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imladris-soldier · 5 years ago

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Lashes (pt 19)

Bill Williamson is a racist asshole. Everyone knows it. They just punch him and go on about their day. When a Lakota woman joins the gang, everyone expects things to go on as normal, slurs and all, and for a time, it does. But her curiosity gets the better of her, and she finds that hatred is something learned - which means it can be unlearned, if given time, care, and patience. And she has plenty of those… the first two, anyway.

Bill Williamson x OC

The mood around camp stayed tense over the next two days while Hosea and Dutch debated the bank job. The anticipation of that, on top of the lingering ice from the fight, kept things subdued and awkward. Star felt as though every one of her muscles were taut to their breaking point more often than not and soon took to arrow-making to occupy her time and take out her emotions on some unsuspecting wood. Charles provided her with endless feathers as he spent his time away from camp entirely, and he always brought back hunted birds to feed her new habit.

Bill kept quiet about the fact that he was protecting his lover, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what he was doing, sitting at her side with a gun near at hand. She felt better with him close, and every time Micah's eyes even slightly drifted in her direction, Bill would be reaching for his rifle. While she knew she would soon move past her altercation with the man and lose the lingering feeling of vulnerability, it was helpful to feel safe in the meantime.

Late one afternoon, Hosea began making rounds, announcing that the bank robbery was going ahead in the morning. As he approached Star and Bill, Arthur tagged along behind him. “Dutch says to get some rest,” the white-haired man told them. “We're movin' on Saint Denis in the mornin'. That said, Star... I was hopin' you might agree to stay behind at camp.”

“Why?” Bill demanded.

“'Cuz we need good fightin' folk to stay with those who ain't comin' along. Mrs. Adler will be stayin', and I was hopin' you might too. Whadda ya say?”

Star paused the monotonous movement of her knife against the stick in her hand to think. She could feel Bill's eyes on her, knowing well that he would prefer she go with him, but what did she know of robbing banks? She'd barely been involved in the Valentine job, and perhaps she had pushed her luck far enough by attending the mayor's party in town.

“I'll stay, Hosea. Seems like the best fit.”

He clapped his hands together, smiling. “Excellent. I'll leave you to it.”

As Hosea walked off, Arthur joined the pair around their small fire. “Appreciate ya bein' willing to stay,” he told her. “I know ya like to be in the thick of things.”

She offered him a smile before going back to her work. “I dunno. I'm a bit out of my depth here.”

“Nah. But I, for one, will feel better knowin' them that's stayin' has you and Sadie lookin' out for 'em. You are both mighty women.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

As she scraped her knife against the wood, Star glanced at Bill out of the corner of her eye. He was slumped slightly in apparent disappointment, and he seemed to be mulling over some words to say, though he also seemed unwilling to speak them with Arthur present. After a moment, he cleared his throat and quietly asked, “Arthur, can I get a minute alone with my wife?”

Star's movements slowed immediately to a stop as Bill's question rattled around in her head. There was something intoxicating and dangerous about hearing him call her his own in such a way.

“Sure,” Arthur replied, lumbering to his feet and knocking the dust off his jeans. “I'll see you two in the mornin'. Get some sleep.”

He left them, and Star sighed, sitting aside her project to devote her attention to Bill. He was fiddling with one of the patches on his pants, tugging at the haphazard sewing. She waited patiently for him to start, and began weaving together a small crown of grass in the meantime.

“I... I know I ain't exactly made myself clear on... well... seein' as how sometimes I want you to stay home and sometimes I'm draggin' ya out there in the middle of shit. I just don't want ya to think... I know you're a good shot and all. I know you can take care of yourself. But, ya know, it's like you said. We watch each others backs, but we can only do that together. I-I-I'd just feel better... havin' you with me. That's all.”

Star nodded, taking some time to think on that. Her fingers worked at the grass in her hands, twisting it into a long rope that left behind a slight green stain. “You realize I would be a liability, don't you? I've never robbed a bank. Not properly.”

“Don't mean you ain't good at it,” he replied with a slight smile. “Ain't seen much you can't do.”

A small laugh skittered out of her. “Now, now. Compliments will not change my mind. Hosea was right to ask me to stay. I'll be of more use here looking after everyone. We have the rest of our lives for me to look after you.”

Something about that seemed to take a weight from Bill's shoulders. He smiled at the ground. “Guess that's right. Didn't think of it that way.”

“Besides, you know I'll be with you in spirit.” She crawled to him, placing her grass rope around his head before tapping his chest. “Right here. If you get into a tight spot, just ask yourself what I would do. And then... depending on the situation, perhaps do the exact opposite.”

Bill laughed, grabbing her waist and pulling her atop him as he laid back in the grass. She shrieked playfully, laughing with him. From her position above him, she pressed her nose to his. “You'll be ok. Everything is going to be ok. And when it's over, we'll be headed for a tropical paradise where the only things we'll have to worry about are sea monsters and sunburns.”

She said it for her own benefit as much as his. With the way things had been going, it was impossible not to worry and doubt, but doing so brought down the wrath of Dutch who was just so damned sure of himself and his dream. Star wanted to believe in him and the future he spoke of, but there were so many unknowns. When this job was finally out of the way, perhaps they would finally have some direction.

The pair spent the night close together, turning in early though neither found sleep so easily. After some tossing and turning, they both gave up. Bill took a comb to Star's dark locks and tried to practice his braiding. Charles had shown him some time ago, but he was still struggling to get it down. Fine motor skills weren't exactly his forte. Still, it was comforting for Star to feels his fingers in her hair, even if they occasionally pulled. He apologized every time.

As the sky began to turn grey, Star's anxiety grew. Despite knowing that it was best for her to stay, she wanted to go and watch her man's back. Hell, she wanted to watch everyone's back. Her single trip to Saint Denis was enough for her to know that it wasn't going to be easy getting out of there. Winding streets made for too many places that pursuers could bottleneck them in or cut them off.

When the camp began to stir, Star helped Bill dress in his suit, unable to keep a snicker to herself. “What?” he asked, turning to and fro, trying to find what she was laughing at.

“Nothing. It's just... was that the only fabric you could find?

“What's wrong with it?”

She appraised the plaid suit, leaning her chin into her hand. “I mean... nothing, really. It's just a bit... chaotic.” His hair was a bushy mess too, as usual, adding to the frazzled look. “Come here.” She grabbed some pomade and coated her comb in it before dragging it through his hair until it laid down into something resembling respectable. “Better.”

“I ain't tryin' to get a job at the bank, I'm tryin' to rob the damn thing,” he retorted, though not without amusement and warmth.

“You gotta get in the place first, and they're not going to let you within a mile looking like a vagrant who's had too much cocaine.”

“Now, that's just unkind.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his torso. “I'm only joking. You look fine.”

He sighed, twisting his arms around her shoulders. “Still wish you was comin' with me.”

“I am, remember? Right here.” She tapped his chest again. “Besides, you'll be back before sundown, and then we'll be outta here. No more gators and buzzing bugs. Paradise.”

“Right. Mangoes. All that.”

“Exactly. So go on. The sooner you go, the sooner we leave this place.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips, and for a moment, Star wondered if this is what normal couples felt like. Just a wife sending her husband off to work with the dream of a better future. Of course, normal jobs didn't seem quite so harrowing.

They made their way outside where the camp was bustling with activity. Everyone was dressed sharply and mounting up or climbing atop a wagon. Star escorted Bill to the wagon he would be driving, though as she stood there, Charles squeezed her shoulder on his way by and Arthur pat her back with a reassuring smile. She gave them both smiles, then handed Bill's rifle up to him.

“So,” Hosea called, “we rob ourselves a bank, and within six weeks we're living life anew in a tropical idyll, spending the last of our days as banana farmers! Let's get the hell outta this place and rob ourselves a bank!”

With a clamor of whoops and hollers, nearly half the gang rode out of camp, kicking up dust. Just as they disappeared through the trees, Dutch's voice floated back. “This is it, gentlemen! The last one!”

And just like that, Shady Belle fell quiet once more, leaving those left behind with nothing more to do but wait. Ms. Grimshaw made half an effort to convince people to pack up so that they'd be ready to move when it was all said and done, but she didn't take to it with her usual vigor. Everyone was worried, but hopeful.

Star and Sadie kept an eye on the borders of camp, each taking patrol of either side. Without really realizing it at first, Star picked the eastern edge of camp so that she could stare in the direction of Saint Denis as she paced. Of course, for a long while, such an endeavor seemed useless, but when an explosion carried through the air, and a distant pillar of smoke became visible, it no longer felt so.

Ms. Grimshaw came to stand with her, staring in the direction of the smoke. “Must be Hosea's distraction. He is quite the showman.”

Star smiled softly. “You wouldn't guess it just from looking at him.”

“No,” the older woman agreed, “but I have known him for a very long time. He enjoys an artful distraction.” She paused, eyeing Star with a perception that smacked of a mother's. “Don't you worry yourself. They'll be alright. This ain't their first rodeo.”

A small chuckled found its way out of Star's tense frame. “No, I suppose it's not. It's all just kinda new for me, you know? I've only been with you all for a few months, and sometimes I forget the reputation the Van Der Linde Gang had prior to Blackwater going south. Even I had heard a tale or two of your exploits.”

“That right?”

She nodded. “I'm from farther north than you guys ever roamed, but stories travel. Of course, they change every time someone tells it too.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Ms. Grimshaw laughed. “Well, I'll leave ya to your work. Whenever you get hungry, Mr. Pearson made some oatmeal this mornin'.”

“Thank you, Ms. Grimshaw.”

When Star was left alone again, she turned her attentions back to the swamp. The only threat she could see was the monstrous creatures that lurked in the mud and hissed at anything that got too close, but they didn't seem particularly interested in raiding the place. The O'Driscolls seemed to have learned their lesson and stayed away, though they'd done damage enough by taking Kieran. Deep down, Star was looking forward to getting away from here – away from all the bad memories.

Morning turned to afternoon, and as that began to drag on, the fragile confidence that had hung over the camp began to dissipate. Star abandoned her post to find Sadie who was standing near the entrance of the camp, gazing into the trees.

“Don't you think they should've been back by now?” the Lakota woman murmured, trying to keep her voice low enough so that her concerns would not infect the others.

“From what Arthur told me about the plan... yeah. Maybe they just got held up.”

“Maybe. Had to take the long way back to shake followers or something. Still... we should probably get everyone ready to move, in case we need to make a quick exit.”

“Right. I'll see to that. You stay here. Keep an eye out. Holler if you see anything.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Sadie headed into the heart of camp, hurrying people along with the packing. Most of the equipment was good to go, but there were some lingering tasks to be done. Normally, Star would have expected to hear one of the girls grumbling about it, but no one did. The stakes were too high. Even Reverend Swanson had taken to loading things onto wagons.

Afternoon took a turn towards evening, and Star's chest grew tighter as the sky grew darker. The shadows between the trees were becoming harder to see through. The camp behind her was eerily quiet, almost as if they were all straining to hear any sign of the bank party.

When she could no longer see more than fifty yards in front of her, Star pulled back to camp. “Mr. Pearson,” she called quietly to the cook. “Keep the fires small.”

He nodded, but then asked, “Why does it feel like we're expecting to be attacked?”

“Because we don't know what's coming. They should've been back by now. For all we know, the next riders through those trees could be Pinkertons. Let's not give anyone more cause to find us than we must.”

“Star,” Sadie called, waving her over to a secluded spot by the porch.

She jogged to join her friend, and they huddled together in discussion. “Sadie, something isn't right.”

“I agree. We might wanna consider movin' camp.”

“To where? Nobody thought up a contingency plan if everything went pear-shaped.”

“I know, I know,” Sadie sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Just don't feel safe, stayin' here.”

“You're right. It doesn't.”

In the distance, little Jack asked, “Miss Mary-Beth, where's momma?”

Star and Sadie glanced over to find Mary-Beth's eyes on them as she answered, “Don't you worry about your momma and daddy. They'll be back soon.”

A slight rain had begun to fall, adding absolutely nothing positive to the mood of the place. “What do we do?” Star whispered, almost rhetorically.

Just then, she caught movement in the trees at the entrance of camp. She ran out, gun raised and shouted, “Who goes there?”

“Charles and Abigail!” her chosen brother's voice called back.

The camp burst into noise as everyone rushed the pair who had arrived alone and on foot. “Where is everyone? What's happened?” Ms. Grimshaw cried.

“It went bad,” Charles replied as Abigail rushed forward to pull Jack into her arms. “Pinks and cops everywhere. Hosea's dead. Lenny too.”

Mary-Beth gasped and Karen sighed, “Jesus.”

“John got cuffed and taken away. We don't know where.”

“What about the others?” Pearson asked.

“When I left 'em, Dutch, Bill, Javier, Arthur, and Micah were going to sneak on board one of the docked ships in the harbor. Don't know which one. Don't know where they are or where they're going. It's... it's just us.”

Everyone stood in shocked, grieving silence. Star turned her gaze back towards Saint Denis, fighting the desperate burn of tears around her eyes. I should have gone with him.

“We need to move camp,” Sadie announced decisively. “They're probably lookin' for the rest of us. We got everything pretty well packed, but we gotta find somewhere to go. Me and Charles will ride out in the morning to find a place. Star, you'll stay here to keep an eye on things, and when we find somewhere, we'll come get everyone.”

There were quiet murmurs of agreement and comprehension before what was left of the Van Der Linde gang slowly dissipated to find what sleep and comfort they could.

Charles came to Star, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?” he asked, his dark eyes watching her own as she gazed out into the darkness.

“No,” she whispered, her lip quivering. “But I'm not gonna let them see that. Somebody's gotta be strong for these people, and it's gonna have to be me and you and Sadie and Ms. Grimshaw. Otherwise none of us are going to make it.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But maybe they'll be back sooner than...”

“It doesn't matter what may happen. We need to proceed like they're never coming back. Because they just as surely might die wherever it is they're going. We can't rest all our hopes and actions on assumptions that they're coming back. They might as well be dead.”

“Star... he's not dead. Not yet.”

She turned to him, eyes sparkling with tears. “And maybe tomorrow he will be. He's not here. None of them are here. And we have to function without them. So there's no use holding onto hope. Hope has forsaken us.”

With that, she turned and stalked off into the night, unable to bring herself to go to the tent she and Bill shared. Instead, she made her way through the house, up the stairs to the Arthur's room. For a while she stood staring out of the broken window across from the door, then she moved around the room, examining Arthur's belongings. Each one she placed into her satchel. Whether he came back or not, she didn't want to leave them sitting around.

As the exhaustion of the previous sleepless night crashed down on her, Star curled up on Arthur's cot and cried herself to sleep, vowing that in the morning the tears would stop. When she rose the next day, she would be the protector the gang needed her to be. But for tonight, she would mourn her friends and send a hapless, hopeless prayer to the universe to keep the man she loved safe.

#my writing #Red Dead Redemption #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Bill Williamson x oc #bill williamson #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #susan grimshaw #simon pearson #sadie adler #charles smith #lashes #the long awaited return of my epic lol #god it's been so long #I missed these fools

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emmieloumay · 4 years ago

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Champagne Woes

Summary: The before of 'The Gilded Cage' mission at the Mayor's house with the group getting ready at Shady Belle, with a +1. Sybil gets dolled up, Arthur struggles to get his words out, and Dutch is suave as hell - much to Arthur's frustration.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, fun, and a little sinful toward the end.

Words: 4716

I hope y'all enjoy! I've been sitting on this for weeks! I am a SLACKER

“I think this is too much, Mary-Beth.”

“Nonsense! You’ve got to blend in with those folks of high society!”

“Too overdone, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb, too underdone - well, you’ll not be able to show your face on those streets!”

“That’s… Reassuring, thank you Karen.”

Sybil holds her head still as the girls fuss with laying her curls onto her head. She hopes it looks alright as the mirrors in Shady Belle are all shattered. Her eyes drift toward the dress on the couch, then to Abigail as she walks in with dear Jack.

“Oh ain’t that beautiful!”

“Isn’t it? Dutch said he was quite proud of that find.”

“Dutch? No, it was Hosea wasn’t it?”

Sybil sighs. She hadn’t dared ask how the men acquired the new dress when they rode into camp with the boxes. But she protested quietly to them when they told her she would be the one joining their reconnaissance. Miss O’Shea had been drawing on and on all day about finally going out somewhere with Dutch. When he passed the boxed dress to Sybil, Sybil couldn’t help but feel the daggers of the scorned woman. Sybil had been led away quickly by Hosea as Molly and Dutch started to bicker.

Sybil, while lost in her thoughts, hissed and grumbled to them, “What on God’s earth are you doin’? I’m not a doll!”

Well, with the girls fussing, her hair fell from the pins and back onto her shoulders. There was a pause, a collective groan, and they backed away to give Sybil a look over.

“This shouldn’t be so hard!”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Could it be her hair?”

“She’s got a full head of it!”

Jack walks over to her and grins, while Sybil takes notice of another missing tooth.

“You look pretty, Aunt Sybil.”

“Well, aren’t you a pumpkin? Thank you, Jack.”

He giggles and Sybil takes him into her lap. Jack happily plays with one of his toys, content on sitting in her lap as the girls try again to do her hair with the help of Abigail and even Susan. The matron is quick to finish the work on her own while Sybil keeps Jack entertained with a story.

“Now that is how you do it, ladies.”

“It’s not going to fall out?”

“Of course not! I’ve been workin’ pins like that all my life - and you don’t see my hair movin’.”

Sybil smiles as she sets Jack on his feet.

“Do you think you can go and see how your Uncles are getting ready?”

“Yeah!”

“Thank you, Jack. Make sure they don’t come up here, as I’m going to be getting ready.”

“Okay, Auntie Syb!”

Jack rushes out of the room and heads downstairs to find either Dutch, Hosea, or Arthur. Sybil sighs in relief before going to shimmy out of her skirts and shirt while the girls open up a few of the boxes.

“Oh! They got you a whole new garter set!”

“Well, ain’t that… Sweet of them,” Sybil adds, unsure of how she feels about Dutch picking out intimates for her.

“Oh don’t think too hard on it, it’s all for the part!”

“Oh, they’ve gotten you gloves, new shoes!”

Karen looks over a shoe, while Susan holds up a sheet of sorts to give Sybil some privacy in changing out of her old set and into the new.

“These are all going into a chest when you get back, Miss Dennison.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’m sure we can use it again for the girls.”

Susan adds, taking note of the door opening as Molly walks in. The air is laced with the giddiness of the party thoughts, but there is tension as Sybil goes through the finishing steps of her gettup. There are collective ‘oohs’ and ‘oh my gods’ as they take in the finished product.

From the silk ribbon around her neck, the pearly gloves that bunched just right, to the shoes that would be pinching her by the end of the night - one would not imagine that this dream in lilac shades was a country bumpkin outlaw.

“Well, ain’t you pretty!”

“Oh, you’re beautiful!”

“The men there won’t know what hit them!”

Sybil goes to twirl, smiling brightly at them as the fabric settles at her feet.

During the women’s fussing and work, Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur got ready together in the covering of Dutch’s tent. A bath in Saint Denis and the trip to the tailor filled their morning much to Arthur’s dismay. It weighs on his mind as he shaves his neck.

“Now, what do you think… Of this?”

Dutch had motioned to a dress as he glanced at Arthur. He was more focused on Hosea being fitted than Dutch’s words, simply waiting his turn.

“Hm?”

“The dress? For the lady joining us tonight? You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

“I… No, I haven’t. I’m sure she has a dress though.”

“Nonsense! We’ll get her that one. It’s a perfect pairing for the Mayor’s, don’t you think, Hosea?”

Hosea peered over.

“It’s quite nice. Nicer than anything she’s ever owned, I'd wager."

“What do you think, Arthur?”

Arthur shrugs his shoulders, mumbling a soft “I dunno” in return.

“We’ll take that dress in the lilac there, with… New shoes, stockings… Oh, maybe…”

Dutch stood, now enamored with this whole other idea of a lovely lady - be that Molly, Mary-Beth, or any of the camp women. Though Arthur had a particular head of honey curls cross his thoughts.

“You alright, Arthur?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure.”

Hosea chuckles, slicking his hair back with a light dusting of pomade. Dutch snatched away Hosea’s comb to do his own with the hope of taming his curls and mustache from the Lemoyne humidity.

“You think Bill found a suit?”

“I’m sure he did, Dutch.”

“And Lenny and Charles managed to get the coach?”

“Just as we planned. Now, stop fussin’.”

Arthur chuckles as his own nerves bubble. He dabbles some cologne onto his neck as his eyes cut to the sudden, yet muffled laughing from the house. Of anyone to take along to this party, he couldn’t have imagined that Dutch would suggest Sybil. Not that Arthur didn’t trust her abilities to handle herself and get vital information.

This was different.

Arthur and her had gotten closer, maybe even sweet on each other. It's nothing they flaunt, but it's not been unnoticed. His once one track mind suffers in her presence, and the ideas of easy, reckless killing don't appeal to him. He doesn't wish to be the reason she ends up hurt, and he'll be damned if someone else causes it.

Hosea nudges Arthur from his thoughts as he helps with the top button of the dress shirt.

"Quit your sweating."

"I ain't sweating."

"I beg to differ. The pomade in your hair is coming loose."

Hosea grabs their overcoats as they walk over to the entryway of Shady Belle, watching with a smirk as Arthur fingers his hair into place again.

"You look fine, Arthur."

"I… You sure about this, Hosea? Bringin' her along? I'm just worried she'll…"

"She'll what?"

"... I'm worried she'll get hurt."

Hosea chuckles as he works on smoothing out his vest. Arthur shifts his weight as he fiddles with the cuffs of his jacket, eyeing the stairs.

"With you there, and the fact that it's a bunch of high society sissies? She's as safe as could be."

"Is she ready? We've got to get going!"

Dutch calls as he walks inside with Jack, who's had his hair playfully swiped to the side with pomade. He laughs, before rushing up the stairs.

"Auntie Sybil! Are you ready?!"

"Just about, Jack!"

Arthur grumbles as he paws at his necktie - the white fabric snaked around tightly without thought. Hosea chuckles and steps over to him. Slapping his hands away to fix the shoddy job, Hosea hums.

“You’re still sweating, Arthur.”

“It’s hot, Hosea.”

“I understand that and it isn’t going to get any easier tonight.”

He gives a knowing look while he steps away. Satisfied, he looks to the left and sighs at the state that is Bill Williamson. Everything is too tight, or too short. Hosea can’t help but be thankful his shoes and socks match, and that he’s had a bath.

“Well, let’s hope your lack of fitting pants isn’t noticed by the folk, hm?”

“I… I know. I couldn’t find a damn thing…”

Arthur snorts, giving his hair a last comb through as he hears Jack trundle down the stairs.

“She’s really pretty, Uncle Arthur!”

“Is she now?”

“Yeah! She looks like… Like a princess! From my storybooks!”

Arthur shakes his head as he helps Jack jump down the last few steps. A soft laugh catches his ear and his gaze falls toward the last landing.

Speechless. His thoughts flood with adoration and shock at the state of her, though it’s nothing short of in love. Arthur has always thought she is a woman of delicate beauty, a wildflower that blooms in rough soils, that holds firm in weathering storms. He’s always had something to say. But nothing he’d say now would convey how his heart rocks against his ribcage, the heavenly buzz on his brain, or how he wants to steal her away from the world and give her a life away from all of this rough and tumble.

In the seconds that pass Hosea watches this proudly. He hasn’t seen Arthur this flustered in years - at least not over a woman. Hosea can’t help but beam as the two seem lost in their own world, while the chatter and praise goes on around them. They’d do good, they’d be good… They are good.

Arthur hasn’t had a chance to even step forward and gather his thoughts to reach for her hand, before the strong aftershave of Dutch wakes him rudely.

“My, oh my… My dear Miss Dennison, you look heavenly!”

Dutch purrs, following his words with pointed steps up to take her and lead her the rest of the way, giving her a little twirl for the group. This has left Arthur flustered, his swell of pride deflating as he watches Dutch.

He has the perfect things to say, with the suaveness to match. Arthur bows his head momentarily, knowing he’d not have the same effect - not even if he tries. He turns his head as Hosea pats his arm, an apologetic nod meeting his gaze.

“We better get going. Don’t want to miss this.”

“Sure thing.”

“We’ll be back! Micah, Javier? Keep an eye on the place, if you please!”

“Sure thing, Hosea.”

Sybil will never ask how they snatched this carriage, but the horses are well fed and clean, and the seating is plush. No one would be the wiser that it was more than likely stolen. It is a tight squeeze but all five seem to fit comfortably.

“Take us away, Mr. Summers!”

“Of course, Dutch!”

Sybil makes attempts to keep her skirts from overwhelming them, laughing as there is a quick shift around. According to Mary-Beth, being stuck in a fanciful carriage with four rugged outlaws would be an amazing start to a romance. Though all Sybil could think was how Arthur reacted when he saw her. She’d hold that rush of romance close to her heart - adoring how well he filled out his suit, with his cleaned hair and beard. Though his eyes that were hardened by years of caravanning and rough upbringing observed her with the softest of suns.

What she’d give to have him to herself without the stress of appearances lingering over their heads.

A pop of a champagne bottle pulls her from her window, finding a filled glass being cupped into her fingers by Dutch. He grins, before chatting loudly to the others as they took glasses and drank. The champagne is warm and the sprinkling of bubbles tickles her throat. Dutch leans forward to fill a glass again for Bill, giving Sybil a chance to catch Arthur’s eyes. The poor man smiles sheepishly before he turns away - rubbing his fingers over the edge of his glass.

God above, this was going to be a long night.

The carriage ride into town soon lacks tension and is filled with bubbling laughter. Sybil doesn’t remember what started it, but she has no doubt it was something Hosea said. Her thoughts had been swimming with the passing Saint Denis street lights and the lull of the carriage wheels.

Dutch pulls a second bottle of champagne as the others snort and come down from their fits.

“We are ridiculous!”

“Utterly!”

Arthur takes a glass again as he catches his breath.

“I ain’t ever been to a ball in my life,” he adds while glancing down to Sybil. She’s occupying herself with a fan, hoping to keep what little makeup she has on. He catches her peek over the thinly carved wood and melts at the smile in her eyes.

“Nor have I, if I’m being honest,” Dutch interjects as he fills up the glasses of Bill and Hosea.

Hosea does not drink as he continues the conversation with a glimmer of remembrance.

“I used to quite often! There could be fine pickings.”

“Of course you’d be the one to talk their way into high society, Hosea,” Sybil chimes in with a laugh. Dutch though firmly, but lightly interrupts with a scolding eye toward his partner in crime.

“Oh, no, no, no, no. No pickpocketing! We are here to make real contacts.”

“What kind of contacts?” Arthur comments, truly unaware of what sort of contacts would be here. He prays they aren’t related to anything too disruptive. Dutch shrugs, setting his top hat on his knee.

“Well I don’t know. We’ll find what we can.”

He continues with a chuckle, looking to the others with a glint of mischief.

“All I know for sure is we are going to a party at the mayor’s house and the guest of honor is the worst crook in town,” he adds with a toothy grin, “I’m sure we will find something!”

They all laugh and shake their heads at the idea. Arthur raises his glass, drowning out his nerves with the idea of good fortunes.

“Okay!”

Sybil smiles, raising her glass before passing it to a nervous Bill. He is lost on the idea of this, but he’s better than the alternative of having Micah along - Bill at least understands cues to shut up when he needs to. Her ears perk up to a soft knock from the front of the carriage as it slows.

“Here we go, folks. Smiles and good manners.”

She nods, taking in a breath as Dutch and Bill switch places to allow him to exit at the head of the group. The hum of the party meets their ears as the carriage door is opened by Dutch.

“My Lady.”

Sybil stands carefully with a helping hand from Hosea, before Dutch leads her down from the carriage, followed by Hosea, Bill, and finally Arthur. She sighs softly, finding herself linked with Dutch as he struts forward to show their joint invitations. The man, dressed smartly with a fake air of ‘happy to be here’ tone bows his head to them. As well-dressed as they appear, he seems to have an idea of who they are.

“Gentleman! I’m afraid the mayor does not allow guns at official functions after last year’s incident.”

Sybil raises her brows, though nothing more is said. Her eyes trail toward the house as the men pass over their guns, all reluctant but compliant. They are set aside in a box, which is promptly set with a lock. The man offers a dry smile, before motioning to another gentleman.

“Luca here will take you to Mr. Bronte, I believe he is expecting you.”

Luca smiles brightly, taking an eager step toward the house. Dutch offers his arm to her, which she takes with a small smile - though she casts a glance back to the rest of them and gives a reassuring smile as they step closer to the massive manor.

“This way please. Signor Bronte will be so pleased that you made it.”

Dutch pats Sybil’s hand as he speaks, taking his eyes from her to the back of Luca’s head, “We are honored to be here.”

“That’s wonderful, wonderful. Come come, this way.”

Sybil is lost on the small talk, her eyes wide at the grandeur of patterned floors, gold accents, and high columns. The servants scurry about to look busy and show face but there is no doubt they’ve dusted that mantle eight times today. Sybil sighs and is drawn back to the group as Dutch passes her to Hosea and Bill.

“Hosea, Bill, you take Miss Dennison and join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to Signor Bronte.”

“Of course, we won’t go far.”

Sybil smiles at Arthur, though is careful in stepping close to fix his tie and smooths out his sleeve. A kind smile floats between them before they part. She now focuses on Bill as they step out to the party.

“Bill Williamson, I cannot believe how you’re lookin’ right now. Ah! Do not hide away from me.”

She sternly holds him in place with a glance as she goes to fix his tie, straighten his jacket and smooth out his shirt. Bill lets her, not wishing too much of a fuss, much to Hosea’s amusement.

“I am really sorry about it.”

“Oh… Don’t be, Bill,” she adds. Her fingers grip at the fan and her eyes drift over the party. “I’m just… I’m nervous. I have no idea how to blend in to all of this, and I just want y'all to have an easier time.”

Sybil huffs and shakes her head. “I ain’t nothing more than a pleasant distraction.”

“Well… You are pleasant lookin’, Miss Dennison. I mean… You…”

“Thank you, Bill, that’s kind of you.”

She pats his arm, smiling kindly at him as he nods in return. Sybil attempts to relax her stance as she fans herself but the shoes make it hard to do. A part of her prays Arthur and Dutch don’t spend the whole night with the devil that is Signor Bronte. No matter if he’s given them a chance to walk through the city on his orders, that he was ‘sorry’ for the misunderstanding - that man held poor Jack without much of a thought! Sybil’s rage bubbles up to her throat, but she composes herself. She wouldn’t be any help if she gets hotheaded.

Hosea and Bill are chatting mindlessly as they scope out the Saint Denis high society.

“So much for a party… This ain’t nothin’ more than a social.”

“It’s political - or more of a business meeting.”

Bill nods, though doesn’t take much thought into it as Dutch’s voice breaks through the noise.

“Gentleman… Madam… Let’s go ingratiate ourselves.”

A sigh of quiet relief leaves Sybil as the two walk up.

“Did everything go alright with him?”

“Just about… But he isn’t our problem tonight,” Arthur comments.

He takes a brief look over the party before focusing back on her, watching her brow knit in thought.

“Really, it ain’t anything we need to talk about now. At least not in … ‘proper’ company.”

“Oh, oh. I hear you now.”

Arthur’s palms are beading with sweat. Maybe it would have been a good idea to buy those gloves, but he’d take them off anyways - too constricting. Though, his thoughts bubble with annoyance as Dutch takes Sybil carefully by the arm. Linking them together as a pair. Dutch beams proudly as he mumbles to Arthur with a pointed smile.

“Go find the mayor if you can, and stay outta trouble. And steal nothing… Unless it’s information.”

“Of… Course.”

“Madam, shall we?”

Dutch leads Sybil away, leaving Arthur empty handed and fuming.

“You know… You’ve got to be a little more quick on the draw, my boy.”

Hosea mumbles in passing, leaving Arthur lost in his words before he disappears into the party with a huff.

“Little more quick? Bah.”

---

The party draws on, and Sybil is lost to Dutch’s words. Being hooked to a man of words is a dull and fruitless labor that leaves the mind dead and yearning for attractive conversation. Her eyes have stolen longing glances at Arthur when he’s found the time to pass by. No doubt he has checked on Hosea and Bill, sniffed around, and wooed a woman or two. Sybil nods her head to the gaggle of men and their wives as she gently pulls from Dutch.

“Something the matter, my dear?”

“Oh, it’s… Quite cramped here. I’m just going to get a bit of air.”

Dutch turns back to the conversation within seconds of her finishing her sentence, leaving the group in laughter as Sybil excuses herself. The hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and corks popping is disruptive to cohesive thoughts, leaving her craving the numbing effects of whisky. To her disappointment all she can find is bottles of half-emptied champagne. Her fingers wrap around the neck of the glass, pouring an amount that she’d not touch. Besides, it’s warm, and the bubbles are unpleasant now. Sybil, not wishing to be rude, carries the glass with her while she makes her way out from the group.

A sigh of relief follows quick steps to the gazebo on the end of the pier. Swampy air fills her lungs, clearing out the waves of perfume from her nose and allowing Sybil a moment of clarity. Her champagne is dumped into the water below, disturbing a resting gator by the sounds of it. This is not how she pictured this night to go - lonely, all dolled up, and debating jumping into the swamp below to an awaiting predator with beady red eyes. Her own eyes zone out to a point in the sky, her thoughts clouding her senses - oblivious to the careful steps of an outlaw.

He doesn’t dare let himself be found, wishing to not disturb the picture before him. How he studied, wishing to engrain this to memory. There is no doubt she will haunt his sleep, with ghosts of smiles and ‘what ifs.’ He doesn’t know if he could continue with her ghosts. Not with his past.

Arthur decides it’s best to clear his throat, which catches Sybil’s attention after a second try.

“Oh.”

“I don’t mean to disturb you, well… Yes, I do.”

He steps forward, his brow knit with concern as he studies her face. He fights the urge to take her arms and attempt comfort, but his hand waves with his words.

“What are you doin’ out here on your own? I thought Dutch would be showing you off as the crown jewel of Saint Denis?”

“I wished for time to myself. The conversation is dull, political, and not for the ladies. But the gossip alone is a disaster. Hosea could conjure up better lies.”

“Ha! You’re not wrong… I heard him talking about trade in Canada, with a long bit about maple syrup of all things.”

“Good ole Hosea.”

They share a quiet chuckle, staring off at the sky before Arthur straightens and offers his hand to her. He’s made an attempt to iron out his nerves, though the wrinkles form in a hesitant breath.

“Would you be willin’ to join me? I’ve got to… Go let the mayor know I dealt with the man botherin’ him.”

Sybil takes his hand before he can talk himself out of his own offer, before trailing it up his arm to the crook of his elbow.

“Of course I would, Arthur.”

With a leading step, they rejoin the noise and music as a couple. Arthur brings them around to the Mayor, who thanks him immensely. Much to her surprise, Sybil does recognise the name of Evelyn Miller, and she holds back a chuckle as the conversation is interrupted again.

She tugs on Arthur’s sleeve, making him bend to listen.

“Has Dutch met his idol yet?”

“Hell if I know. Mr. Bronte pointed him out to us on the balcony, so I thought he’d come over…”

Arthur shrugs with her as they chuckle to each other and go back to listening. He knows to listen, and listen well but the conversation is nothing short of lifeless. His attention is drawn to Sybil’s fidgeting at his side. She shifts her weight and pulls him from the conversation with a polite nod to the mayor and a soft ‘excuse us.’ His brow cocks, and he follows her steps. Sybil comes to a stop with a grumble on her lips.

“These… Damn shoes.”

Amusement cracks a smile as he watches her shrink in size, and sigh to the heavens.

“Better?”

“Mmmm, mhm.”

He’s knit his brow together, fighting with himself as he catches his eyes falling to her lips. The rouge they girls applied had worn off, but he didn’t remember the color. All he could think was how this night could have been different.

Dutch snatched that chance away at the beginning, but Arthur is determined to finish this night on a high note. A breath leaves him as he mumbles her name and wraps her hands into his. Her eyes are left blinking and wide, focused on him with a question he wouldn’t answer just yet.

Arthur wanders summer fields and river reeds, finding the sun between the leaves of a willow as the light peeks through in the morning. Soft and embracing, he knows that he’s lost for good in her gaze, but forever found into the safety of her smile. His rests a hand lightly to her jaw, letting that thumb brush her skin. The race of his heart is unreadable as she leans into his palm and meets his gaze.

Mountain ice runs deep with the chill of unspoken hardship, but a soft, warm sun peeks through - it’s melting, and Sybil takes in their valleys of ache, waiting to be enveloped by a soft halo of gold. It hides in the shadows of liquor and death, but the angels still bless those who try.

Arthur claims her with a low hum and pulls her in by her waist - much to her approval. He feels her hands rub from his chest to his shoulders to grasp at his jacket with a wish to be closer, but he can only give so much. This isn’t the time, nor the place - but he will indulge, if just a little.

Thankful for the lack of collar, he takes his hand from her jaw to rest on the skin of her neck. A hitch of her breath pulls a smirk from him. Arthur traces his thumb over the pearl-toned ribbon, watching her now as they break away. Her foggy eyes focus briefly, and he continues to drag his thumb back and forth across the front of her neck - slipping under the ribbon.

There is a lazy continuance to the kiss as both soak in the high - though it doesn’t live long as Arthur pulls away at the fireworks above. Sybil’s hand rests on his chest and she feels his heart stop then race, before calming again as he realises the pops he’s hearing isn’t gunfire. There is a breath of relief as his shoulders relax and he leans down, his forehead rests on hers as they laugh softly. His thumb taps the front of her neck while his eyes drift up to hers.

“Damn, woman…”

Sybil giggles, kissing his jaw before she moves to his side to watch the fireworks. She smiles brightly as Arthur adjusts his hand to rest on her waist to keep her close as they marvel at the colorful display. Standing there, the world is not weighing on their shoulders.

“... Mr. Cornwall, he… He is blowing up the phones, I’m sorry, Monsieur.”

Arthur tilts his head to the side, unable to believe his ears as he listens in between the chatter and fireworks. He knows he cannot ignore this, but his feet root to the cobblestone in defiance. Though, it does not last long as he hears a familiar huff and gets whiff of strong aftershave.

“Did he just mention Cornwall?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Go find out why.”

“... Sure. Sybil, I’ll be back.”

“Be careful, Arthur...”

“O’course..”

#Ruddy Love #The Gilded Cage #RDR2 #Arthur Morgan #Dutch Van der Linde #Hosea Matthews #Bill Williamson #Arthur Morgan x OC #Van der Linde Gang #Sybil Dennison #rdo:mine #rdo oc #Champagne Woes

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