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

chapter 17; ultraviolence

Cloth wiping a crystallised whiskey glass, the bar tender swallowed nervously.

"A-alright.... I can tell you.... But you didn't hear this come from me, okay?" the guy gave in, and set the glass down with the others on the shelf just below the bar. Already Dutch was grinning like a sly cat.

"Sure, partner. I'm just grateful for the information." He drawled in a tone that was coated lavishly with niceties, eyes sparkling with interest. John and Arthur watched on wordlessly – they did not need to step in when Dutch was on a roll like this.

Setting his elbows down on top of the granite top, the bartender looked at the three men before him and cleared his throat, eyes darted right to left – a skittish air about him.

"You're gonna want to speak to a man by the name of Bronte. Angelo Bronte." The bartender whispered, "He lives in the cul-de-sac on the nicer end of town, house opposite the park – across from the Mayor's place." The man informed with a discreet manner about his voice, before he leaned back and resumed with his work – instigating that was as much as he could give.

This was more than enough for Dutch, who lapped up the information like a horse led to water.

"Thanks for your help." He addressed singularly, and then led the way out of the saloon with a purpose to his steps – weaving between the tables of people and his course set for the door.

Bursting back out into sunlight, it was clear to see Dutch was elated that things so far had been so easy. He often got to wrapped up in things that he forgot that there was no guarantee it would go how he wanted it to.

"Saddle up, boys." Dutch called, swinging himself into the saddle, "We're headed for a meeting with Mr Bronte." He proclaimed, gathering up the reins in his hands, rings glimmering in the bright sunlight.

Van Der Linde had started making a few steps ahead seeing as The Count was becoming restless, and this gave John and Arthur the opportunity to have a few quiet words.

"I don't have a good feelin' about this, Arthur..." John whispering, hauling himself into the saddle.

As Arthur clambered onto Phantom's back, he could only offer a scoff in return to what John had said. Not having a good feeling was an understatement.

"Just feels like every time things go quiet... Dutch finds a way to set all the shit off again." Arthur grumbled, taking up Phantom's reins in one hand and encouraged the warmblood onwards into a marching walk.

That was the end of that hushed conversation, as the boys met up at Dutch's side and followed him off into the heart of the city – whether it was willingly was another question entirely.

It had been plain to see where the city met it's divide been poverty and wealth. The juxtaposition of life seemed to change with no graduation -just all of a sudden the beggars didn't line the streets, waste didn't litter the cobbled streets and even just the air seemed that lacking that bit less in the toxicities of a working city.

A few carriages rolled by, pulled by the most fine horses Arthur thought he had ever seen. Not as nice as his Phantom though, nothing could match the love Arthur felt for his trusted steed. The eyes of the people sitting inside those carriages however, ogled the three outlaws like they were alien visitors from another planet.

John had very little patience for people staring at him, and swiftly pulled some irritated faces.

"Goddamnit, Dutch." Marston spat, his brow furrowed, "I ain't likin' any of this. We don't belong here." John reprimanded, showing his utter distaste of the situation. Not that Dutch was paying very much attention, he was more focused on the fact they had arrived at their destination.