeared for days on end to let chaos ensue.

And this fog-heavy day was one of those days.

Your stomach growled, clenching and twisting in hunger as you knelt on top of one of the run-down tenement houses near the bridge. You watched four Enforcers walk out of the broader toll house, switching posts with the other four Enforcers standing before the bridge.

You had been watching them for most of the night, counting and double counting how many Enforcers were on duty. You counted nine in total, which was one less than there had been last time you’d done this.

Someone must be sick or had been fired or, maybe, they were dead. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter one bit to you. All you cared about now was earning a few coins and getting a homemade meal from someone's spouse for a late dinner.

You rushed into action after one last scan of the area, before rushing across the roofs. When you came to the end of this line of tenements, you hopped down onto the fire escape below, a small grunt escaping your lips before starting down the rusting stairs.

Once on the ground, you yanked your hood up and shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying to keep a low profile as you walked the short distance across the recently redone cobblestoned road. You disappeared into the large shadows the street lamps cast, walking along the smooth wall of the tollhouse.

“Beth just got accepted into that fancy college she wanted.” A gruff voice filtered out from a small, open window.

“Well, shit--” Was the last of that conversation you heard as you climbed up a ladder around the back of the building.

You stayed crouched low as you made way to the vent in the center of the roof. You had used this vent for years, but, as you quietly pulled the metal covering off and lowered yourself into the vent system, found it might be one of your last times.

You were getting too big to fit in the vent.

This was a child's game, as unfortunate as it was to admit, and at the ripe age of fourteen, you were no child anymore.

“We’ve been saving up--” And blah, blah, blaaahhhh .

Enforcers rarely had anything exciting to talk about. It was always about someone's family or about whatever game they had gone to watch. It had nearly sent you into tears as you crawled through the vents.

Where was the excitement? The danger?

Didn’t Encforcer beat Undercityians up for fun?

You finally made it to the vent in the locker room area. It was bland and hardly fit hardly enough lockers for every enforcer stationed here, but to you, it was a gold mine.

You opened the vent, placing it slowly on the other side of the vent shaft, and hopped into the room, hitting the ground on near-silent feet and a held-in grunt. You waited a few seconds to see if anyone had heard you before starting on opening each locker and taking as many coin potches as you could find. The only good thing the last locker had to offer was a piece of gum instantly shoved into your mouth.

Just as you opened the fridge and grabbed someone's paper bag lunch, the door opened.

Your blood went cold. You've been caught one too many times over the years, but each time it happened it never helped ease your nerves.

A younger-looking Enforcer saw you instantly, his eyes narrowing in something like confusion. You didn’t recognize this Enforcer from past interactions, so you assumed he was new.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?”

“No one.” You pulled on the most innocent look you could muster, hiding the lunch behind your back. “I think I might have taken a wrong turn.”

“A wrong--” The Enforcer then saw the open and ransacked lockers. It clicked then, what had happened here right under his nose.

Before the Enforcer had time to speak, you pushed past him into the small hallway.

“Hey!” He shouted after you but you were already booking it into the office area where six enforcers sat. They noticed you almost instantly, rising from their seats in the blink of an eye. One tried to grab you, but you twisted out of his way and dodged another on-coming man.

The front door open with a bang and all but threw yourself into the street, your gum falling from your mouth in the process.

“Grab her!” One of the enforcers shouted, singling the four others standing before the bridge. Those four were too far away to do any grabbing, so you didn’t feel the need to be worried about them.

You ran downwards, toward the looming city you called home. As you ran closer and closer, the air seemed to get thicker-- dirtier than that of the air by the bridge. This wasn’t anything new to you, your throat and lungs taking less than a second to adjust to the polluted air.

The continuous shouting from behind let you know that the Enforcers were still hot on your tail. You would either lose them eventually in this maze of run-down buildings and streets or they would give up, finding they didn’t want to venture as far into the city as you were going to take them.

Time would only tell which it would be, so you pushed yourself harder.

You made the first sharp turn into a familiar alleyway, an enforcer that had been getting too close to you tripping and falling into a couple of barrels full of fish. You gave a sharp laugh, looking over your shoulder to watch that scene unfold in your utter glee.

And just as you made to turn back around, you collided into something solid and bony.

You and the person you’d just hit at full speed went tumbling to the ground, each giving own round of curses.

A pair of blue-green eyes halted your escape. A pair of eyes that took your breath away…well, maybe it had been from the impact but your breath was differently stolen and these eyes--eyes like seafoam weren’t helping.

The blue-green eyes were attached to a thin, sharp face covered in skin that looked like it hardly got out in the sun.

Though everyone down here always had that “hardly seen the sun” look about them.

This guy was very attractive. Too attractive some might say.

So attractive it almost had you forgetting about the four enforcers running after you.

The blue-green eyes narrowed up at you, completely pissed off.

“Get the hell off--”

“She’s in there!” The enforcer that had just fallen into fish guts shouted to his coworkers. The boy’s eyes widened and he looked past you to find what you already knew was coming into the alley.

“Do you have a canteen?” The boy snapped back to you, anger written clear on his face.

“What? No--” You gave him an eye roll.

Who didn't carry a water canteen with them?

Well…you didn’t, but that was beside the point.

“A flask?” You tried again.

“You ran into me and brought enforcers with you and you're asking me if I have a--” He gave a startled sort of sound as you began patting him down. You’d grown tired of his rambling. You found a flask in his jacket in an inner pocket and gave a little sound of triumph.

“Thank you!” You sweetly spoke, pushing yourself off the guy who looked so bewildered by you it was cute . You turned your attention back onto the four enforcers blocking the exit.

“Thought you could get away with it this time, girl .” One of them hissed through his mask. You recognized this man to be Rufus, an Enforcer that had been stationed on the bridge the longest.

“But whatever did I do, sir? ” He gave a growl, taking a step forward that was meant to be threatening.

“Give it back and we’ll forget this ever happened.” You knew that was a lie. As soon as you got close enough, they’d grab you and throw you in jail.

“Promise?” Rufus was growing impatient, you could see it in his brown, tired eyes.

“ Promise .” He grit out. This made you smile.

“Alright, mister.” You pulled the flask out from behind your back then. “Catch!” And the flask was tossed Rufus’s way.

You let your magic flow through your veins and felt for the water in the alcohol.

Rufus caught the flask with ease. He looked from it to you.

“What is--” With great effort, you made the little bit of water in the alcohol explode. The flask broke into pieces, shooting up into his eyes. He gave a scream and that was your queue to leave.

You snapped around, finding the boy standing there, shock on his face. He had a lean build and was very, very tall. It just added to his overall attractiveness.

Focus!

“Time to go!” You swiped the fallen lunch off the ground and grabbed for the boy in one go, pulling him further down the alley.

It only took the boy a moment to regain his right mind and in a split second, he was the one pulling you along.

You followed the boy, climbing up on top of the dumper closest to the broken fire escape. You let go of his arm so he could launch himself at the escape, slamming into the railing with a bang. Once he was over the rusting railing, you were quick to jump and slam into the escape.

The boy grabbed your wrist once your two feet were safely on the other side of the railing before continuing to drag you up stair after stair until you made it to the roof, which someone had been trying to grow some kind of plants on. Just with a quick glance at the spotting plant, you could tell it wasn’t going very well.

Shouting from the enforcers below had you wiggling out of the boy's grip and looking over the edge, finding one had climbed up onto the dumpster while the others looked defeated.

“If it's any consolation, you’ll be feeding a poor underling for a day or so.” You shouted down to them, waving the bag mockingly.

“Don’t think this is over, girl!” Rufus spat. You only gave him a cheeky smile.

“Tell your wife she makes the best turkey and cheese sandwiches. I’ve been looking forward to it all month.” Rufus gave a growl before storming out of the alley. Slowly, the other enforcers followed after him, throwing you dirty looks as they left.

The boy grabbed you then, whipping you around to face him.

You weren’t always the best at figuring out how people were feeling, mainly thanks to being raised by a seemingly emotionless wind spirit, but you could tell in a moment this guy was angry.

“If this is about your flask, I’m--” The guy was quick to not let you finish.

“What the hell were you thinking, bringing enforcers to the Lanes?” He snapped. You merely gave him a very slow blink.

“I’m fully prepared to buy you a new one.” You finished, earning a frustrated growl from the guy.

You liked what he had going on--this uptight, angry, authoritative thing. You liked it so much it made you want to tease him to no end.

“Why I’m trying to get a child to see reason--”

“Whoa there.” You held a hand up, further cutting him off. “You’re like--what, a year older than me?” He narrowed his seafoam blue eyes at you once more.

“You can’t be older than twelve.”

“Nope! Fourteen.” The guy rolled his eyes.

“A child.”

“Alright, mister-high-and-mighty. How old are you then?”

“It hardly matters.” Your mouth fell open in disbelief, but before you could nag him anymore, he continued. “You realize they will be back.” You pulled out of the guy's grip again and began walking across the roof.

To your surprise, the boy followed.

“The reason I pick on those buffoons at the bridge is because I know their threats are empty.” You opened the brown paper bag and rummaged around until you found a foil-wrapped sandwich your stomach had been growling to get a bite out of. “Especially Rufus.” You took one of the halves out and extended it to the boy. “Want some? It’s the good stuff.” He looked it over for a moment, eyes still narrowed.

You could tell he didn’t want to take it from you, not when he still looked so annoyed at you…so you gave it a little wiggle that pulled a sigh from his mouth.

“Thank you.” He took it from you, his eyes finally softening. His fingers brushed the tiniest bit against yours, but it was enough to send sparks running through your every last nerve.

You watched the boy as he took a bite from the sandwich. Watched as his eyes widened the slightest bit. It was so slight most wouldn’t have noticed, but you had been watching him too intently.

“Right? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!” You gave him a bright smile. One you rarely ever gave--one that was genuine --before chomping down into your own half.

You hopped up on the edge of the roof, which overlooked the whole of the Lanes. From up here, you could spot the tops of the highest buildings and the smoke billowing up from the mines beneath the city. Smoke that danced and twirled upward, illuminating the lights shining from across the city. In the day, the smoke would cast the sky in murky shades of gray, depending on how bright the sun was shining.

It was quite beautiful, despite its run-down and polluted nature.

It was still your home.

“I didn’t mean to bring the enforcers here…but maybe I gave someone the chance to get across that golden bridge--for them to seek their fortune or a fresh start.” You looked back to the boy who had jumped up onto the edge with you. He turned his gaze towards you, scanning you over with seemingly all-seeing eyes. Eyes that made your skin seem to burn.

“Is that what you want?” The question shocked you.

In The Lanes, most didn’t get too close to one another. Not unless they had to. It was a very lonely world, but you endured.

“No,” You scoffingly said. You wouldn’t even last a day over there. You were too wild, too much a part of the Undercity. You gave the boy a look over of your own, though much less all-seeing as his had been.

“What about you?” You cautiously asked. Though you didn’t at all mind sharing things about yourself, you didn’t know how this guy was. All you knew is you enjoyed his company….and you didn’t want to be alone all over again quite yet.

“No,” He replayed, looking back over the city. “There’s too much potential here.”

You liked that. You liked that a lot .

You took another big bite from your sandwich, letting the night air fill the quiet between you two.

You swallowed, glancing back over him as you worked up the courage to speak again.

And once that small bit of courage was wrestled up, you told him your name.

The boy turned his eyes back on you, his longish brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze. He seemed to hesitate too for a moment.

“Silco.” He spoke before finishing off his half of the sandwich.

You liked his name. You liked it almost as much as you liked his face.

“How did you manage to make my flask to explode?” You smirked, turning away from the boy, Silco , once more.

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” Silco gave a laugh. It was a tiny huffing one, but a laugh nonetheless.

You liked his laugh. You liked more than his name and face.

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nevadancitizen · 1 month ago

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-> CH. 4: THE MYSTERY THAT IS ARTHUR MORGAN

synopsis: you and arthur head into valentine with uncle, tilly, karen, and mary-beth.

word count: 4.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: (crawling out of grave) hey guys.. i've started playing rdr1 recently so the cowboy spark has been reignited within me LOL

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @fatherbangboo , @shackspossum , @swedesfics (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Not much time has passed since that night where you and Arthur had that conversation about the stars. Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, but it was talking, which was an improvement from the glances and stares.

Hosea has regaled you with many a tale with Arthur as the main protagonist, about how he’s not the big scary man he pretends to be. From your perspective, though? The front isn’t a front, but a truth intrinsic to Arthur’s very soul. He’s a man from 1899, through and through – and unfortunately, not all men from 1899 are to be trusted.

But Hosea seems hellbent on making you at least okay with Arthur’s presence. Just a few minutes ago, he pushed a tin cup of coffee into your hands and sent you towards Arthur’s tent. As a challenge? You’re not too sure, but it sure as hell feels like one.

“Excuse me,” you say as you round the corner of the wagon that props up the canopy over his cot. “Arthur?”

He’s sitting on the edge of his cot, writing in his leather-bound journal. He looks up from whatever he’s writing, then puts his pencil in the fold between the pages and closes it, tucking it away in his satchel.

Arthur nods at you, greeting you with a simple utterance of your name. “What is it?”

You carefully hold out the hot tin mug. “Hosea figured you’d want some coffee. I, um… I didn’t know how you’d like it, so I just put in some sugar.”

He stands from his cot and takes the coffee from you. “Thank you.”

You smile and for a moment you panic, thinking you’re showing too many teeth. (Why do you have to overthink everything you do?) “Hopefully it’s not too sweet.”

Arthur takes a sip and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

A nice silence falls over the two of you as you stand somewhat-near him, watching people move about camp. Well, it would be nice if you were alone and didn’t have Arthur beside you, but you have to make the most of everything you can.

Let’s try to initiate a conversation, you think to yourself. What does Arthur care about? Guns? Meat? Uh… beard oil? No, he has, like, grown-out stubble – why would he care about beard oil? What the hell does watercooler talk even look like in 1899?

“It’s nice out,” you say. “Out west, it gets really hot this time of year. The summers are even worse.”

“Are they now?” Arthur says. “What, are you tryin’ to… deter us from encroachin’ on your Mojave?”

“Huh? No, no,” you say. “The Dead Horses and Sorrows would happily have you. Zion Canyon, it’s – it’s big enough for a few more people.”

You look away, embarrassed for some reason. You hate this elaborate song and dance – you say something, Arthur takes it as an insult and/or just insults you outright, and you have to cover for yourself before awkward silence takes hold.

“How’s Marston?” Arthur asks. “I understand that you’ve taken over carin’ for that fool.”

You glance over at him. He’s looking at you, blue-green, piercing eyes just watching you, waiting. The treeline is suddenly very interesting.

“There’ll be scars, for sure,” you say. “And he picks at the scabs. He says he doesn’t do it on purpose, but he can’t keep his hands away from his face for five minutes.”

Surprisingly, that elicits a soft chuckle from Arthur. From the corner of your eye, you can see him shake his head and sigh, a slight smile on his face.

“That sounds about right.” He brings the tin cup to his lips and takes a drink. “That idiot’s always makin’ trouble for himself.”

You listen to the sound of people milling about and the early morning birds singing with Arthur for a few minutes. Hosea was right – exposure therapy may actually be working when it comes to Arthur. He doesn’t really seem so big and so bad now that you’ve seen what he’s like when he’s quiet and contemplative. (He’s still a big motherfucker that you’re sure could wreck your shop if given half the chance, so it’s not like you’re willing to lay your neck on the line just yet.)

You glance to the side when you see someone approaching. It’s Hosea, a smile on his face as he greets you and Arthur.

He stretches his arms out, arching his back a little. “Quite a day.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“There’s a bunch of the boys already in Valentine – Bill, Charles and Javier,” Hosea continues. “And Swanson found something down at the train station by the lake, apparently. And Strauss came back with that creepy little smile on his face! I’m sure there’s a whole list of unfortunates he’s forced money upon.”

You and Arthur laugh along. You’re glad there’s at least something to laugh about that isn’t you.

“And you?” Arthur asks Hosea.

“I’m gonna read a book,” he says decidedly.

“That sounds nice,” you say. “Can I join?”

“Join me in reading a book?” Hosea laughs. “That sounds unproductive.”

“Well, uh – no, I meant, um…” You let out a nervous chuckle. “Never mind. I’ll find something else to do.”

Hosea shrugs it off. “If you’d like to join, I’d be glad for the company.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You don’t really feel inclined to follow him. You don’t really feel inclined to do camp chores, either, but you know Miss Grimshaw well enough to not skimp out on what you’ve been assigned.

“I’ve gotta go chop firewood.” You point over at the stump that became the designated chopping block. “I can take your cup, if you’re done.”

Arthur knocks back the rest of his coffee like a shot, then hands the still-warm tin mug to you. His fingers – big, calloused – brush yours as you take it, and he offers a soft “Thank you.” A small shock runs up your arm as his skin touches yours.

Did he just shock me from static electricity? You ask yourself. Probably. Or maybe the tin did something… I don’t know.

You drop the mug in the wash basin as you pass by and make your way to the chopping stump. You dig in the inner pockets of your jacket and pull out your gloves, tugging them on before you grab the axe handle.

The axe dislodges from the wood easily, and you set up a log to split. You bring the axe over your head (ignoring the ache and whine in your side) and swing it down on the log, letting gravity do most of the work.

By the time you’re done, your shoulders and upper arms are aching, not to mention the literal hole in your side that’s still healing. But the chore is done, and there’s split firewood in a pile next to the stump. You’re spared from Miss Grimshaw’s scrutiny for a couple hours more.

You swing the axe down into the stump and leave it there. With a deep breath, you step back and tug your gloves off, tucking them into your inner jacket pocket again.

“Ain’t a surprise you got soft hands,” a voice says behind you, the tone dripping with sleaze.

You turn, stiffening up and locking eyes with Micah. His hands are resting on the belt that’s hanging off his hips and he’s sizing you up like you’re prey. It makes your stomach turn even though you know he wouldn’t try anything near camp. (Or would he? You hope not.)

“Can you get off my ass?” You ask. “I just don’t want blisters.”

“Oh I apologize, I apologize.” Micah holds his hands up, sauntering closer. You stand your ground even though you’d like nothing more than to pick up the axe again so you’re not completely defenseless.

He rounds the stump, looking down at the pile of firewood. “They’re split uneven.”

You roll your eyes and look to the side, away from Micah. That thought from earlier – whether he would try anything this close to camp or not – still has your stomach in a knot, like a spring wound tight.

He’s not worth it. You would much rather spend your time worrying about things that matter, like how fast and loose people play with their guns and how likely you are to get cholera.

And, as if on cue, someone shouts your voice, giving you an excuse to leave. You look to the source – it’s Karen, waving you over to the wagons. You leave Micah by the firewood pile without a goodbye.

Tilly and Mary-Beth are waiting by the wagon along with Karen, almost circling Arthur like wildcats. Arthur, on the other hand, is smoking, looking relatively unbothered, given the women. Uncle is near the front of the wagon, checking the horses’ equipment.

“Hey,” you say. “You called for me?”

“We’re tryin’ to get Arthur to take us into town,” Mary-Beth says. “Ain’t you tired of seein’ the same treeline, the same people?”

“Uh, sure, but…” You shrug. “I don’t really care.”

“We can get you some new clothes.” Karen picks at the shoulder of your jacket. “You ain’t exactly… fashion-forward.”

Right, because a trenchcoat with a low-cut blouse is so much better, you think to yourself. Woah! That was really mean. I need to put more effort into avoiding Micah – he’s infecting me. Not that I wanted to hang around him in the first place…

“I guess,” you say. “But I don’t have any money.”

“Valentine ain’t exactly a city teeming with riches,” Tilly points out. “We can get you some clothes cheap enough.”

You give a half-shrug, glancing at the women. “If my clothes are really that bad…”

“‘Sides, Karen’s ‘bout ready to murder Grimshaw,” Mary-Beth says.

“Well, can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Arthur asks.

“Can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Karen parrots, exasperated. “What’s happened to you, Arthur? You’re worried about house chores? C’mon, let’s go!”

Arthur looks to the side, then takes the cigarette from his mouth and gestures at the four of you. “Fair enough, you got me. C’mon, then.”

The women whoop and cheer as they climb up onto the wagon. You end up settled across from Tilly, smiling despite the pool of nerves still bubbling in your stomach. Maybe their excitement has infected you? (You’d much prefer to be infected with her excitement rather than Micah’s rudeness.)

“I can’t believe we’re gonna see civilization,” Tilly says. “It feels like weeks since we did.”

“Yeah, Valentine,” Uncle grunts as he climbs up into the front seat. “The very embodiment of civilization! You folks are gonna love it.”

“Okay then.” Arthur hauls himself up into the front seat and takes the reins from Uncle. “Let’s go.”

Uncle directs Arthur out of the camp and onto the road toward Valentine. The ride is bumpy and, even though you do enjoy bitching and moaning about them, you’d much prefer a car right now.

Mary-Beth calls you to attention by saying your name. “I’m curious – what’s the Frontier like?”

“What’re you curious about?” You ask.

“You got any family out there?” Tilly asks, then leans a little closer to you, dropping her voice a bit. “Any sisters Arthur’s age?”

“I can hear y’all,” Arthur calls from the front of the wagon, sending the women into a fit of laughter.

You smile and laugh, leaning back in your seat. “I’ve got a sister, yeah. But she’s too young for Arthur.”

“What’s her name?” Karen asks.

“Serendestiny,” you say. “Our parents were, um… creative?”

The women are sent into another fit of laughter and giggles, echoing “Serendestiny?” and various confused phrases of disbelief. Laughter bubbles up in your throat before you can help it.

“She hates her name, she hates it,” you assure them. “She just goes by Sere.”

“I’d hope so!” Karen laughs. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life with a name like Serendestiny.”

“I don’t know, it’s kinda pretty,” Mary-Beth says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Is it a combination between serendipity and destiny?”

“I think so,” you say. “I never put that much thought into it.”

A shout from up ahead makes you snap your head towards the front of the wagon. A coach is careening on and off the road. One of the horses kicks and breaks free, bucking and going wild.

“Is one of you gonna get that feller’s horse?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, I got lumbago, it’s very serious,” Uncle says.

Arthur groans and pulls the wagon to a stop, then hops off. “Alright, I’ll see what’s goin’ on…”

You watch as he speaks to the driver, then starts walking over to the horse that broke free. It rears and tosses its head, clearly distressed. But Arthur pays that no mind, instead approaching it with his hands outstretched. You can barely hear him talking softly to the horse.

He’s soft. For once, you see Arthur being soft. He’s gentle as he strokes the horse’s neck, patting it and shushing it. He’s not irritated or annoyed that he has to go out of his way to help someone. Or maybe he just has a soft spot for horses? Who knows. Arthur is slowly turning more and more into a complete mystery.

He moves patiently and slowly as he leads the horse back to the coach driver. The horse doesn’t kick or toss its head – just walks at the pace Arthur set. You’re sure you’d be more impressed if you knew more about horses.

“You’re a gentleman, sir,” the coach driver says. “A true gentleman!”

Arthur mumbles something and climbs back up in the front seat of the wagon. He snaps the reins, and the horses start moving again.

“You’re turning into a regular old fairy godmother there, Arthur,” Uncle says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks.

“It means you’ve got a heart,” Mary-Beth says.

Karen nods along. “A small one, perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one.”

“And you haven’t, you repulsive old lizard,” Mary-Beth chimes.

Uncle turns and leans over the back of the wagon seat. “Lizards have hearts!”

“Well, Arthur,” Tilly says. “I’m proud of you.”

“To be honest, if you lot hadn’t been here…” Arthur rubs the back of his neck and leans his head back. “I prolly would’a robbed him.”

That elicits a laugh from everyone, and you laugh along even though you don’t really find it funny. You mirror them just to fit in.

“Well, you didn’t!” Mary-Beth says.

Arthur guides the wagon over the train tracks and passes a freight station, officially passing into Valentine. You’re immediately hit by the smell of shit and exhale sharply, your nose wrinkling up on instinct.

“Whew!” Tilly waves her hand in front of her face. “Smell those sheep.”

Karen laughs under her breath. “Or is that Uncle?”

“If Micah were here,” you say, “I’d wager it being him.”

The women and Uncle roar with laughter, and you’re pretty sure you can hear Arthur give a chuckle. You smile and laugh along – genuinely, this time. Micah makes for a good target when he isn’t around to hear it.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Mary-Beth looks around at the houses and buildings. “This looks like a decent little town.”

“Other people,” Tilly agrees. “Finally.”

“Look at all that snow on the mountains.” Karen points to the peaks that cut up into the sky. “Sure don’t wanna be back up there.”

“You think we should’ve asked Molly to come with us?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, no,” Karen immediately says. “Miss O’Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us… or to do any real work. She’s a society lady now.”

You look over at Tilly and sort of feel bad for Molly. You haven’t been able to talk to her much in these past two weeks, but she does seem kind of… disconnected from the rest of the gang. Like she gets her dose of everyone else through Dutch. Maybe you should check on her when you get back.

You half-listen as the women talk about finding work and discuss how gullible and desperate the men in this town must be when their only option besides whores is the ewes. Arthur says something about keeping a low profile.

“Will you remember that, though, Arthur?” Karen teases.

Arthur grumbles. “Probably not.”

The wagon pulls to a stop beside the stables. Men are milling about, guiding horses and carrying saddles.

You hop down off the wagon first and fight back the urge to cringe when you feel your boots sink a quarter of an inch into mud. Instead, you turn and hold out a hand, helping the women down one by one. You figure that they don’t really need it, but it’s still the polite thing to do.

“Here we are, just like I said,” Uncle says as he hops off the front wagon seat. “The cultural center of civilization – man at his finest.”

Karen jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll start at the saloon, see what we find.”

“Okay,” Arthur says. “Just stay outta trouble and don’t get yourselves noticed.”

“Right, I need to get somethin’ from the stores,” Uncle says. He starts walking, and Arthur falls in step with him, so you just follow.

“We’ll see you at the general store when you’re done,” Arthur calls after the women.

You look around as you follow Arthur and Uncle, not really listening in on their conversation. (You find yourself doing that a lot these days – keeping your head on a swivel like you’re a kid again, zoned out and only focusing on your surroundings.) There’s a hotel, a gunsmith, a law office, a bank… If you didn’t know you were actually-maybe-possibly in the actual year 1899, you’d give props to whoever cultivated a town frozen in time like this.

“This’s the place now.” Uncle slows in front of the general store and opens the door. “C’mon.”

You file into the store after Arthur. The walls are lined with shelves and cabinets stocked with goods, along with a table in the middle with even more items for sale.

“Here.” Arthur hands you a ten dollar bill. “Get yourself somethin’ new. You been livin’ in those clothes for a while now.”

“Oh.” You take the money from him. “Yeah, I… I guess I have. Thanks.”

You peruse the limited stock of clothing while Arthur and Uncle talk some more. You keep a careful eye on the price and pray that sales taxes aren’t a thing yet. And if they are, you pray that they’re included on the price tag.

Eventually, you decide on a nondescript, grey button-up, along with an extra pair of jeans. It makes you feel bad that you’re spending extra money, but you add on a belt because the jeans honestly seem a little too big.

The clerk hands you your change – $2.35. You tuck it in your jacket pocket.

“Do you have a changing room?” You ask. “I wanna get out of these clothes.”

The clerk shrugs. “You can use the stockroom, I guess.”

You thank him and head into the stockroom behind the till. It’s not much bigger than a janitor’s closet. Still, you do the best you can to change without knocking anything over.

When you’re done, you shrug your jacket back on and feel something poke you in the side. You reach to feel it, and… it’s your wallet. You completely forgot about your wallet.

You open it, and sure enough, it still has everything you kept in it. Credit card, debit card, health insurance, COVID vaccination card… money. There’s a ten and a five jammed behind your credit card, and a few coins. Enough to pay Arthur back.

You fold your clothes and tuck them under your arm, then exit the stockroom. You thank the clerk again, then turn to Uncle.

“I’m gonna put these back on the wagon,” you say.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” he says. “Just wait for us outside.”

You nod and exit the store. The walk to the wagon is short. You hop up on the back and tuck your clothes in a small chest underneath the seat.

When you return to the general store, Arthur and Uncle are outside, sitting on a bench next to the front door. You take a seat next to Arthur – not that you have much of a choice regarding that.

Uncle leans his elbow on his knee and looks over at you, holding out a bottle. “You want some whiskey?”

“No, I’m good.” You wave it away.

“Well, I’ll drink to your health for you.” Uncle takes a hearty drink from the bottle.

You exhale sharply in a lazy laugh. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“What a generous man you are,” Arthur chimes.

“It’s a funny world,” Uncle says. “This time in my career, I pictured myself being married to an heiress.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” You pull the ten dollar bill from your pocket and nudge Arthur’s arm. “I found this in the stockroom.”

There’s a pause. You nudge him again, harder. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through his leather jacket. “I… I don’t like feeling indebted. Just take it.”

Arthur takes the money and tucks it into his satchel. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“It’s nothing.” You set your hand in your lap, away from his. “Just call us even.”

“Even we are, then,” he says.

You hum and lean against the back of the bench. The men talk while you people-watch. It’s barely noon, but some men are already stumbling around, tipsy, if not drunk entirely.

You’re not sure how long you’re sat there with Uncle and Arthur, but Mary-Beth quickly snaps you out of your stupor. She’s walking fast, and the smile on her face tells you how excited she is. She prattles on about sneaking into a rich house and hearing about a train passing through soon.

“O…kay,” Arthur says.

Mary-Beth rolls her eyes, exasperated at his apparent thick-headedness. “A train laden with baggage, passing through a bit of deserted country at night, as to get to the docks in time for the tides, in someplace called Scarlett Meadows.”

Uncle raises a hand. “Yeah, I know it… It’s right out near New Hanover. It’s real quiet out there.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur says. “Where’s Tilly and Karen?”

“I think at the hotel,” Mary-Beth says. “They were pickin’ up some drunken fellers that they was gonna rob.”

A cold shock runs down your spine and your eyes snap up to Mary-Beth. She looks unconcerned, but the only thought in your mind is the possibilities of them being dead or nearing death. Bloody noses, whimpering, pleading for their lives.

Arthur feels the same, you can guess. His tone is stern and his voice is clipped as he spits out a “Why?”

“Seemed easy.” She checks over her shoulder at the hotel. “They have been gone for quite a while…”

You quickly get to your feet. “We’re getting them.”

You scan the other side of the street and see the skirt of a yellow dress disappearing around a corner, down an alley. It’s Tilly – you’re sure of it.

“Give me your gun.” You look at Uncle. He’s just looking back at you, bottle of whiskey still in hand. You leer closer, your lip curling. “Your gun, Uncle. Now.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a revolver. You snatch the gun by the barrel and ready it in your dominant hand.

You step down from the porch of the general store and almost storm across the street. You can hear Tilly’s voice, panicked and shouting. Nobody else seems to be paying her any attention.

“You can go kiss a damn snake for all I care,” you can hear her yell. “Get off me!”

You round the corner to see a man holding Tilly up against the wall of a building, grabbing at her. You stride up the stairs and shout: “Hey!”

You point the revolver at the man, tilting your shoulders and looking down the barrel like you were taught. The iron sights find his chest.

“Who the hell d’you think you are?” You spit. “Get your hands off her!”

“Who are you?” The man drawls, still holding Tilly against the wall.

“You think that matters?” You grit your teeth, your lip curling into a snarl.

The man moves away from Tilly, letting his arm fall and freeing her. “You really think you’re so high and mighty?”

You pull the hammer back with your thumb. “I think that you need to run while you still can.”

The man takes a step back, glancing at Tilly. He points at her like it’s meant to be threatening. “You’re making a big mistake, Tilly Jackson.”

“Just get lost,” she says.

He turns and walks away. You keep your gun trained on his back until he turns the corner. When he disappears, you exhale heavily and close your eyes. Your hands are starting to shake. Your whole body is starting to shake.

“Take the gun.” You hold the revolver out to Tilly, holding it by the barrel. “Tilly, please take the gun.”

She takes the gun and decocks the hammer. You take a few steps back until your back meets the wall of the store, then slide down until you’re squatting. You breathe out a sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. You’re still shaking, and the adrenaline drop is making you feel like shit.

“Thank you.” Tilly puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

“No,” you say. You bring your hands away from your face and look over at her. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I’m fine,” she says. A soft smile crosses her face. “Y’know, for such a bundle of nerves, you sure handle yourself well when it comes to unpleasant men.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Don’t mention it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back until it hits the wall and rest there for a moment. You feel like absolute shit. You’re lightheaded, you’re exhausted, and you can feel sweat dampening your new shirt.

You rub a hand over your chest and hit your sternum to wake yourself up. You stand up and take the revolver from Tilly, tucking it in your belt.

“The others are waiting.” You jerk your head to the side.

Tilly follows you towards the wagon. You glance over at the hotel, where Karen is following Arthur down the steps. The corner of her mouth is bloody, but apart from that, she looks relatively untouched.

“You okay?” Tilly asks.

“Sure, he only punched me.” Karen flexes and massages her jaw. “Arthur punched him a lot harder.”

“Hey.” Mary-Beth looks over your shoulder. “Who’s that guy over there looking at us?”

You check over your shoulder and, sure enough, there’s a man atop a horse, staring at your little group.

“Weren’t you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” He calls to Arthur.

“Me?” Arthur says. “No, sir. Ain’t from there.”

“Oh, you were,” the man says. “I definitely saw you! With a bunch of fellers.”

“Me? No. Impossible,” Arthur says. He starts walking towards the man. “Listen, buddy. Come here for a minute.”

“I saw you…”

“C’mere.”

The man spurs his horse and takes off. Arthur looks back and points at Uncle.

“Go get all ‘em home.” He approaches a random nearby horse and puts his boot in the stirrup. “I’m gonna go have a word with our friend.”

“Be careful, Arthur,” Tilly says as he mounts up.

Arthur takes off with an exclamation of “Just a word!”

There’s a moment where you and the others just stare after him as he rides, his figure rapidly retreating as he chases the man from Blackwater. Then, you look away and move towards the wagon.

“Let’s go,” Tilly says. “I think I’ve had about enough of Valentine for today.”

You take her hand and help her up into the back of the wagon. “I couldn’t agree more.”

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