#Wolves' Chew Toy { John Marston }

[stoodunshaken]

          “‘Scuse me, officer, ah...did you say Marston?”

          He couldn’t rightly believe his ears when he’d overheard it, walking by two Police officers in Blackwater, but a simple nod from the officer had affirmed his suspicion. Normally he wouldn’t have risked showing his face anywhere near West Elizabeth, but, as it’d been over a decade since his reported death, he simply didn’t believe there was anything to fear anymore. Besides - his entire appearance had changed. He’d taken every possible effort to ensure the Pinkertons wouldn’t recognize him. Maybe he was just being stubborn and dumb - it wouldn’t be the first time - but he had faith in his disguise. It was the first time he’d had faith in anything for quite a while.

          Those two jackals had been discussing John. Arthur had doubted it at first, but after ducking behind a wall and listening in for a moment, he had all the info he needed. The Pinkertons had found Marston, and they were planning a hit, with help from the army. As much as he wanted to stay out of it, so desperately desired to be free of all the outlaw nonsense, he didn’t feel he had a choice. John Marston was his brother. He’d saved John, all those years ago. Stayed behind to deal with Micah. Even gave John his hat. It pained him, later, making John believe he was dead and gone, but his survival would be easier to keep secret if only he and Charles knew about it. 

          But, in that alleyway, in 1911, a decision had been made. On that day, Tacitus Kilgore, Arthur Callahan - whatever name he’d been going by at the time - was dead. On that day, Arthur Morgan would ride again. He made sure to dress the part too. Shaved, got his hair trimmed, even found a hat somewhat similar to his old one. Not too expensive, just how he liked it.

          It was so, on that sunny evening in West Elizabeth, Arthur Morgan rode into Beecher’s Hope to silence. Dead bodies littered the property; he thanked the lord that he didn’t see John among them. However, he did see Uncle, dead on the porch. A quiet ‘poor bastard’ was uttered; not the most respectful eulogy, nor heartfelt, but the man was an annoying degenerate, and a lazy fool. Besides, there wasn’t time for a proper sendoff. He had to find John.

          And that he did when he spotted a horse riding away from the barn, and a lot of horses heading towards the ranch. He took cover behind a rock to see how it’d play out, and, of course, there was Edgar Ross. As much as Arthur dearly wished that man was dead, it seemed he couldn’t kill with thought. Such a pity. It’d have made dealing with that jackass Micah so much easier. Oh well...the old-fashioned way would have to do.

          Just before Marston could leave the barn, a familiar voice would ring out from afar.

          “God damn, my life just seems to be filled with turncoats. First Micah, then Dutch, and now you! Gotta admit, I figured you Pinkertons might’a had just a bit more honor than to stab a family man in the back. Guess ya really ain’t no better than Dutch, are ya?” A simple wink, and he ducked behind cover, narrowly dodging a hail of bullets. Returning fire from dual-wielded Mauser pistols, a final call was made.

          “Marston! It’s Arthur! If you can hear me, I know damn well you ain’t too lazy to shoot! Lend a hand, you damn fool! We gotta go! There’s more on the way!”

{ @notalwaysgood as discussed via IMs!}