#face claim :: freyja // looks like a girl but she's a flame

[ofauroradreams]

MUSE tag dump

[amorgansgal]

The Only Compass I Need

Well as you've all been good VDL-gang hoes and as it's my birthday today as promised here's my longer fic for Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character. It's been edited and checked by my lovely partner, but I will always appreciate any comments or feedback. Hope you all have a wonderful day and thank you for making this fandom always such a delight to be in!

Summary: Ruth Shelton has been running with the Anderson Boys for many years, but when she and her daughter, Daisy, are abandoned in a snowy cabin in the West Grizzlies, she must come to terms with being left behind by people she thought she could trust and rely on. Determined to keep herself and her daughter alive, she will do anything it takes to ensure a better future for Daisy, but runs into trouble and has to rely on another gang to keep them safe.

Rating: Explicit

You can read it on AO3 too!

‘Ma?’ Daisy looked up from the newspaper she was busy colouring in, and Ruth tried not to close her eyes in frustration. Daisy had asked her the same question almost every night, just before dinner, ‘When’s Pa coming back?’

Ruth poked the remnants of the fire in the grate, willing the small, crackling flame to finish cooking the rabbit she had trapped. She didn’t risk gathering more wood with the evening rapidly growing dark. In the small, run down cabin the frigid wind of the West Grizzlies whistled through the gaps in the walls. Outside the first few flakes of a spring snow storm drifted lazily through the navy-blue sky.

She pulled the moth-eaten blanket they had found abandoned in one of the bedrooms around her and her daughter’s shoulders. She tried to ignore the twisting, painful feeling in her gut and the hot burn of tears that found their way to her eyes. How dare he, how dare he leave his daughter.

Two weeks. For two weeks they had sat in this cramped, dirty, broken little hut and waited. She had wondered after the first week whether he was dead or injured. She still liked to think the best of Frans, even though the man was unkind and impatient with her, and had cared so little for his daughter that on good days he would ignore her and on worse days shove her away. But by the time they reached the second week, with no one from the gang even attempting to find her, she realised that they’d been abandoned. Perhaps Frans hoped that the cold weather or starvation would get rid of a problem he could no longer stomach.

‘I don’t think he’s coming back,’ Ruth replied, her voice flat and distant. She coughed a little, clearing her throat, Daisy didn’t need to see or hear her mother’s resentment or pain.

‘Oh,’ came Daisy’s response. She resumed colouring in a picture of a man wearing a top hat, choosing a vibrant green for him.

Ruth poked the rabbit on the small grill, and sighed. Perhaps she was still clinging onto the vague hope that Frans might change his mind. Daisy seemed to idolise the man, no matter how poorly he treated her, and Ruth wanted her daughter to be right about him.

‘Tonight, we’re going to pack up what we can,’ Ruth said. ‘Then tomorrow we’ll ride Freyja somewhere warmer. If your father wants to find us, he will do.’

‘But Pa said to stay here.’

‘Well, he can’t expect us to stay with the cold weather coming in, and there’s very little food here. He’ll understand.’

‘How will he know where we’ve gone? We can’t leave him a note.’

‘We can leave him a message. He’ll just have to find someone else who can read it for him. Hopefully, when he turns up Edgar or Josef will be with him.’

‘Why hasn’t Edgar come?’ Daisy asked, scratching her nails against the waxy, green crayon. Ruth pulled it from her hands.

‘Don’t do that, they were expensive. I don’t know.’

Daisy began to draw wiggly lines under the words in the paper, the yellowing pages now being covered with purple, red and blue. She looked back up, ‘Ok.’

‘I’ve always promised to tell you the truth, haven’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, I would tell you, if I knew where your father was, if I knew where Edgar was or if I knew where anyone was.’

Daisy carefully put her red crayon down on the page, then began to put the crayons back in the little tin she kept all her priceless possessions in. A dried daisy flower from Edgar, a blue-green marble she had found in Blackwater and a yellow, silk ribbon dotted with daisies that Ruth had brought her for her birthday last year.

Not for the first time, Ruth felt the twinge of guilt that always followed when seeing the few treasured items in Daisy’s tin. She wanted to give Daisy a home, a proper home with her own bedroom and toys, clothes that fit her properly, a warm fireplace and a door that could be locked and bolted shut.

‘Dinner will take a while, Sweetpea, you don’t have to put away your things just yet.’

‘Oh,’ Daisy said once more. ‘Well, can I help?’

‘There ain’t much to do, rabbit will be done in a bit.’

Daisy pulled up the newspaper and sat down in front of Ruth. The girl squinted at it with her light blue eyes in the low light, and began to read aloud the main story, sounding out the words she was unfamiliar with. ‘Bank boat… he… he--is--t? Ma, what’s a he--is--t?’

‘A he--is--t?’ Ruth glanced down at the newspaper, trying to figure out what her daughter was looking at. ‘Oh, a heist. It means a robbery.’

‘Like what Pa does?’

‘Yes,’ she looked back down to the story, to see if it was the Anderson Boys who were involved, but as she read, it became clear it was about the Van Der Linde Gang rather than her own. She frowned at the idea of still claiming the gang as her own. Evidently Anderson was not too heart-broken about her disappearance, despite how long she had been running with them. But then Anderson often called her a damned fool for getting in the family way and hadn’t exactly tried to keep her around. Perhaps it was better this way, to be abandoned and left to her own devices rather than trailing behind, trying to pretend that the group she had once called her family still cared for her.

The rabbit was done… charred on the outside, bloody in the middle. But when had that ever bothered her? Certainly, Daisy had learnt long ago that an empty belly was a far worse fate than a dissatisfied one. She tried to get Daisy to part with a bit of the newspaper, so she could lay the best bits on it for her and cause less of a mess when using her fingers to tear at the meat.

While Ruth gnawed at what remained on the bones, she checked their supplies. Two cans of beans, one can of peaches and a tin of crackers. They would share one tin of beans for their breakfast tomorrow, then they would have to hope she could catch or kill something for their midday meal, and assuming she could find the way, arrive in Valentine by four or five. She was banking on the weather being good, and the roads clear, otherwise it could take them longer and she had no desire to spend a cold night in unfamiliar woods.

She packed away the supplies, then made sure the repeater and pistols she carried were cleaned and loaded correctly. Ruth frowned on seeing how few bullets she had left in the box of ammo. This was going to be a rough few days. Every shot she could make would have to be perfect, no matter whether it was man or beast at the end of the sights.

She also double-checked how much money they had left, perhaps hoping the amount would increase on the next count. It would be better if she could get her daughter a warm bath and a hot meal when they arrived, even if she couldn’t afford a bed for the night. Ruth tried to not let the hiss of irritation pass between her lips. Anderson had always been insistent that any money made was money for the group, and while that had meant she could dip in and out of the funds box with relative ease, it had come back to bite her.

Her last job had pulled $150, but the vast majority of that had ended up in the box. Now she was looking at the grand total of ten years of loyalty and very few complaints from her, no matter how poorly her daughter was treated. She had $8.05.

‘We might have to do a coach job when we get to Valentine,’ she said.

Daisy pulled a face, a deep frown appearing on her forehead. ‘Do we have to?’

‘Do you want to eat?’

‘Can’t we just eat deer?’

‘No, it’s not good to eat nothing but meat.’

‘But I’m getting bigger now. I don’t want to pretend to be a little kid who cries.’

‘You just have to put your hands over your eyes and pretend. You’re so good at it! And it means Mama doesn’t have to shoot anyone.’

Ruth finished the last bits of rabbit on her side of the newspaper and looked at the peaches, tempted to break into them and at least give her daughter something sweet to eat. But there was no guarantee they would even reach Valentine tomorrow, especially with how strong the wind was howling and how quickly the temperature was dropping.

Daisy nestled closer under the blanket and picked up some more of the rabbit. ‘Who have you shot, Mama?’

‘Lots of people, who wanted to hurt me or you, Edgar or Josef or Anders.’

‘And Pa?’

Ruth wiped her dirty hands on her handkerchief, leaving streaks of grease on the discoloured material. She avoided her daughter’s eye as she replied, ‘Sure, your Pa too.’ In her head she found herself thinking, ‘wish I hadn’t bothered, bastard didn’t deserve my protection.’

She used a corner of the newspaper to clean the grease away from Daisy’s mouth, then grabbed a comb from her bag. She sat Daisy on her lap and began to gently untangle the knots at the end of her hair, before working upwards to the crown of her head and brushing through Daisy’s beautiful, golden brown hair.

At first, admittedly, it had hurt to see how much Daisy took after her father in looks, but they couldn’t be more different. Whilst her father was dismissive, callous and cowardly, Daisy was sweet, kind and brave. Braver than most kids her age, though Ruth wished she didn’t have to be.

She carefully plaited Daisy’s long hair, admiring the soft strands between her fingers, and finished off their little ritual by giving her a kiss on her cheek and then tickling her ribs. Daisy squealed and giggled, trying to bat away Ruth’s hands and yet still cuddling close once she was done.

‘Still little enough for that then?’ Ruth asked.

‘Hmph,’ came her daughter’s response and Ruth hid her smile. She felt torn, part of her was excited to see how much her daughter would change and grow over the years. But another part longed to go back to when she had been a baby, when her cheeks had been round and soft, and Ruth had easily spent the best part of her days pressing kisses to them. What did it matter that Frans was fucking whores and spending his money on drink and cards, when she had a baby in her arms, whose steady, sweet eyes gazed up at her with all the adoration and love she needed?

Another part, a part she tried not to think about, was terrified. What kind of a life was this for a child? Running from the law, hiding in abandoned houses and cabins, stealing and cheating to keep them both fed? This life was dangerous for anyone at the best of times, but for a child even more so. Daisy’s young age would not stop the law from punishing her, no matter how little choice she had in growing up in a gang and running schemes with her mother. But it was either involve Daisy, or leave her in a cave or up a tree, and that didn’t necessarily mean she was any safer, especially if someone were to find her.

She pushed away those thoughts; it wasn’t helpful to dwell on their situation. She hoped to be a good moral guide later in life for her daughter, but right now she would have to continue to be a hypocrite.

‘Bed time, Daisy,’ she said.

Daisy didn’t make a word of protest, as she was occasionally keen on doing, and took off her boots, before climbing into Ruth’s bedroll. Ruth joined her; it was too cold for their separate beds. While Daisy snuggled up against her, pulling the cover over head, Ruth threw their last remaining wood on the fire.

She grabbed her pistol and repeater, leaving the repeater next to the bedroll, but holding the pistol tightly. She kept her eyes on the front door, which they blocked with the dining table during the evenings. She had moved the wardrobe from the main bedroom to block the back door, and so felt comfortable enough to sleep with their backs to it.

She did her best to keep her eyes open, resisting sleep for as long as possible, until she drifted off and then woke with a sudden jolt to find the piercing, white light of a new day filtering between the bits of rotten wood and around the edge of the door.