Playing Dangerous ? ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

chapter 14; hope is a dangerous thing

"This-" he instigated, pushing the door open wide and revealing the more than modest room. "-will be where you shall stay." His tone was that of encouragement for you to step inside whilst the butler dropped your cases just inside the room and then quietly continued about his duties, as if he was turning a blind eye to what was going on.

You squeezed past his suited form and into the light and airy room. Through the large bay window there were views of the fenced park, the quiet street below and nothing much else – which was nice in a way. You were grateful for the peace in some ways, until you remembered the reasoning why you were here and felt stupidly and hopelessly trapped again.

Looking back, you offered a small appreciative smile to mask your current emotions to Mayor Lemieux who was looking expectantly at you through those small oval spectacles that sat upon the bridge of his beaked nose.

"Thank you, this will be most comfortable." You assured him, hoping that you could be left on your own once again, not feeling very much in the mood to attend to anyone at the moment.

The mayor nodded, his eyes falling from yours as he made a short bow of acknowledgement.

"Well, I must be getting back to my study. My wife shall be home shortly, I expect." He excused himself, "Should you need anything, just call for my butler, Mr Hart."

With that, the door was clicked shut – and you felt a wash of private relief at being allowed to your own company once again. Taking a few steps back, you seated yourself on the edge of the plush covered double bed – with it's various velvet and silk quilts and throws and it's expensive gilded pillows. You glared over your shoulder at them in hatred of yourself, this was no bed for the work of a whore.

Groaning out in frustration and animosity, you extended your leg out to kick your cases over on the floor, the leather baggage smacking the oak floorboards with a significant thud. Following this, you allowed your head to crash into your hands, whilst you really fought back the tears that were threatening to break free from your eyes at any moment.

Why had you let this get so far to a point that you felt you could not turn back? Even after being forced from a  gang of bloody outlaws it seemed you still managed to get involved with the most feared folk in all the land.

On this thought, your mind instantly trailed back to Arthur for what was probably the billionth time that week. Whatever would he think of you? Doing this to yourself for the sake of earning money? He would be so disgusted and ashamed of you. The idea of repulsing the man you idolised and adored so greatly made you break down – and now you gulped as your chest heaved and the tears flowed in streams down your cheeks. Why did everything have to be so crushing in this life? Everything you had cared for had been taken from you – and now you wondered just what exactly you ad left to live for?

Nothing. You couldn't keep riding on the small glimmer of hope that you would see Arthur again, it was time to face facts... even if you did meet him again, he would surely turn away at the thought of what you had been doing to earn yourself money. The shame plagued you like darkness in a shadowy cellar.

For the rest of that afternoon alone, you had cried yourself into a state of exhaustion – until you had fallen asleep, face tear stained with wet, spiked eyelashes.

-

~meanwhile~

The day was pleasantly light, with a deceiving bright sun that juxtaposed the rather chill feeling the air.

Away from the bustle of the camp, Arthur had sat himself out by the lake – still distancing himself from the gang. He didn't quite know who to trust anymore, after Dutch had turned his back on you like he did... to listen to Micah – Arthur wasn't inclined at all to bed his trust in anyone.

The gunslinger had been idly sharpening his hunting knife on a bit of old wood, listening to the repetitive scrapes when his ears fell upon a much more grating sound.

"I have some news you wanna hear, boss!" Micah was shouting from behind where Arthur was sat. The statement itself sparked a low level of curiosity in Morgan, who turned to look over his shoulder a little to catch a view of Micah sauntering over to Dutch with a stupid wager to his steps.

"Oh? And what might that be, son?" Dutch had replied, wandering out from his spot just on the edge of his tent to the clearing in the camp where Micah was stood, a smirk on his face – the same sort of smirk he had on the day he ended up getting you chucked out of the camp. A frown instantly settled on Arthur's expression, he didn't like the feeling Micah's tone was stirring in his stomach.

"I was ridin' back from Rhodes – and who do I run into? Couple of O'Driscolls." Micah started, and Arthur could hear the surprise even in Dutch's scoff.

"O Driscolls'? Out this far?" he started, folding his arms over his chest. "What exactly did them bastards want?" already the gang's leader's tone was dripping with aggravation. Micah clearly took joy in seeing that his little slice of information was winding Dutch up.

"They told me Colm wants a truce." Micah said simply, and Arthur watched as Dutch visibly took some steps back out of shock.

"It's a trap, Micah." Van Der Linde quickly replied with a chuckle of disbelief, as he went to move past Bell. "Colm don't want nothin' but trouble. Too much as happened between me and him – stuff that can't be forgotten." Dutch was saying, but Micah persisted like the little rat he was.

"Dutch, honest! Them boys told me he wants to settle peace, accept what's been and gone and for the pair of ya' to move on." Micah insisted, peering up into Dutch's face with this pleading expression that made Arthur feel sick just looking at it.

"What happened... it was a long time ago Dutch. Ain't it time to move past this...?" Micah's tones were falsely gentle, and Arthur growled to himself when he saw Dutch swaying. Even though he had enraged Arthur a lot in the past few months, he was still the leader of this gang and Arthur would not see him so blindly get led into danger.

It appeared Arthur was too late, as he closed in on Micah and Dutch. Immediately, Van Der Linde looked to Arthur with a determined stare.

"Arthur, you come with us please. We need you there if somethin' does happen to go wrong." Dutch insisted, his hands fisted a little as his finger's fidgeted, rings gleaming in the sunlight. Arthur could tell by Dutch's mannerisms he was fairly anxious about this.

"Dutch, this don't feel right." Arthur pressed, already knowing he was failing as Dutch marched over to The Count whilst Micah peppily kept up at his side.

"I wanna see what this is all about Arthur." Dutch snapped suddenly, mounting onto his horse's back. He glared down at Arthur with such a questioning look that made the gunslinger feel totally irrelevant next to Micah's apparent gleaming demeanour.

"Are you with me, son? Or are you goin' to question me?" Dutch's tone was more of a order than anything. An order for Arthur to follow, or there would be an argument.

Too tired to quarrel, Arthur let out a beaten sigh and shrugged his shoulders, slinging his Lancaster rifle over his shoulder and obediently making his way over to Phantom.

"I'm with ya', Dutch." Arthur started, glaring a little at Micah before staring at his so called father figure. "Til the end." He added, swinging himself into the saddle.

In the bright sunshine, the three men rode in a single file – lead by Micah. Trotting along, Arthur could not ignore the turbulent feeling that was stirring in his stomach, something did not feel right at all about this.

But he could not say he was surprised – wherever Micah wandered – trouble seemed to happily amble it's way behind.

Arthur just hoped this was not some kind of sick trap – for this time, he really would be planting a bullet in Micah Bell's head.