#ARTHUR: coffee and pistols for two | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ignorantarmiesclashbynight · 3 years

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Whumptober 2021 Day 11: just keep swimming | drowning

It ain't his fault the stupid kid can’t swim.

In fact, the thought that he might not be able to doesn’t even cross his mind.

Thing is, Arthur grew up on a wagon, and if you wanted to survive you followed the river: water for drinkin', for cookin', for washin'. And in between, for playin'. His mama used to joke that he swam before he walked, as natural to him as a fish, so he just assumed it was something everyone could do.

Ain't his fault it’s one more thing the kid’s bad at. Little Johnny golden boy who constantly needs Arthur to clear up his latest disaster. Dutch and Hosea think it’s funny, until the kid gets caught doing a little light shoplifting in the general store and ends up getting chased through the town they've spent two weeks casing to rob. So they task Arthur with keeping the boy out of the way for the afternoon, which means he gets to miss out on the job, too. And he can’t even hang around camp because the little demon managed to put three whole live frogs into the coffee pot and he thinks Grimshaw might actually murder his scrawny ass this time.

So it’s just Arthur and the petulant twelve year old, sitting aimlessly by the river, far away from anyone and everyone, where the only harm he can do is scaring off the ducks.

They've been there all of two minutes and the kid’s already pestering him for something to eat. As if his satchel is some bottomless receptacle of snacks for a teenager who can somehow put away as much as a draft horse.

He tries to teach the boy something useful. Points out burdock root and sage and milkweed; collects bulrushes for the horses, mushrooms for the stew. Even tries making a fishing line out of some string he finds in his pocket, but the kid is only interested in throwing rocks into the river like he’s trying to hurt it.

"How long we gotta stay here?" John gripes.

Arthur sighs, thinking just the same thing. "Long as it takes."

The boy scowls in the general direction of the town—where Dutch and Hosea are busy concocting a scheme to empty every safe in every backroom within a single day.

"We should be with 'em, helpin'," John says, sour as a crabapple.

"Yeah? Because you're so helpful, gettin' yourself into trouble all the damn time?" He shakes his head. "Got a lot to learn before you can ‘help’…"

Arthur flicks a bit of pondweed off his boot. He's aiming for the kid but it goes wide and lands on the pebbles at his feet.

John scowls at him, even so. "When you gonna teach me to shoot? And not with a pistol. I mean with a rifle."

Arthur lets out a throaty laugh. "Oh sure, I can see that plan going just dandy. And besides, you're too small. Knock-back'd throw your shoulder right out of its socket."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"I shot a gun before, you know."

"I know." Arthur rolls his eyes. Flicks another stripe of pondweed at him.

"Shot a man before, too."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard the story a hundred times. Go tell the fish."

He still isn't sure if it's true or not; that John killed a man before he was ten years old. It makes him a little sick to think of, and the boy's so full up with desperate bravado he figures even if it ain't a lie, it likely happened a lot different to the way he tells it.

A pause. The kid's scowl deepens. "Bet I'm a better shot than you."

Arthur gives him a tolerant smirk. "I’ll tell you what. How 'bout I get you one of them little toy bows and arrows? Then you can show us all your infamous deadly aim. Maybe catch a few squirrels and make yourself useful for a change..."

Kid’s scoots away, up to his feet, kicking stones into the shallows. "Shut up."

"I will, when you stop being a brat."

"Why don’t you stop being such an ass-faced know-it-all?"

A laugh bursts out of him. "Ass-faced? I know I ain't much to look at, but have you seen yourself lately? Filthy as a dog with the mange. I’m surprised Grimshaw ain’t dunked you in the dish bucket yet…"

“She can try,” the kid growls darkly, which makes Arthur laugh even harder, which makes the kid even more furious.

“What you gonna do, bite her?” Arthur snorts. “Though I wouldn’t put it past you. When the hell you gonna join the human world, huh? Or should we set you free to roam the wilds instead?”

He scoops out a particularly slimy bit of pondweed from under a rock and this time his aim is true, sticking to the side of the kid’s face with a satisfying slap.

“Fuck you, Morgan!” John snarls, ripping off the weed and tossing it back at him. It misses, by several feet, so he snatches up a stone instead, aiming for Arthur's head.

He dodges it easily, scrambling to his feet as the boy grabs another. He’s enjoying himself for the first time all day and drops into a defensive stance, ready to teach the little shit a lesson.

“Maybe I’ll do Grimshaw a favour ‘n’ give you a bath right now...” he grins, darting forward and grabbing the boy by the scruff of his collar.

The kid struggles wildly but Arthur’s other arm wraps all the way around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He’s just a bony, skinny thing, still catching up on years of scavenging for scraps, but Dutch says the rough-housing’s good for him. Says it’s what brothers do.

John’s screaming every curse he knows, kicking back at his shins, wriggling like an eel, but Arthur hangs on, taking a few staggering steps towards the river. He was only planning on dumping the boy into the shallows—make him ride home with wet breeches—but he’s forgotten just how dirty the kid fights when’s cornered and suddenly there’s a sharp pressure on his forearm as John sinks his teeth into him.

Arthur gapes at the sight for a second, before the pain of it hits—and the outrage.

Alright, if that’s how you want it…

And with a wide, swinging arc, he tosses the kid right into the river.

Ain’t his fault it’s deeper than it looks.

He thought it’d only be about waist height but the boy plunges into the water with a comical sploosh and the current sweeps him into the middle of the river, where it runs fastest. There’s a brief flail of limbs, a garbled yell, and John goes under. And he doesn’t come back up again.

Shit.

Arthur wades out after him, scanning the water, seething in a breath at the shock at how cold it is, the strength of the current just a few feet in. It looked so placid from the bank.

He’s pretty sure the kid is just playing a trick—‘bout to pop back up behind him and leap onto his back, shove a handful of pondweed down his shirt or something. But he’s silently counting in his head and a long ten seconds go by, then twenty, thirty, and he isn’t sure just how long a person can hold their breath for. Even for a prank.

And then, from way downstream there comes an almighty splashing. A darting glimpse of dark hair above the surface before it’s gone again.

Shit, shit, shit.

Arthur launches himself into the water, legs kicking hard behind him, arms scything through the surface as he closes the distance, stroke by stroke, trying to keep his eyes on the spot where he last saw the kid. But there’s no sign of him, just the surging rapids and the squall of the water, deafening in his ears.

The panic grips at him but he doesn't have time for it, drawing in the deepest breath he can and jack-knifing into a dive.

The current is vicious beneath the water, defying the laws of gravity, buffeting him every which way. He can't see a damn thing through the churned up mud. Can barely control his own body. And it’s all he can do to right himself and kick back up to the surface before he runs out of air.

He flounders for a moment. It’s all happening too fast. He didn’t mean for this. Didn’t want this. He'd only meant to give the kid a fright. Teach him a lesson. But not this...

His next breath judders on the way in but he holds it tight and ducks back under.

This time he doesn’t try to fight the force of the flow, letting it take him where it wants, peering through the murky water with a focus so intense it makes his head feel fit to burst. The need to breathe burns in his chest but he can't give up; knows he's running out of time.

And there, maybe ten feet away, a spiralling figure, limbs waving like a rag doll.

Arthur’s stomach clenches, expelling all the air in his lungs—some in-built reflex to yell for the kid—but all that comes out is bubbles.

He reaches him in a few kicks. Grabs him round the middle and heaves upward, cursing the slowness of moving underwater, every second deadly.

He breaks the surface with a gasping breath but the river’s deep here and now he’s fighting the churning current with a limp body to hold onto. He doesn’t have time to check on the kid—it’s all he can do to keep his legs moving, reaching sideways, one heavy stroke at a time, his other arm clinging around the kid’s skinny chest. And he’s never been so grateful to feel ground under his feet as his boots finally scuff the riverbed.

He drags the boy out by his armpits and lays him out on the bank, collapsing beside him, shivering with adrenaline. For a long, terrible second, the kid lies still and pale, and Arthur can hear the blood pounding in his own ears like the relentless rush of the river, but then water spurts out of John’s mouth and nose and he’s choking more than breathing but he’s alive.

Relief and anger and a hysterical edge of laughter flood Arthur’s chest as he turns the boy on his side, thumping him on the back until he pukes up half the river.

It's a long while before the kid is able to haul in a clean breath and when he does it still comes out coughing. Maybe a bit of sobbing, too, though he tries to hide it, curling in on himself, hair plastered to his face.

Arthur keeps on patting his back, slower and slower as the kid’s convulsions calm to a trembling, until he’s just holding a hand there, not quite wanting to let go yet.

“Scared the shit out of me, kid,” he murmurs, letting out the nervous laugh that’s been bubbling up inside of him.

John rolls over, pulling himself up to sitting on shaky arms, and turns to fix Arthur with a dark-eyed stare, more furious than he’s ever seen him.

The boy shoves him, the flat of his hand slamming into his chest. He does it again, rising up onto his knees to get more force behind it. Arthur tips backwards, catching himself on his hands, leaving himself open to the attack he can see coming, but he doesn’t bother to stop it. Lets it come, the way it needs to.

And then John’s on top of him with a ragged war cry, grabbing fistfuls of Arthur’s shirt and slapping him around the shoulders, the head, the face. And Arthur lets him, until the kid’s hands curl into fists and he lands a staggering blow against his ear, sending the world spinning.

He reckons he deserved it, but there’s a limit.

He snatches the boy’s wrists out of the air and holds them still. “Alright, enough. I’m sorry.”

The rest of John’s body keeps fighting, writhing in his grip, his face screwed up with blind rage. “You son of a bitch…”

“Yeah, I know. I’m an ass-faced bastard.”

Arthur hangs on, lets the kid wear himself out. And he does, a few moments later, sagging boneless and heavy with the weight of his water-logged clothes.

Arthur lets him go—but slowly, just in case he’s got a second wind in him. “I fished you out, didn’t I?” he offers.

John slumps back down onto the bank with a sullen humph. Won’t even look at him. And for a second, Arthur sees both the boy he is and the man he’ll become—how vulnerable and how fierce.

He sits beside him with a long sigh.

“I didn’t know you couldn’t…” he starts, gesturing jerkily at the river. “I mean, I can teach you if you–”

“Shove it up your ass, Arthur.”

“Alright then.”

He shuts his mouth. Maybe he’s been a little hard on the kid, lately. Maybe John's just looking for his place, trying to be one of the men, trying to prove himself. Arthur was a different kind of twelve-year-old—more scared than ferocious—but maybe there are different kinds of showing fear, too. Maybe acting like a rabid raccoon is one of ‘em.

They sit in silence for a couple minutes, synchronising their shivering, watching the tumble of the river go by. He resists the urge to put an arm around the boy. Too soon for that yet, he thinks. But his arm flexes with the thought of it and he frowns in surprise as a bloom of fresh red seeps through his shirtsleeve. It stings and he can’t remember why. And then he does, pulling back the fabric to reveal a neat little curve of toothmarks, deep enough to draw blood.

He stares at it for a second. Hears a little snort of amusement from beside him.

“You bit me,” he says dazedly. “You really are feral.”

When he looks sideways, the kid’s grinning. Arthur gives him a little shunt with his shoulder and John shunts him back in a peaceable kind of way. The way brothers do.

“Least Grimshaw won’t make me take a bath now,” the boy says with a shrug.

Arthur grunts and pokes at his bruised forearm. “Yeah, well. You’re welcome.”

And just when he thinks perhaps they’ve reached a tentative truce, a cold clump of pondweed comes slithering down the back of his collar…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I mean, how could I pass this one up? Because it is 100% canon that Arthur lobbed John into a river at least once.

Also on AO3! Requests more than welcome (prompt list is here)

#whumptober2021 #no.11 #just keep swimming #drowning #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fic #near death experience #biting #arthur morgan #john marston #whump

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gxldensxldiers · 8 months

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I regret to inform you all I've suddenly realized Arthur's type:

People that he knows are both perfectly capable of kicking his ass/killing him and possess the willingness to actually follow up on their threats.

#ARTHUR: coffee and pistols for two #headcanons: file updated #case in point: Stiletto; Abolisher #Roze if they didn't have a more brotp thing going on in my own canon #this man drives me up the fucking wall I stg and yet he's still one of my favs and the sole reason why I made this blog

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line-of-fire · 1 year

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Closed started for @detnu-a-h

Seeing the black dog bound towards his fellow BlackCell operator, Arthur let out a sharp whistle calling Merlin back to him, immediately taking place at his heel and sitting down, tail wagging.

"Good boy-" he hoarsely murmured, rubbing the dogs head before looking to Atom, head cocked. "Look like you've seen a ghost-" he quips, just audible enough to be properly heard. "Don't tell me golden boy's scared.. not of this guy." he grinned.

#ARTHUR: coffee and pistols for two #detnu-a-h #let the rivalry be one sided this boy's country ass couldn't give two shits lmfao

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12timetraveler · 3 years

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May You Always Be The Wild One (Parts 1 and 2)

Reader is kidnapped on a job gone wrong, and Hosea is prepared to burn all of Lemoyne to the ground if he has to in order to get her back.

Hosea/f!reader

CW: kidnapping, torture, attempted sexual assault, descriptions of violence

(I try not to be too graphic but please be advised that part one is quite dark.)

Hey all so this is a two part story I've done. Part 1 is all about the kidnapping and the rescue. Part 2 is all fluff and smut months after the event in part 1

Part 1 is posted here and part 2 is the chapter that immediately follows.

And in the morning when the sun comes up

And it brings you to your knees

May you always be the wild one

May you always be free

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a solid plan. Well of course it was, it was Hosea's plan. But the master con man had been conned. Or maybe you all had underestimated just how perverted the target was.

You and Hosea had spent the morning making yourself look rumpled and dirty. Hosea had been smearing some dirt on your cheek. You suggested, only half kidding, that you and he just step out of camp for a quick romp. That usually got you looking plenty disheveled. Your beloved had laughed and lamented that you were too short on time, but promised he’d take you out for a night after this job was over.

Once you looked perfectly exhausted, skirt dirty, hair ruffled, like you’d been tossed from your horse and walking all night, Arthur had taken you out to the road, about a mile down from the target’s house.

“Alright. You start walking, and I’ll join the others near the house. Hosea says the target always spends his mornings on the front porch. Once you get him away from the house, we’ll be in and out. Mrs. Adler is waiting for you in Rhodes to take you back to camp so you’ll be long gone from town before he even gets back home to see he’s been robbed. Even if he does realize you were in on it, he won’t find you.”

“Understood,” you said as you slid off the back of his horse.

“Yeah, well even still, you got your gun?” He asked. You nodded and patted your thigh. Hidden under your skirts was a small pistol. Nothing special but it would protect you.

“You think I’m dumb enough to work a job without something to protect me?” You asked.

“No, s’pose not,” Arthur chuckled. “That and I doubt Hosea would have let you do this if he didn’t have some back up.”

Hosea trusted you completely, but he was far too wise to ever think that just because you were quick on your feet and good in a fight, that you’d be fine without some sort of weapon. As he was helping you get dressed this morning, Hosea had carefully strapped the little pistol to your thigh, planting a few sweet kisses around it before moving on to helping you lace your corset.

“Alright well, see you back in camp,” Arthur said, giving you a lazy salute.

“You boys stay safe,” you called.

“You’re the one who’s taking a ride with the man to town. You stay safe,” Arthur replied as he trotted off. You stood there for a minute, letting Arthur ride ahead of you before you started your walk down the road.

The Lemoyne sun was harsh, only just rising but already beating down on you. Within minutes you were sweating. You cursed Arthur for dropping you off so far away from the house, but your exhaustion would make your story more plausible, easier to act out.

By the time the house came into view, you were miserable. Thank god you had your hat to protect your face from the sun.

Just like Arthur had said, the man was sitting on his porch, sipping some coffee and watching the world start it’s day when you hobbled up.

“Good Mornin’ miss,” He called from his porch, looking you up and down as you rested against his fence.

“Howdy, Mister,” You sighed.

“Are you alright?” He asked, sitting up slightly as he took in your ragged state.

“I’ve been better, I’ll admit,” you said. “My horse spooked on the road during the night. I’m not sure if it was a snake or what. But he spooked and tossed me in the dirt and ran off. I’ve been walking for hours now.” You sighed.

“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” The man asked, standing up and downing his coffee.

“If it’s not too much trouble. My sister is waitin’ for me in Rhodes.” you said gratefully. The man nodded.

“Sure. I can get you there. Give me just a moment to hook up the wagon,” He said, stepping inside to put his mug away before heading out to the barn out back.

You glanced off into the trees near the house. You caught a glimpse of Arthur’s hat. You gave a small nod, letting him know it was all going to plan. A few minutes later the man came around the house, leading a black Tennesse Walker pulling a simple wagon.

“Alright, Miss, let's get you to town.” He said, helping you into the wagon before climbing into the driver's seat. With a flick of the reins, you were off. You slumped in the seat, happy to be off your feet.

“Name’s Dawson. Ephriam Dawson,” He said, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Tabitha Sanderson,” You said, using one of your aliases. You shook his hand

“Good Lord is it hot,” You sighed, fanning yourself. Dawson chuckled beside you.

“You ain’t from Lemoyne, are you?” He asked. You shook your head.

“No. I’m from West Elizabeth. Strawberry to be exact. It’s cool and wet and rainy there.”

“What’re you doing all the way down here?” He asked.

“My sister and I came to visit our sick aunt in Saint Denis,” You lied, thinking quick on your feet. “My sister went to Rhodes yesterday morning. I wanted to spend one last day with Aunt Susan before heading back, so I said I’d meet her in Rhodes last night.”

“Well, I’ll get you to your sister safe and sound, don’t you worry Miss,” He said.

The rest of the ride was pleasant, punctuated with idle chit-chat now and then. On occasion Dawson would point out a landmark or something he found interesting. You’d nod along and listen with fake interest. Dawson sat a little too close, in your opinion, but it was a small wagon, so maybe there just wasn’t room.

Finally the water tower of Rhodes’ train station peeked up over the hillside. You sighed in relief.

“I was starting to think I’d never get here. I would have been walking for hours yet without your help. Thank you,” You said, giving Dawson a grateful smile.

“You’re welcome,” Dawson said, tipping his hat. “Now, where is your sister waiting for you?” He asked.

“She should be at the general store. If not there, then maybe the Parlor House. If you just drop me off by the statue I can walk from there.” You said.

“Nonsense. I’ll make sure you and your sister are reunited.” Dawson said as the cart rode into town. Instead of parking near the butcher like you thought he would, he turned the cart up the hill, past the church.

“Sir, where are we going?” You asked, trying to keep your outlaw paranoia at bay. But something did not feel right.

“I’m just parking up here,” He assured you, pulling off just past the gallows. “It’s easier to get out of town if I park up here and walk,”

“Well, thank you very much for the ride Mr. Dawson,” you said, beginning to climb down from the wagon. He grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Just a moment, darlin’,” He said. “We still need to discuss my payment.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” you said, reaching into your bag. You’d brought a little silver watch and a few bills to pay the man with, should he ask. You’d earn that back and more, if Hosea were right about the score. “I don’t have nearly enough to thank you for your help. But… here.” you said, pulling out the bills and the watch and handing it to Mr. Dawson before climbing down off the wagon.

“Thank you again, I really must be going,” You said as Dawson climbed down from the wagon. “My sister must be worried sick for me.” he came around the side of the wagon, and the glint in his eye made your heart drop.

“Hang on,” He said, “This isn’t the payment I was looking for,” He said, holding up the pocket watch and small stack of bills.

“I… I don’t have anything…” Before you could say another word, the man grabbed you and pressed you against the wagon, his lips slamming against yours. You struggled against him, trying to push him away. Finally his lips released yours, and he allowed you to push him a couple steps back.

“Sir!” you exclaimed, “I don’t know who you think I am, but I ain’t that kind of girl!” You said, scrubbing his saliva off your mouth. “I appreciate the assistance, but I really must be going,” You were stopped by his hand slamming into the wagon, blocking your exit.

“I don’t care what kind of girl you think you are,” He whispered dangerously. “The way I see it, I helped you with something you needed. Now you help me with something I need.” His other hand came down to his trousers, undoing the buttons. “You say you ain’t a whore, fine. I won’t use your cunt. But you’re gonna get on your knees for me and put that mouth to good use.”

You met his gaze a moment, weighing your options. Your pistol, though hidden conveniently on your person, wasn’t easy enough to reach so that you could do it before he did something to you. However, if you could get your skirt out of the way...

You gave him a defeated nod, pretending to concede. Very slowly, you did as he instructed, sliding down onto your knees. You adjusted your skirt underneath you under the pretense of getting comfortable, then looked up at Mr. Dawson looming over you.

He gave you a wicked smile, and patted your head. He moved to pull out his cock, but before he could, you’d reached under your skirt and retrieved the pistol from your garter, cocking it and aiming for his manhood.

“Sorry mister, I think you have me misunderstood,” you said, standing once more, gun rising with you until it was pointed at his chest. “I won’t be doing anything with your disgusting prick. So you can either take the money and the watch and let me go, or lose something you can’t grow back.”

You and Mr. Dawson stood still a moment, staring each other down, waiting for the other to cave first. He never dropped his disgusting smile, and he still had a glimmer in his eye that you didn’t like one bit.

“On your way, mister,” You said, waving your gun slightly.

In the blink of an eye, he swung his arm up, grabbing the gun and forcing you to point it away from him. His other hand came up to your neck, slamming you back against the wagon and pushing the air from your windpipe. He slammed your wrist against the wagon a few times, until the gun fell to the ground.

You squirmed against him, trying to get your knee up into his crotch, find something of his you could bite, anything to get him off of you. But his grip on you was tight, and the hand on your neck was squeezing until spots danced across your vision.

“Little Jezebel,” Dawson cooed in your ear, “You’ve led the wrong man on. I’ll get what I want, just you wait.”

“Sadie!” You screamed, desperately hoping your voice would travel far enough. “Sa--” Dawson slammed your head against the wagon once more, and it all went black.

#campfire stories #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfiction #hosea/reader #take no prisoners

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charlessmithhasmyheart · 4 years

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Title: Hunting Hijinks

Genre: Romance

Type: Charles x Reader

Triggers: None

A/N: Hey hey hey! This is a gift for the lovely @fangirl-ramblings. When I got the message that I was your secret santa, I was super excited! You are defs one of the people who I would consider to be my biggest supporter throughout this blog endeavor. Seriously! I would like to apologize for how long this took, but I wanted to make sure I was happy with everything before posting.

I know you had requested something about several people, so I chose Charles! Hope this is to your liking.

Here ya go! :)

____________________________

The sun was slowly sinking, the fire in front of you easily becoming your only source of light. The camp and it’s residents had been in the process of setting down for the night. Everyone but you. You were sitting on a log lost in thought, head resting in your hands as you stared into the flames; the object of your contemplation being none other than the mysterious Charles Smith.

Of course, this was of no surprise to you. It had been happening quite frequently. Charles was on your mind a lot. Especially since you had officially become a member of the Van Der Linde Gang.

A small smile began to tug at your lips as you recalled your first encounter with the illustrious group of outlaws.

You had been a bounty hunter then. Well, you hadn’t really been a true bounty hunter. You were just taking odd jobs from the wanted posters around Valentine and Saint Denis. It wasn’t the best work, but it paid well when you succeeded. And you did.

Believe it or not, you had actually met them during one of your jobs. You had been tracking a particularly elusive criminal for a few days. He had held up the general store and robbed a few of the townsfolk. Killed some too. The sheriff was adamant that he was brought back; alive or dead, it didn’t matter.

You were on the trail, the tracks very fresh when suddenly gunfire broke out ahead of you. Intrigued, you spurred your mount on only to come face to face with a shoot out. The target in question was crouched behind an over turned wagon, his own horse dead, as bullets from his attackers, three of them, soared through the air.

Determined to be the one to bring him to justice, you pulled your own gun from its holster and spurred your mount on again. Unfortunately the criminal, in what you can only assume to be a moment of stupidity, peaked from around the wagon, pistol loaded, only to receive a bullet to the face. With him now dead, the attacker’s switched their attention to you, guns still drawn. A curse slipped from your lips as you brought your horse to an abrupt stop.

“You take one step closer miss, and I cannot promise you’ll get away unharmed.” Warned their leader, who you later on learned to be Dutch.

When you made no move to speak he continued.

“Now I suggest you lower your weapon and we can talk this out. I see no reason for any more blood-shed.” He spoke, lowering his own weapon and signaling for the others in his group to do the same.

It took a moment, but you complied and re-holstered your weapon. Then came the conversation that would change your life. You had explained how you were a bounty hunter, making money to survive on your own after your family had died. Dutch responded in kind; giving you the run down of his gang, and, when he was finished, offered you a place to stay. After all, a woman of your abilities would be beneficial to their cause. Seeing as you had no better options, you accepted.

When you had arrived at their campsite at Horseshoe Overlook, you were introduced to many people who, despite being outlaws, were some of the most kind and hardworking people you had ever met. You fit right in, quickly developed relationships with many of the gang members, and the rest was history.

But despite all that, there was one member that you still hadn’t been able to understand.

When you had first been introduced to Charles, he barely mumbled a greeting or looked in your direction before heading of to complete some chore. You had brushed it off in the beginning, assuming you would find time to get to know him later. Now, it was later, and you knew next to nothing other than you had developed feelings for him.

It was all so odd. How could you develop feelings for someone who wouldn’t speak to you, let alone even look at you in the eyes? Sure, you had admired his silent nature, his penchant for taking on the difficult or unappealing jobs and his kindness with the other gang members from afar. Not to mention, he himself wasn’t unappealing to look at. But it still frustrated you to no end because you knew that he wouldn’t feel the same way. Charles had made it perfectly clear, without speaking, how he felt about you.

Stifling a groan, you rubbed a hand over your face, your frustration beginning to build to unhealthy levels.

“Something the matter [Y/N]? You’ve been sitting there an awfully long time.”

You jumped at the sound of someone’s voice and turned to see Hosea strolling towards you, a curious look on his face.

“I’m fine, Hosea.” You replied as he eased into a chair on the other side of the fire. “Just tired is all.”

“I may be old,” he started. “But not so that I can’t recognize when someone’s troubled. What’s bothering you my dear?”

You shifted your gaze from the fire to Hosea. He was leaning back in the chair, arms folded in his lap, with his eyes fixed on you. There was nothing but concern and a honest want to help you in them. He had always been like that. When you were struggling to learn the ways of the outlaw life, Hosea had been with you every step of the way. Making sure you knew the best hunting spots, helping you tend to your chores, and keeping your spirits up whenever you got discouraged. But, expressing your thoughts of Charles out loud? That was different. You didn’t know if you could.

“I don’t really know, if I’m bein’ honest.” You responded finally. “I’m just trying to sort out my feelings.”

And you were. Trying and failing, but you were trying. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t convince yourself to forget.

“Your feelings for Charles?” He stated matter-of-factly.

You snapped your head up, heat beginning to rise in your face as you tried to stammer out a response.

“How did you know— I mean. I never said—”

Hosea chuckled and splayed his hands out in a calming gesture.

“Like I said. I may be old, but I still know a thing or two. And the way you look at the man when you think no one is paying attention? I’d say you were smitten.” He teased, winking at you.

You stared, dumbfounded and unsure of what to say. If Hosea knew, surely others in the camp knew. And if they knew, did that mean Charles knew as well? And if Charles knew then... No. You weren’t even going to consider the thought.

“You know what? I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.” You stated, pushing yourself off the log and heading towards your tent, refusing to look at Hosea anymore lest you get sucked into a full blown confession.

“You know,” He called after you. “It’ll just get worse the longer you keep it to yourself.”

You gave a half-hearted flick of you hand, the only indication that you had heard his words as you continued to walk through the camp.

——————————

The next morning proved to be no better. The minute you had opened your eyes, your thoughts immediately went to Charles. And Hosea’s advice. When you had finally settled into bed last night, you had pondered what he had said. Maybe it would be in your best interest to talk to him, but the fear of his first words to you being full of hate was too much, and you had drifted off late into the night.

Groaning, you pushed yourself to your feet, ready to distract yourself with the days work. You grabbed your hat from where it had fallen on the floor during sleep and stepped out of your tent. The morning sun shone through the campsite and the warmth felt good on your face. A cup of coffee sounded like a good way to start your day so you headed towards the communal pot; Abigail and Pearson already there with cups in hand.

“Morning [Y/N].” Pearson called out. “Any specific plans for your day yet?”

“Other then my daily chores? No.” You responded, pouring the dark liquid into your tin mug. “Why?”

“Well,” he began. “We’re getting low on food supplies and I can’t remember the last time anyone went hunting. Think you’re up for the task?”

“Sure,” you replied between sips. “I’ll head out right now.”

Pearson grunted his thanks and returned to his own mug. It felt good to finally have some sense of normalcy thrust upon you, so you were more than happy to comply. Nodding your head at Abigail, you finished your coffee; the warmth of the liquid reaching and energizing every part of your body before heading towards the horses.

Hunting hadn’t always been a skill that you particularly excelled at, but when you had expressed your unease with the chore during your first weeks with the gang, Hosea had wasted no time with setting up lessons with Arthur. Originally he would have asked Charles to do it, but every time he had mysteriously disappeared, leaving you wondering what accursed thing you had done to receive the cold shoulder. And hunting with Arthur wasn’t so bad. Of course, he was a little moody at times and his patience wasn’t always there, but you learned. You considered yourself to be quite the hunter nowadays.

Having now reached your horse, you ran your fingers through her mane and cooed soft encouragements before swinging yourself into the saddle. Grabbing the reins, you clicked your tongue and eased her towards he camp entrance.

“[Y/N], hold up!”

You brought your horse to a halt, startled, and turned in the saddle. You were surprised and a bit worried as Hosea sped up towards you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Are you going out?” He inquired, an odd look that you couldn’t quite place etched on his face.

“Yes,” you replied hesitantly. “Pearson asked me to. Why?”

“Why don’t you take Charles with you, huh? He’s quite the hunter himself.” Without waiting for a reply he called out to Charles who was sharpening a knife. “Hey Charles! You up for some hunting? [Y/N], here could use some assistance.”

It was in that moment that your heart beat began to quicken; from anger and from nervousness at the thought of thee Charles Smith hunting with you. Alone. In the woods. With no one around for miles. Oh, would Hosea be getting an ear-full once you returned. Well, maybe you’d say if. The possibility of you running away forever from sheer embarrassment was entirely plausible.

“There now,” Hosea continued, clapping Charles on the shoulder with his hand. “I’m sure the two of you can scrounge up some food for the lot of us. And don’t come back until you do.”

You shot Hosea a burning look as he sauntered away, whistling a tune the whole while. Charles barely glanced at you as he pulled himself onto his own mount, Taima, and encouraged her towards the edge of camp. You followed suite without a word.

————————

You gripped the bow tightly in your hands, trying to rack your brain for anything to say as Charles walked beside you. The silence between the two of you was uncomfortable. At least, that’s how you felt about it, and, frankly, you couldn’t deal with the fact that the man you had pined for months over was finally capable of staying close to you. Deciding you’ve had enough, you lowered your weapon and turned to face him.

“Why do you hate me?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why do you hate me?” You repeated, crossing your arms.

Charles’ eyes widened as he took in your words, and a strange look crossed his face. You started to feel guilty as you waited for a response. You had come across as a bit rude. It wasn’t what you were going for, but the words just came out without any thought. But, now that you were in this predicament, you decided you were going to keep going.

“I don’t hate you,” Charles finally spoke.

“Well, then have I done something to upset you? I’ve been with the gang for months now and you’ve said all of six words to me.”

Another long moment of silence ensued. Finally deciding you’ve had enough, you tightened the grip on your bow and turned to leave, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Before you could reach your horse, however, you felt a hand grasp your arm and you found yourself twisted around and a pair of lips locking with yours’. You tensed for barely a second as your mind tried to register what was happening. You were kissing Charles. Or, rather, he was kissing you. And it felt like you had always imagined it to be. When he broke away, you stared, dumbfounded.

“I don’t hate you, [Y/N],” He said, reaching out to take your hand his large calloused one. “I never have. In fact, it’s the opposite.”

“Charles,” You uttered, barely a whisper.

“Ever since the first day you stepped into camp, I knew there was something special about you. I was just too afraid to say anything.” Charles confessed. “I didn’t know how to say anything, because I didn’t know how you would feel.”

His dark eyes locked with yours and you could see the sincerity and fear swirling around in them. A small smile tugged at your lips. There was only one way you felt you could express your true feelings. You reached a hand up to cup his cheek and pulled him into another kiss.

Time seemed to stop. Your heart beat just as quick as you pressed your lips against his in a gentle fashion. His strong fingers brushed tentatively against the back of your neck while your own hand tangled amongst his dark locks. You placed your other hand against his chest and grasped at the loose fabric of his shirt, feeling a hunger your had never felt welling up inside you. Charles, sensing this, slipped a hand down to the small of your back and pulled you flush to him.

The kiss lasted for what felt like years before you finally pulled away, both of you breathing hard and a shine in his eyes that you no doubt mirrored.

“Do you know how I feel now?” You teased.

“Yes, I think so.” Charles chuckled, entwining his fingers with your own. You smiled warmly at him.

“Maybe we should get back to hunting then?” You inquired. “There’s a certain someone I need to have a chat with when we get back. And then, maybe we can have a chat of our own, hmm?”

Charles suppressed another laugh, placed a kiss on your cheek before resuming the hold on his own bow, and traipsed deeper into the woods. The memory of that kiss would reside in your mind as you finished the hunt and it would carry on until later in the evening when you and Charles had another moment alone.

#charles smith #rdr #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #imaginexreader #imagine #writing #reader insert

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exquisitley-obsessed · 4 years

Text

I’m (right) here

This is technically a part two: you can read part one HERE

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: Arthur lost sight of y/n on a hunting trip and it turns out the Pinkertons have hold of her and are doing everything they can to beat information about Dutch out of her. Arthur’s only goal is to get her back but he’s beginning to realise that if he does, nothing will be the same.

Word Count: 5568

Pairings: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Warnings: Torture, murder, bruises, scars, cuts!!

A/N: Currently playing RDR2 so please no spoilers <3 Literally took five minutes for me to fall in love with this damn fool and so felt like I needed to write something angsty for him.

REQUESTS OPEN <3

MASTERLIST

That had to be a broken rib.

Y/n gasped as she tried to roll away from the steel capped boot that had just gutted her; the chubby, squat old man at the other end of the boot was the more aggressive of her two captures - Steven was his name, or something like that.

It was his plump, well-rounded face that she had woken up to sometime ago, sneering down at her with this sickening gleeful look. It was understandable, by his terms he had struck gold by capturing y/n l/n, proud member of the Van Der Linde gang.

“You still don’t want to talk?” He husked out, hands on his portly hips. Y/n simply spat in response, a mixture of saliva and blood. Days had passed. Weeks maybe, it was difficult to tell when stuffed in a cage in a windowless room.

They came and they went, her captures. Steven and Tony were their names, or at least, that’s what they called each other. So far all they had revealed was that they were Pinkertons, and desperate for information on Dutch Van Der Linde. The beatings were consistent, another day without information, another beating – more painful than the last.

But y/n already knew that nothing could break her vow of silence. She had been dragged into this cage loyal to Dutch and she sure as hell would find a way out of it still being loyal – they’d have to kill her otherwise. It appeared that would be the direction of things anyway.

They were getting tiresome, annoyed, frustrated. Constantly checking their watches and disappearing for long lengths of time, leaving her aching and alone on the concrete floor watching the free flies mock her as they crawled the walls before flying away. It was easiest when she was asleep, it didn’t hurt so much then, like small shelter in a hurricane.

They’re coming. She had rhythmically repeated the mantra to herself a thousand times by now, a prayer. Dutch and Arthur, those she who she was currently dying to protect – they would come. They had to.

***

“We’ll find her Arthur.” Dutch said for what felt like the thousandth time. Arthur was sitting glumly inside his camp, ignoring his company as his eyes bore into his map, spotted with pins and small notes.

“I know.” He huffed back without much thought, his mind somewhere else. It felt like so much time had already been wasted, and Arthur has resorted to spending every waking moment tracking y/n, at least it kept his mind occupied.

Pinkertons weren’t necessarily nasty men, he’d sure as hell met worse, but they were by no means men to be trusted. Honour among thieves didn’t apply to them.

Sighing heavily his eyes drifted from the map above his bed to his collection of photos pinned nearby; him, Hosea and Dutch, his mother, an old newspaper clipping and the most recent edition was the printed photo of y/n that he had taken on a hunting trip.

He put it up there after getting it printed, a few days after her disappearance. Somewhere in his mind he validated the action through it only being a reminder of his task.

He liked the photo. She looked the same as ever, same braid, same work pants, John’s old shirt – her eyes were crinkled slightly as she smiled at the camera her jaw slack as if she were about to start laughing. Actually, she wasn’t looking at the camera, she was looking behind it – at Arthur.

It was strange to see the way someone looked at you, those moments which you normally don’t get to see at all, and yet he had it captured in time and hanging above his bed. Something about this whole situation had awoken something he thought he had buried a long time ago, but that’s always the way with old feelings, they don’t really go away you just start convincing yourself that they’re not there anymore as you suddenly become busy with someone else. But now he had no distraction, and with all this time, this torturous time without her – he was remembering.

“God’s sake,” He muttered under his breath, collapsing in his chair and flicking through his journal for the hundredth time. It was escapism really, reading old passages and admiring old drawings from a few weeks ago; pretending as if he were back then with nothing to fear.

He hadn’t realised how much he drew her. It seemed obvious now, flicking through the creased papers where loose sketches of y/n seemed to dot every other page. He had never questioned it before, just always thought that he could remember her figure a lot easier than others – the shape she took when she was hunched on her horse, how she always sat in the same crumpled poor-excuse of a chair every morning when he brought her a coffee. When the gang had had a small party, out of everyone it was her he remembered when sitting around the fireplace, lips parted slightly as she half-sang.

Everything was different now, even he couldn’t deny it. But God, he hated it.

What would this mean? When they got her back, if they got her back, what would happen then? Another cycle of burying his feelings, he could see himself already back at Mary’s beck-and-call, desperate for a distraction. Maybe there was a part of himself that didn’t want to see her again, that just wanted to see her safe and then disappear – could he seriously continue to live an elaborate lie he had formulated years ago, when he was only a boy? Who was that fair to?

He cussed again low under his breath. The past few days all he’s wanted to do is escape his mind, calm his rushing thoughts, tame them into something he could tolerate. Hazily, he noticed somewhat raised panicked voices out in the main camp. He could do this; he had done it before, burying feelings. The voices sounded excited. Maybe he was simply destined to live a life of half-loves. Footsteps were now moving toward his tent.

“Arthur!” But he had already picked up his gun and was headed through the folds of his camp. He had survived his feelings for y/n once before, of course he could again.

***

“Your own family left, y/n…” She cringed at how sympathetic Tony’s voice was, as if he were on her side. “They’re gone…there’s been no sign of them for weeks now. They’re not coming.”

This was apparently their plan for the time being. Whispering false truths to her about Dutch, how he was spotted on the other side of West Elizabeth, three days ride from, well wherever the hell she was.

“No,” Y/n gasped, her ribs grinding against the ground, bone and concrete. The lashes on her back felt like they were writhing as the leather whip in Steven’s hand dripped her slick blood.

“Stop!” Steven exploded, y/n was hazily aware of the whip being catapulted across the room, “Stop protecting them y/n! We’re here to help you, for God sake they-”

“Help me?” She hissed. He didn’t hear.

“don’t care about you! Look-” Steven grunted, hauling a chair from the desk to the front of her cell and throwing himself in it, “Life has been nothing but unkind to you y/n, we can see that,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut as another dull, aching throb radiated from her back, “We’re at a point now where we can forgive you for all of your past crimes…you could walk away from this a free woman…marry a good man, whatever the hell you want…we just need something in return.”

She couldn’t meet his eye. Couldn’t begin to accept what he was telling her about her family but, the reality was, where were they? Weeks he said, weeks waiting in agony for the moment they’d come for her only to be left day in, day out, entirely and utterly alone.

Y/n felt herself being lulled in to a numb state, all she could pitifully think of was that she wanted to go home: she wanted fresh clean clothes, Pearson’s warm soup, a story from Hosea, a hug from Dutch – when was the last time someone had touched her in an affectionate way?

“Please…” She wheezed through her shattered lungs as her eyes rolled, “Just leave me alone.”

This apparently wasn’t the right answer. Steven, in one fluid motion, swung the chair out from underneath him, hurling it at the cell. Colliding against the steel bars, the wood promptly splintered like fragile bones.

“You stupid bitch!” He exploded, “You can’t see help when it’s fucking standing in front of you! You refuse it like a fucking idiot!” He was gasping for breath as he bellowed, his podgy skin flushing scarlet, “No wonder you’ve ended up like this...all alone…” He was spitting at her, stalking across the front of her bars like a predator homing in on its prey. Y/n felt dull tears dribble down her cheeks as she began to drown in how utterly helpless she was. Crumpled on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. “This...” He stopped stalking, his pulsating eyes glaring down at her over his rounded cheeks, “This…” He repeated, lowering himself to her level, “is why deep down…you’ll always be an orphan.”

Y/n watched him curiously, he hadn’t acted like this before. He had always had control. She then focused on Tony behind him whose eyes were avidly watching a pocket watch as his flicked it back and forth between his fingers nimbly.

“We best get going.” Tony finally spoke into the silence, swinging his coat on before checking the bullets in his pistol.

“Not yet,” Y/n’s heart dropped as Steven turned back to her, “They aint getting you back.” He spat at her, his voice low, almost as if he was laughing at her. Y/n watched in silent trepidation as he pushed his key into her cell door and slung it open, “At least…” Y/n moved her eyes back to Tony, pleading for him to do something, “They aint getting you back alive.”

Lying there, face down, unable to move, y/n found herself desperately coming to terms with her own mortality as she heard the click of the gun; summoning all her strength she tried to raise her head to look at him but his steel capped boot struck her clean across the cheek. Choking out a feeble cry she then tried to use the momentum of the kick to roll away from him, but it was futile. With her body broken beneath her there was nothing she could do, and all too soon she felt the cold, lifeless tip of the gun’s barrel pushed against the back of her head. This was it. Her pathetic, ruthless, pain-filled life – this was the climax, the pièce de résistance. The final click sounded followed by a short explosion before finally, darkness.

****

“I told you to only blow the god-damn doors off!” Arthur hollered at Sean who merely gave him a meek look and a shrug of the shoulder. Irish idiot, Arthur thought. The explosion was only supposed to take out the chains and bolts encasing the front doors, but the underestimation of the TNT had caused a shudder through house’s frame, resulting in the roof crumbling in on itself.

“Okay boys!” Dutch commanded, getting off from his horse and assessing the damage, “They know we’re here now which is fine…there’s more of us than ‘em I can promise you that.” He turned back to the gang, patrolling across the front of them like an army captain, “One objective: get in there and find y/n…you see any Pinkertons…gun ‘em down. They messed with us…with our family.” Slowly and in unison, the Van der Linde gang pulled on their masks. “Aint nobody messes with the our family and survives…nobody.” They moved in.

Arthur turned left with Charles, moving swiftly through the large, white manor house they had tracked the Pinkertons to – and God what a job that was. Weeks had passed of tracking and losing sight of the Pinkertons, putting everyone’s necks on the line trying to find the whereabouts of y/n. At first, they had been so sure she was in this old, abandoned farmhouse. They planned meticulously their attack for a week before attempting, only to discover it was some O’Discrolls cooped up in there – y/n nowhere in sight.

Realising how much time had been wasted, they quickly went back to work, until Micah’s loudmouth made things blow up in the local town. Time and effort were then directed to moving camp somewhere safe, no one allowed to go after y/n during that time – it was also during this time that Dutch and Arthur had a rather explosive argument.

But they were finally here, finally had tracked her to this bulky manor house out west, and if she weren’t here… well, Arthur couldn’t think about that.

“In here,” Charles’ voice rumbled as they moved past some double doors. Sharing a quick glance with Charles, Arthur jolted forward, the doors snapping back out of his way as he moved into the room. Looking around, he noticed how it looked like it was crumpled in on itself, planks of wood, an old piano, a large cabinet that had been picked clean years ago. All signs of life felt distant and foreign, as if someone hadn’t lived there for years – still, Arthur couldn’t lose hope. He turned back to Charles shook his head and they moved on.

****

Y/n blinked for what felt like forever, her heart racing as a high-pitched whine completely dominated her hearing. She hadn’t expected to still be conscious so it took her a minute to gather her bearings. Slowly, fuzzy outlines hardened into shapes and then, objects. Something had exploded, something was happening. Y/n moved and her whole body burned but it didn’t matter anymore – something was happening.

Fumbling for a second, she dragged herself up, her legs threatening to give way underneath her as she clung onto a fallen beam for support. Looking around she saw Steven rolling around near her, his face contorted into that of agony as one of his legs sat stuck under a pile of rubble and brick, a low gurgling, gasping noise whining from his throat. Sweeping low, y/n swiftly plucked up his gun and felt adrenaline start to pump through her – she had the power now.

“I can help,” Her ears still ringing as she coyly smiled at the chubby, little man at her feet. “Make the pain stop…I mean…”

Y/n, without thinking, raised the gun to his head and shot. Blood splattered across the room. Letting out a long deep sigh, y/n felt herself snapping back into her body, her arms and legs now feeling a little more like her own. Looking over she saw Tony collapsed; maybe passed out, maybe dead. It didn’t matter.

Panic rose quickly inside her, she needed to get out. She didn’t know what was happening or what had sparked the explosion, but this could be her only chance to escape - she needed to get out now. Swinging herself clumsily around the corner she opened the door and peered out, her eyes greedily racing across all the new sights and imagery. She tried to move as light as she could across the creaking floor tiles, her legs limping and stumbling over one another beneath her. Maybe there were other people in the house, maybe she was just being overcautious. She didn’t much care. She just needed to get out.

Successfully reaching a flight of stairs, she began to pick her way down, half hanging over the barista, the world spinning around her. Then, she heard a noise, heavy thumps and distant voices – she wasn’t alone. Panic rose like bile and suddenly, she was racing down the stairs, another flight followed by the next – out, out, out. The next flight, almost there, keep the gun in hand. God it’s so heavy. The world spinning around her, the adrenaline not slowing down until she scrambled down that last flight of stairs until there in front of her were the doors, opening out in a grassy barren knoll ahead.

She didn’t care about the pain anymore, or the fact that all this movement had cracked open all her cuts and lashings – she ran. She ran faster than it felt like she had ever run before, racing forth into the greenery and the open night sky. The stars gleaming down on her as she sprinted through the tall grass, feeling the wind move through her, an explosion of smells - the world alive around her. Then, a figure arose from her right. Instinctively, she stumbled down into a crouch, hiding herself in the shrubbery.

“Any sign of her?” Someone called out, fear latched onto her heart, she already knew she was the ‘her’. She tried to make out the voice, but it felt like the whole world was swimming in her head.

“No…I think John found some dead bodies in the attic. He said they were real fresh though.” Another voice, a different accent. Why wouldn’t her head unscramble itself? She felt her stomach lurch at the name – she knew a John.

“But I thought…” She heard her own voice softly choke out as she rose to her knees, swaying back and forth as the Earth moved underneath her.

“So…she aint here?”

“Doesn’t look like it…there are signs she might’ve been…they’re going to burn down the house down though.”

Looking up over the spikey tops of the greenery, y/n tried to make out the dark silhouettes barely visible against the inky night sky.

“What the hell are we going to do?”

“They won’t give up…not when it comes to her…”

“Not when it comes to anyone, Javier. We’re family. No one gets left behind.” Y/n felt a sob explode out of her – it was them. Hosea and Javier, talking about her, looking for her – saving her. In the same second another explosion erupted, this time, it was to begin the fire. Bright and beautiful, greedily eating up the dry wood of the abandoned home and exploding light into the universe. The bright and beautiful universe in which her family were here, her family that had come for her.

“Hosea!” She tried to shout but it came out as a wheeze, her voice stuck somewhere in her broken throat as she dragged herself to her feet, stumbling forward towards the figures. “Javier!” She tried again, but no noise. Nothing. Something desperate arose in her, what if they couldn’t see her? What if they left her without realising they had found her, she was here, and she was safe now. She went to shout again, her feet stumbling beneath her.

Her hair was completely loose, her clothes torn, her body broken. The heat of the fire warming her skin and yet, her skin wasn’t warm, it was burning. Fresh blood dribbling down her body as her wounds split. She wanted to scream again but something stopped her.

“Y/n…” All he said was her name. Looking up all she could see was Arthur. He was walking between Hosea and Javier, away from the house, looking at her. He could see her.

“Arthur-” She tried to say his name, but a sob shattered her lungs. She silently begged him to come to her, to touch her as she began to crumble. And, almost as if he heard her, he jolted forwards, his face enigmatic as he reached out for her but just as he was about to reach out for her – she jumped back, as if he had shocked her.

She had this God-awful look in her eyes then, all glossy and confused, like she didn’t quite recognise him. Like she was questioning him, staring at him as if she couldn’t quite make her mind up about something.

“How long’s it been.” God her voice was quiet, barely audible over the sound of the fire, the shouts of Hosea and Javier as they called for the others.

“Since what?” Arthur heard his own voice softly rumble, all he wanted was to soothe her, touch her, keep her safe.

“Since I went missing Arthur?” She looked numb; her were eyes wide, her mouth half open, a salty mixture of tears, dirt and blood dribbling down her cheeks. Arthur had not realised a single question could make him feel so guilty.

“Um…maybe a few weeks…”

“Maybe?” She let out a shaky breath. He felt like a small stone settle at the bottom of his gut – guilt.

“Four weeks yesterday…that’s when you went missing.”

And there it was. Y/n’s mind felt like it was crumpling in on itself, beginning to choke on the feeling of betrayal. Four weeks. Four weeks they had left her there, maybe searching, maybe not. She had lay in that poor excuse for a jailcell for a month, she had been dragged past her breaking point, she had faced pain like she could never had imagined waiting every second, every minute for her family to do what a family does, to protect her and yet, where were they?

“Y/n, girl, there you-” Dutch’s gruff voice swam into her mind as she twisted away from Arthur. The blazing red of the fire and the inky blue of the night sky, all of it blurring into a complete and utter mess.

“Four weeks….” She was surprised at how meek her own voice sounded, she hated it venomously. How was it that she had become so weak? How had she gotten here, to this moment? “Where were you?” She turned back to where Arthur stood, his head bowed like a scolded runt and Dutch, his hand half outstretched towards her, his euphoric face crumbling. “How could you let…”

“Y/n we were looking for you…I promise we were looking…” Dutch began, already stumbling into his defensive tone. Y/n wanted to believe him, but then she blinked and suddenly she was back in her cell, the ominous faces of men she was savagely scared of hovering above her, sneering at her as they told her how her family had disappeared, left her behind, just like her parents did. She blinked once more, and they were gone.

“You were supposed to protect me-” Suddenly, she exploded, “We’re family! What kind of a family does that to one another…you left me there…you left me there with those men…”

“I know baby-” Dutch began again.

“No!” She was gasping now, unable to breathe – the smoke and the sobbing choking her, “You don’t know…if only you did…if only you knew what they did to me Dutch….” Her cheeks throbbed as she tried to resist a guttural sob, “I thought I was your daughter.”

“You are-”

“No…I aint.” Her legs were shaking now, the fire and sky crashing together once again, “You don’t do that to your daughter, you left me…you left me behind.” Suddenly the grass felt so soft, “You left me...” The grass was so gentle compared to the concrete of her cell, the soil softened, responded to her touch, moved with her – earth and flesh, “You left me just like they did…”

Resting back, she dug her fingers deep into the earth and looked up. The sky was hot, the soil cold. Her world being torn open around her, exploding and rearranging into something new.

Nothing would be the same.

*****

“Oh…you scared me.” Arthur murmured, his eyes flickering up to the ghostly figure at the mouth of his tent.

“Sorry I-” Y/n stood awkwardly between the folds of cloth, dressed in only her night things with her hair loose down her back. She looked young, a little like how she did when they had first met. Arthur also noticed then how delicate she looked; it had been like that for a few weeks now.

Dutch had basically carried her back to camp, leaving her with Ms Grimshaw so her wounds could be tended to. Arthur had checked in on her regularly during the first few days, he liked it most when she was asleep, it gave him time to watch over her without feeling as though he was intruding.

“No, it’s okay,” A sloping grin melted into his cheeks, “Stay...please…I got, uh, oatcakes and beer.”

“Wow…my lucky treat,” Arthur watched with concealed warmth as a smile pattered across her cheeks. It had felt like forever since he had seen her smile. “Sorry for intruding, guess I just wanted to be close to someone for a ‘lil bit. Can’t sleep, y’know,” Moving into his camp, she curled herself up on Arthur’s fur rug, resting her back against his side table; it was her position, whenever she had snuck into his tent she had always somehow folded herself into that specific corner and he had never dared question it for she would always aggressively insist she was comfortable.

“Yeah, I understand. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel like that most of the time.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t made very clear when I signed up to this gang…” Y/n grinned at him, “Maybe then I would’ve rethought my application.” Arthur chuckled.

“True…they don’t exactly give you a run down before you start living a life of crime.” Moments like these were more regular the past few days. Moments where he found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythmic conversations with y/n that he had always had, it was comforting, a reminder that the pain was temporary. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” She smiled at him, a real smile, “Ms Grimshaw works a miracle.”

“That she does,” He shuffled slightly to rest his back against the wagon next to his bed.

“Nothing really bad happened to me physically…I mean, nothing I can’t recover from.”

“And you will, with time, you always do.” She smiled at him again, but this time her eyes lowered after meeting his – was she nervous?

“I guess the only problem is…Dutch aint shifting outta protective mode any time soon.”

“He’ll get over it…” Arthur chuckled, “I think he’s just mad at himself y’know. You know how much you mean to him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” She nodded sleepily. “I know Morgan.” God, it killed him when she called him that. Suddenly, y/n’s face twisted up in a grimace and she jolted up, her hands stretching toward her back.

“Y’okay?” He asked nervously after a moment.

“Fine…fine…” She winced, rubbing at her shoulders, “Just not quite 100% yet, y’know.” He eyed her for a moment as she pushed her hair out of her face, trying to massage the spot in her shoulder that was causing her pain.

“Here,” He surprised himself by saying, “Let me do your hair.” She eyed him; an eyebrow half raised her lips slightly parted. It seems neither of them had expected him to raise that offer. “Oh c’mon, remember how I used to braid your hair before shooting lessons with Dutch?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago…” She murmured; a faint smile painted on her lips as her eyes clouded with a distant memory

“I ain’t forgotten how to,” He smiled at her and she smiled back, shyly. A pause. “Please y/n. I know I can’t do much to help you right now…I’m no good doctor, I’m a god damn idiot when it comes to words and, y’know, comforting people. So, please…let me do this.” He watched as her lips parted slightly into a distant smile, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay Morgan…if you really want to braid my hair I guess I’ll have to allow it. Just do a good job of it okay.”

“Who you trying to look good for?”

“Oh, you know me Morgan…everybody and nobody.” Arthur chuckled to himself. She plodded herself down on the floor next to his cot and, shifting over, he planted his legs like trunks either side of her, creating a small cove in which she could tuck herself.

He went to move her hair to the back when he noticed his hands shaking ever so slightly, his heart rate jumping too. Arthur tried to calm himself then and there but couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the feeling of her, the warmth along the inside of his claves as she curled into him, resting her head lightly against his right knee. Desperately trying not to hurt her, he scooped up her hair and used his fingers to softly comb behind her ears and down her neck, ensuring he had caught every soft wisp.

Silently, he cursed his fingers for being so calloused, spitefully thinking of how his fingers might be grazing her soft skin. Sweeping all her hair to the back, he watched as it loosely tumbled down before softly combing his fingers through it. He promptly forgot about how much he hated his hands, forgot his hatred of how he had always been so large and gruff, unsubtle and mean. Instead his mind became full of thoughts of her.

How different her hair colour looked in the orange candlelight compared to daylight. How long her hair tumbled down her back when loose and how he hadn’t noticed considering she always had it tied back. How he could see the skin of her neck peeking at him as her hair began to sway when he braided it. How that skin sloped down into the loose collar of her night shirt. The way her shoulders and back moved with her steady breath and, if he listened carefully, how he could hear it. Steady, strong, safe. It seemed all too quickly the braid twisted to a finish in his fingers.

“You got a tie?”

“Course,” She sleepily murmured. God that killed him. The way her eyes drooped, the way she moved without being conscious of what she was doing to him. She placed the tie in his outstretched palm and seemed to not realise that her delicate hands had brushed so softly against his rough ones.

“I’m scared,” She piped up as his fingers returned to her hair, her voice ever so slightly dreamy.

“That they’ll come take you again?” Now done, Arthur relaxed back into his cot a little but refused to move his legs, desperate to not disturb her.

“No…well yes but…” She melted deeper into the cove of his legs without thinking, “I’m scared that what they did to me, what happened in those weeks…I’m scared it’s going to be with me for the rest of my life, affect me for the rest of my life, I mean.”

“But-”

“Sorry, I know it sounds silly-”

“No…it doesn’t,” Arthur leaned forward, catching her eye, “There aint anything silly about what you went through, but…I know for a fact that it won’t affect you forever.” A beat.

“How?”

“Because you’re so much more than what happened to you in those four weeks. You’ve lived through hell; we all know it, and yet at the end the day – you’re more than any of the people who have hurt you.” He watched her looking at him, trying to figure out the enigmatic feeling written on her face, but the conversation moved swiftly on.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in those weeks?” She whispered, not blinking, “Where you all were?”

“We were looking for you y/n, and that’s the God honest truth,”

“But-”

“But nothing y/n. For a while uh…things got complicated. We lost track for a bit and you paid for it, I’m sorry.” He looked down, wondering how far he could take this, “Y’know, I thought that you were dead, just for a moment…I was destroyed.” Her face remained enigmatic, “Now I’m scared to turn away from you for one second, I’m afraid I’ll lose you again.” It felt like he was crossing into unmarked territory.

“You’ll never lose me,” She breathed, “Not really.” A knot tied itself into existence in his gut.

Their eye contact never broke. It felt like it never would. Looking at her then, he felt like there were a million things he wanted to say to her, like there was so much of himself he had yet to reveal to her. The parts of himself which, in all honesty, cared for her more than he ever realised. Sitting there, with her tucked against his right knee, he couldn’t help himself.

Almost as if he were in a trance, he began to trace his fingers along the hair behind her left ear before scooping up her braid and shifting it to the side, how comforting it was to know that she was right there, under his fingertips. His left hand moved to her shoulder were he gently shifted the white cotton of her dress so that it slipped down, exposing her black and beaten shoulder. Slowly, and without breaking eye contact, he brought his lips down and pressed them against her colourful skin. She shivered into his touch as his beard grazed her bare flesh, but she never looked away. He kissed her again, moving up closer to her neck, his eyes fluttering shut. He was so close that she could feel his breath fluttering across her exposed neck. She relaxed into him, almost daring him to go further until she noticed something – he was crying.

Soft beads rolled down his cheeks as he kissed her again, and again, and again. Softly, y/n started to hear his whispers warm into the silence.

“I’m sorry…”

“I can protect you…”

“They won’t ever hurt you again…”

“I’m here now…”

“I’m sorry…”

“I’m here…”

Maybe y/n was right, maybe nothing would be the same. But change didn’t seem so scary anymore.

requests open <3

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@rollyjogerjones

#Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption imagine #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 1 #red dead redemption community #rdr #rdr2 #rdr imagine #rdr2 imagine #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x original character #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x female oc #arthur morgan x #arthur morgan imagine #Dutch Van Der Linde

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wickedsrest-rp-archive · 4 years

Text

New Year’s Mischief || Group Chatzy

Timing: New Year’s Eve Night Summary: Don’t trust balloons or mimes or hanyo Warnings: Sauce

The Common was alit. There was no evidence of the chaos that had befallen the Christmas market not that long ago, although a fire engine and ambulance are parked nearby. Instead, stalls were lit up in every colour imaginable, offering hot meals and hot drinks, even the occasional alcoholic drink. Sparklers and popping toys were being sold alongside glow sticks and neon jewellery. There was even a stall run by mimes which charged you three dollars to stick your hand into a strange box which may contain prizes. This was particularly popular. Further on, there were a couple men in plain brown suits at a stall with mysterious stains on it. The men were making the most incredible balloon sculptures, more detailed than any balloon sculpture had any right to be. Beside them was a sign that read “WARNING: DO NOT POP BALLOONS”. Aunt Jolene, however, who ran the brownie stall, claimed she’d popped hers and found a check for a thousand dollars in hers. It was a beautiful, lively evening, ready to ring in the new year, as if the black ocean, eye sun, sandman and all else could be left in this one.

Nora insisted that her and Remmy had to be the first at the Mime event. Remmy may have told Nora that it wasn't a complete mime event, but Nora wasn't hearing any of it. If anyone was going to watch the silent ball drop, it was going to be Nora. As they approached the commons, Nora was craning her neck wondering if Marie-Jeanne was going to grace them with her presence. Nora was a big fan of her.

Dakota had heard about what was happening at The Common through a few people at work—excited chatter between coworkers grabbing a cup of stale coffee before returning to their desks, or their offices, or their labs. Originally, she hadn’t been planning on showing up because New Year’s Eve happened to be the busiest night of year for most people at the precinct. For Dakota, the disasters usually followed a few days after, because that’s when you found the bodies. But tonight she was feeling more adventurous than she’d had in weeks—mainly due to the fact that she was bored, but she had also never been to The Common, why not check it out? So, she showed up. There was a bit of commotion concerning someone popping a balloon and finding money, but she decided to spend a bit of cash and grab a cup of hot chocolate and watch the events unfold, much like a wallflower would do.

Ally debated the whole day as to whether to or not she would be in attendance at the ball drop. She could’ve sat in the office all night, waiting for the calls that would inevitably come in the closer that they got to midnight, or she could get dressed up and be on call at the party. Every time she decided she wasn’t going and took off her dress she remembered what Christmas alone felt like, and she sure as hell didn’t want that again. So eventually she got herself into her car and drove to The Common. Best case scenario, she made a new friend, worst case scenario she wasted a few hours. When she arrived she walked around, looking at all the activities and nervously staying far away from the mimes, especially after what Regan had told her.

After the kitchen incident with Nadia, Arthur really hadn't been planning to leave the house. But it was New Year's Eve, and whenever the mimes were out in force he couldn't entirely control the morbid curiosity to witness them. The issue he had presently was trying to get his wallet out to pay for a hot chocolate with one arm presently held in a sling and cast. "Ah shoot" he muttered as he dropped the wallet on the floor crouching down to grab it and glancing over to a lady who was also stood nearby. "Sorry- Could- Would you mind helping me?"

Being first to the ball drop hadn’t been important to Remmy, but it was to Nora, and so they’d donned their nicest clothes that weren’t packed, and had headed out before the sun was even beginning to set with Nora. They noticed her looking around for someone and raised a brow. “Who are you looking for?” they asked, casting a glance around as well, seeing if they could spot anyone they recognized as well. Wondered if Luce might show, wondered if they’d want to see her, even. They rubbed the back of their head as they walked along. “What do you wanna do first? Looks like there’s some sort of carnival game stuff. Wanna check that out?

This was the last place Kaden wanted to be. Ringing in the New Years surrounded by goddamn mimes. He was going to be at home with his dog and some wine and cheese. It was going to be simple. But no. Nor was going to steal a fucking ball from the ball drop. And he had a feeling he had to be there to either stop her or help her. He wasn’t sure which right now. Either way, he had a flask on hand. He didn’t know what he needed but he knew he needed that. When he saw Nora he waved. She could call the shots. And she was hanging out with that other hunter, Remmy. Interesting. “Hey,” he said with a nod.

"Marie-Jeanne." Nora answered without explanation. Nora cracked her neck. It hurt after so much craning. "I gotta go steal the ball before it drops. Will you be good?" Nora asked. Nora wasn't sure Remmy would want to help. Nora had met them whilst they were working security and the conversation about thieving public displays of new year bringing. Just then Kaden showed up. "Good." Nora gave him an approving nod. She thought he'd be too chicken to show up. "Step one. Don't get seen by any mimes. Step two. Steal the ball. Got it?"

Never having been very good at dealing with the unknown, the moment Solomon learned that they were warned to not pop the balloons, the ache to rip them all to bits was almost overwhelming. He was perched on a bench, his attention flicking between that stall and the one with the mimes and mystery box, trying to decide which one would be more satisfying to wreck. The fact that he was surrounded by people, something that would normally make him extremely antsy, was completely overshadowed by the need to reveal whatever those men in the suits were hiding. In what he thought was a sly manner (but probably wasn’t), Solomon sidled his way toward the balloon stand, still eyeballing the creations as they were whipped together at record speed and handed off to their buyers. As one of them passed hands from the artist to the commissioner, Solomon made a quick gesture with one hand, sending a couple thorns hurtling from his fingertips and bursting the thing right in the woman’s face. The delighted laugh was barely muffled as he relished the loud sound (which had been unexpected) and sudden burst of glittery bits of... whatever it was that exploded in her face. Which of course drew attention to him, so he quickly turned tail and slipped off to find more people with those balloons.

“Steal the...ball?” Remmy asked, blinking. They looked around again, when a familiar voice piped in. It was Kaden, the guy from the cooking class that Remmy was pretty sure was another zombie. They wondered if Morgan knew him, hadn’t she mentioned him once? They smiled, waving back. “Hey-- oh,” glanced over at Nora again. “Uh, yeah, I’ll be good. Just try not to get into too much tro--” they paused, snapped their jaw shut, “never mind. Just don’t get yourself hurt, okay?” they said, sighing and shaking their head. But they were smiling.

Connor wasn't sure how long he was going to stay, mostly for the sake of his new companion, Nico. So far she'd seemed to be a well-adjusted and friendly dog, but he didn't want to put her in a situation that would be overwhelming, so was more than ready to head home early and have a quiet night instead. “Come on, girl,” he said, scratching behind her ear as they walked. So far, so good. He headed over to the common, looking around for someone he might recognize.

The celebration of the coming year was a strange, but pleasant thing. Kevin couldn’t quite recall the last year she had seen come and go. Glamor in place, she wandered about, making her way over to the stand with the mystery box. Such an enchanting idea… even if the people running it were clearly abominations. She was never one to leave much to chance, but there was a certain appeal to the surprise. Still, this was for the people of White Crest to enjoy, she was content to simply observe… at least for the moment.

“This is Hell. I’m dead - for real this time - and I’ve gone to Hell.” Mercy had a very deep hatred for mimes. Not humans playing at being mimes, but Mimes. Of the White Crest variety. The kind that had shot her and tried - see: very nearly succeeded - in murdering Arthur. Not to mention a slew of others. So while she waited on Arthur to come back from the hot chocolate line - Mercy had opted for beer, which she sipped thoughtfully from her perch on the back of one of the Common’s benches - she took in her surroundings, noting all the strangeness (both normal and suspicious in nature) and thinking that maybe the four knives and her pistol (for which she was properly permitted thanks much) that she currently had hidden on her person might not be enough if shit went sour. Which there was a fifty-fifty chance of. The sharp pop of a balloon caught her attention, and her gaze cut across the crowd, locking on an unfamiliar face that was quickly exiting the scene. “I’d be careful popping those,” Mercy said, hopping off her bench as the stranger passed by. “Some of them might not be so… sparkly.”

Savannah would have happily been at home with a bottle of wine, but she was trying, perhaps in vain, to be a little more social. Every time she went out into the world, something unexpected seemed to happen, and not all of them were welcomed. Still, anything this event and its mimes could offer had to be better than ringing in the New Year alone, right? She spotted a few people she knew, but opted to quietly observe for a while.

Kaden sighed deeply before bringing the flask to his lips and taking a swig. He held it out in case Nora or Remmy wanted any, too. “Lead the way.” This was a mistake. “You want to help? I feel like this is a terrible idea and could probably use more hands,” he asked Remmy.

If only Marley could’ve used the excuse of working the party to come, but as it were, she wasn’t allowed in the field anyway, but she sure as hell wanted to show up to what would likely be a disastrous event. If only for the free food. People around here either loved mimes or hated them, and with hate often came fear. Donning her glasses, she strolled into the Common with hands tucked in pockets, glancing around to see who else was going to show up to this place. Kept to the fringes of the crowd for now, spotting Kaden with two others, including that nuisance bugbear who kept bothering all the cops at the precinct. Solano was on the other side, idling around as awkwardly as Marley, as if trying to blend in, and over at one of the drink stations was Dakota. Marley made a mental note to stay far away from there for now. Maybe after a few shots of tequila she’d gather up enough courage to go over to her.

Remmy looked at the flask Kaden was holding out to them, then up to his face as he asked if they wanted to help. “Oh, uh-- n-no, that’s okay. I’ll just...I mean i guess I could keep an eye out to make sure ya’ll are good, but I’d rather not.”

All at once, there was a screech of violins. The college band fell silent as the mime band began to play real music, despite the apparent lack of real instruments. Even more unnervingly, the mime lead singer's lips did not move, but they sang with the exact vocal cords of the college band singer, who was clutching at his throat in distress.

Dakota hadn’t really been paying much attention to the guy with his arm in a sling—at least not until he dropped the damned thing and she was the closest person who could help in the least bit. “Shit, yeah,” she said. Dakota did sort of feel bad for him, crouching down like that, so she kneeled and grabbed his wallet, handing it back to him. “The hell happened to you arm?”

Nora took a large swig of the flask then grabbed Kaden by the arm to pull him behind a stall. Reaching into her coat she pulled out two berets and some face paint. "We need to get in disguise. Paint up." Nora started applying copious amounts of white face paint onto her already pale face. In retrospect, she should have brought a hand mirror. Oh well, much like this year, hindsight was 2020.

Slowing his roll as he heard someone speaking to him, Solomon whipped around to look at the woman, offering his best innocent shrug. “I don’t know what you meeeaan!” he lied, snickering all the while. “What else could they possibly stuff in there, bees?” There was a pause, and he raised his eyebrows. “Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Bad for the bees, though. I gotta free them!” He sucked in an unusually energetic breath, ready to take off again in pursuit of another target, but rattled to a stop before he’d even gotten started. “... Aren!” He waved both arms when he spotted his friend just a short distance off, beckoning him over. “Aren, come help me rescue some bees!”

Connor spotted the person with who had the giant fluffy dog that he'd seen at Nell's party, although no dog in tow this time. "Hey," he greeted. "Nice to see you again." The strange noise brought his attention over to the stage and he cocked his head curiously. "Oh. That's... normal."

Ally heard the screech of violins and spun around to look at the band. When she heard the sound coming from the mime band she scrunched her eyebrows trying to comprehend how sound was coming from the mimes. The stall nearest to her was selling drinks, and although alcohol certainly wasn’t going to explain what she just saw, she suddenly felt like she needed a drink. She downed it and leaned toward the person nearest to her, “Is this like a performance piece or something?” She whispered.

Savannah spotted Marley, but she didn't want to approach her given the last encounter they'd had. Probably better to talk in a one on one environment. She saw Kaden, and a couple of people from the station, one of whom she thought she remembered was called Alejandra. "A performance piece... that's one way of putting it," Savannah said, grateful she'd already grabbed a drink. "You're new here, right?"

As the woman handed back his wallet Arthur smiled awkwardly as he stood up, "thanks, sorry- I'm not normally this much of a clutz." He took the wallet back, awkwardly trying to fish a couple of dollar bills out to pay the disgruntled looking hot chocolatier. "Oh this? I was involved in an accident-" not the total truth, but near enough all things considered. Taking the bills he finally handed them over. “Sorry again- thanks.” Catching a figure waving in his periphery Arthur grinned and waved back "Hey Sol- Bees? What bees?"

Mercy tipped an eyebrow, unable to help her own amusement. “Bees would… be preferable actually,” she said. Before she could say anything else, he was going on about freeing said bees and Mercy was… thinking her night was getting just a little bit better. This could only end in glorious chaos. But it took a slightly unexpected turn when the stranger called to someone in the crowd… and used a name had never heard anyone else use. Not in a very, very long time. “You know, Arth- Aren?” Mercy said, grabbing one of the excited stranger’s flailing limbs. “There aren’t bees…” she told him. “No bees,” she said to Arthur as he approached. Mercy took a long sip of her beer. “Not yet at least.”

Was he drunk or did Nora just pull out fucking berets and facepaint? “No. I’m not doing that. You can’t make me. I’ll just put up my hood or something.” Kaden tugged it up and hoped that was enough. After being striped for about a week, there was no way in fucking hell he was putting on any more goddamn facepaint. “This way,” he said quietly as he led the past a few crowds of people and around some tables and decorations. They reached a group of “performers.” He sure as shit wasn’t going to work to blend in. He made a gesture that he’d just go around, but it was too late. One of the mimes grabbed his arm and then made a gesture, pulling their finger across their throat. Uhhh. He looked to Nora for help.

Ally nodded in agreement with what the woman next to her said. When she asked if she was new she turned toward her. “Right, yeah, I’ve seen you around the station. I’m Ally.” She said sticking her hand out. “Do they do this every year?”

"Savannah," she introduced herself. "Yeah, I consult on cases there sometimes. I'm FBI." Apparently the White Crest Police Department was just a bunch of attractive women and one weird Sergeant. "I wouldn't know, this is my first time here. I only came to town a little over six months ago. Still long enough to no longer be surprised by these things."

“The bees in the balloons!” Solomon bleated over Mercy’s attempts to stifle him, though the wind did seem to get sucked out of his sails after another brief moment of consideration. “Fine… but I still want to see what’s in them. “Yeah, yeah, we met, uh… a long time ago. Y’know.” He gave her a shrug, beaming at Arthur as he approached. “I’m breaking stuff, d’you want to help?” He glanced at Mercy, giving her a quick once over. Any friend of Aren’s was a friend of his. “You too!”

It was the fatal error of refusing to put makeup on that caused Kaden to get grabbed and noticed by the mimes. As the mimes made a slit throat gesture to Kaden, Nora, now a true mime, made the gesture of a tear rolling down her face. Deciding she'd better do her best to help her tall friend Nora decided to speak up for Kaden. The mime sequence was intended to say "I was chasing him, and he got away, then you caught him, and now I'll kick him out." In Nora's mind, she was convinced it looked brilliant. Truly she was a mime natural but to a person who could actually perceive Nora's actions, Nora looked like a flopping dead fish. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Nora summoned an illusioned mime bear to scare the mime and pull Kaden away in that moment of shock. Nora grabbed Kaden's arm and made a run for it.

Wandering over to his old friend Arthur's brow pinched in confusion as he looked over the crowd and realised what Solomon was referencing. Balloons. Oh right. "You're breaking stuff? That tracks..." his smile grew a tad devious as he glanced at Mercy and back to Solomon. "Do you need help with that?" As if to emphasise the point he glanced at the nearby balloon stand where a black balloon was in the process of being placed in the extended hands of a middle-aged woman. It didn't take too much focus to warm the air around it just enough to make it explode, sliming the recipient's hands in lumpy hanyo.

“Nice to meet you. Do all towns have a dedicated FBI agent or is it just this one on account of the…” Ally motioned to the mimes bizarre behavior. “Alright so six months until this is normal. Great. Another drink?” She suggested. She had moved across an ocean for a new start, and the new start was fucking weird. She heard a balloon pop and glanced over, watching what looked like mayonnaise cover a woman’s hands. “That’s going on the ‘not illegal but it should be’ list.”

What a curious thing, how the music changed, seemingly stolen away from the poor child trying his best. Best not to interfere. Kevin instead busied herself, walking over to the delightful bunch of balloons. Her eyes widened as one of them suddenly popped, a delighted smile curling onto her face as she drew near the strangers at the stand. “Ah, I thought the sign said not to pop them. How strange. Do they all have that… substance inside them, do you think?”

Jared was only there to support one of the mimes in the band. He was a regular at the restaurant in town and the nymph always tried his best to mime back with enthusiasm when he was ordering. It seemed to have won him some favour when he was slipped a flier for the event in the commons, the mime silently letting him know that they were to be there. And so there he was, miming clapping along to the supposed beat of the silent band, only to swap to real clapping when the band burst into sound.

Savannah snickered. White Crest's dedicated FBI Agent. That was a funny way of looking at things. She certainly felt like that, at times. Although she was beginning to get the feeling it wouldn't last much longer. "I came for one specific case, and found several more. Missing people, cults, a ridiculously large death toll for a town this side. What could be better?" she said, playfully sarcastic. "I like the accent," Savannah said. "England, right?"

“No, I didn’t.” Mercy didn’t seem to know a lot of things these days. Not that she expected to know everything about Arthur’s life here in town. But if this guy knew him as Aren… then he was old like they were. He had to be. Mercy thought at least something like that would be worth her knowing. Her mind drifted off to places she didn’t want it to be, places that held nothing but self-doubt and bitterness, but her new acquaintances excitement pulled her out of it. “Oh, you don’t want my help…” she huffed, glancing between Arthur and his mysterious friend as she finished off her drink. “Unless you like fire. Lots of fire.” Another balloon popped, this time at Arthur’s bidding, and Mercy shook her head. “And people say I’m a bad influence…” Though the air around her hummed slightly, sounding ironically… like bees.

Kaden wasn’t sure what the hell was going to happen. Or what Nora was trying to convey in what he assumed was mime gestures. It looked like a lot of flopping around. From the looks of it, the mimes weren’t convinced. Putain de merde, this was how they died. Or became striped again. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Before any of them could reveal extra teeth or stripes under stripes, a mime bear appeared and chased the mimes. Kaden was prepared to high tail it and run the opposite direction, but the actual bugbear pulled him away. He wasn��t sure where the fuck they were running, but he kept going. Straight into Marie-Jeanne. Putain de fucking merde.

Kevin let her attention wander, humming along to the music. It was a pleasant sound, but it was being stolen. So very rude. Well, two could play at that game. A twist of her fingers was all she needed. As the mime band continued on, their music seemed to spread. It spilled out of the mystery box and echoed from the balloons, sounding almost as if it was trapped inside. As the melody went on, it grew stranger, louder, almost as though it were at odds with itself. Impossible instruments joined in, a few discordant voices joining into the mix. Now this was what a party was supposed to sound like.

Looking absolutely thrilled as Arthur joined in on the balloon-bursting fun, Solomon tut-tutted at Mercy. “Come on, it’s not often you get to cause a little mischief and not worry about repercussions. Also no, not the biggest fan of fire, but… a little seems to work just fine,” he added with a grin. Extending his hand to the woman, he figured a proper introduction was in order. “I’m Solomon, by the way. Aren and I met back in the… gods, what was it?” He glanced to Arthur, cocking his head to the side. “1700?” Then he noticed the sound around them was changing, and made a face. “The hell is that?”

Ally sipped on the next drink she was handed, feeling a little more comfortable. “Cults?” She said, perking up. In London there had been a cult that she had suspected was actually just a clan of vampires. “I’ll have to look into that. At least it’s not boring.” She said simply, glancing back down at her drink. “Yes, yes I’m from London. And you?”

Marie-Jeanne grinned at Nora and Kaden, swivelling her hips salaciously. Unfortunately, she saw what they were going to do and that was ever so unacceptable. She peeled one of the stripes off her body to reveal more stripes underneath. She'd gotten ever so many more stripes since the last time they'd met. With the stripe of questionable material, she tried to tie the pair of them up.

Witnessing all these people seeming to run a muck made Dakota truly wonder why she had moved to White Crest in the first place. Sipping her hot chocolate, she did happen to see Marley, and she promptly choked on her drink and made a bee-line in the other direction, stumbling in to someone else’s conversation. Oh, wait… She’d seen this person before. FBI agent, right? “Uh, sorry, I heard there was commotion about bees.” She looked between the FBI agent and the other person she was speaking with, whom she had not the faintest idea of a name. “Sorry to interrupt. Are you guys talking about London?” Please be a normal conversation…

"Yeah, my colleague who worked here before he passed away was an expert in cults," Savannah said, as plainly as she might when talking about the weather. "I'm from Massachusetts," she said. "I was working at the Field Office in Boston for a few years prior to moving here. I'm sure the place will leave an impression..." She turned to the newest person who'd entered the conversation, someone from the crime lab. "Yeah," she said. "You been there?" She wrinkled her face in confusion. “Bees?”

“London? No, no. I do know there’s like, a big clock. And a ferris wheel. And I’m not sure what I heard, but there was definitely someone shouting about bees…” Yeah, Dakota, that’s why you tried to make yourself look busy. “Have you?”

"Big Ben and the London Eye," Savannah said, nodding. "Yeah, I went to a few places around the UK on my Honeymoon," she answered, but was quick to lift her drink to draw attention to her empty ring finger.

Nell had come to this event for one reason, and one reason only. To ruin as much of it as she could. The mimes thought they ruled this town, holding it under the tip of their striped thumbs, but in her mind they could stand to be brought down a few pegs or more. As she finally arrived, her eyes narrowed, nose scrunching at the cursed sound the band was emitting. Without a second thought she murmured a spell under her breath, snickering as the strings of the mime band’s violins snapped to slash back across the musicians faces in a light slap. Already in a much better mood, she made her way through the crowd looking for more opportunities to soil the mimes.

Ally made a mental note to ask Savannah about her colleague, interrupted by a new person in the conversation. “I mean, bees aren’t usually out in the winter. Have you seen any?” she asked, looking around. “Oh, well, I’m from there.” Ally explained. She looked at Savannah’s empty ring finger and nodded. “Ah, sorry.” she said awkwardly, unsure what to say.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Savannah answered. “It just means I’m single.”

Remmy was instantly relieved when they spotted Nell across the way, and started making their way to her. Picked up a drink on the way and watched out of the corner of their eye as Kade and Nora went off to do their mime shenanigans. The screeching of the new violins were lost on Remmy’s ears, and they smiled brightly as they found their way over to Nell, waving. “Hey! Nell!” they called out, “I didn’t think you were gonna come. I thought you hated mimes?”

Connor was grateful that someone else he knew had shown up; someone in a similar age range. It was weird when everyone around him was in their thirties or forties. "Nell!" He called, unaware of what she had just done to upset the mimes, waving her over. "Come meet Nico!" The Golden Retriever seemed all too happy to make a new friend.

"Oh! You haven't met? Mercy this is Solomon. Solomon this is Mercy now you know one another." Arthur would've clapped, except, he couldn't so he grinned instead looking between his compatriots tonight. "Oh come on," he nudged Mercy "let's be the chaos crew." Another balloon nearby popped and a plastic necklace dropped into the hands of a pleased looking little girl.

Dakota furrowed her brow, not exactly sure what had happened with Savannah and her ex. “Damn, was the honeymoon that bad?” she joked, then drew her attention to Ally. “Sorry, I totally butted in. I’m Dakota. And I heard London is nice. Except for when you’re having bad honeymoons, apparently.”

He heard a familiar laugh and turned to spot Remmy and Nell across the way. Jared gave a small smile to his mime pal in the band, giving them a thumbs up before heading over. Overhearing Remmy’s words he frowned, however. “Hate mimes? Why?”

Savannah rolled her eyes with a snicker. "No, the honeymoon was great. The marriage was just average," she said, shrugging. "No huge angst, no broken hearts. Just better off as acquaintances these days."

Nora was ready to book it over to the ball to steal it when the most beautiful person Nora had ever seen stepped in front of them. Of course, Nora had seen this person before but that didn't make her appearance any less breathtaking. Nora skidded to a stop, not willing to brush past Marie-Jeanne. It was with rapt attention Nora watched as Marie-Jeanne took off one of her many stripes. It was with no quarrel that Noar let Marie-Jeanne wrap her in the stripe. It was with a weird sense of belonging that she thanks Marie-Jeanne for tying her up. "Thanks." Nora let out. Of course, that came with complete forgetfulness of having been pretending to be a mime. Nora looked expectantly to Kaden, expecting him to get tied up as well.

“Oh, you fucking bet I hate mimes. That’s why I came to destroy everything they love,” Nell quickly replied to Remmy, her voice bright despite the doom promised in her words. “Why are you here?” There was, without a doubt, one thing that could momentarily turn her head from her current mime mission in life, and that was one singular golden dog that was approaching with Connor. “Nico?” Nell asked excitedly, already bending to pet the pup. “Since when do you have a dog?” Then she turned to Jared, confusion and judgement plain on her features. “Jared- you know I literally despise mimes.”

After several drinks, Marley finally felt confident enough to join the group without either accidentally feeding off someone or saying something stupid or rude. She made her way over to the group of people she recognized all together-- Savannah, Ally, Dakota. Only two out of three of them would be awkward to talk to, so that was a win. In most situations, they all would be. Grabbing another spiced eggnog, Marley headed over, pausing just short when the violins began screeching, turning to glance back over at them. Disaster one, she supposed. Opting to ignore it, she leaned against the table. “If we’re all here, who’s working the lines?”

“A partner is usually more trouble than they’re worth, I’ve found. Except it would certainly lower my rent.” Ally offered. “Maybe one of those are looking for a roommate.” she joked, watching the mimes lose control of their violins. Another sip of her drink. “I’m Ally, nice to meet you.” she smiled. She was heading toward best case scenario territory. Even with the mimes and maybe bees. When Marley approached Ally smiled, glad to see someone she recognized. “I’m on call.” She said, tapping her earpiece. “I’ll have to arrest someone in a dress tonight, I’m sure of it.”

Remmy felt a tad overwhelmed as the boy from Nell’s birthday party that had wanted to pet Moose came up to them as well as Jared. Nell confirmed her hated for mimes and Remmy shrugged. “I came with Nora, she was really excited to be here. I think she’s trying to con that guy Kaden into stealing the ball for the ball drop with her,” they said, looking at the other two. “You brought your dog? Are they okay with fireworks? I heard there might be some later.”

"They are kind of weird, aren't they?" Connor said about the mimes. There was something even more unsettling about the White Crest version of mimes than the usual ones. "I adopted her right before Christmas.” He looked to Remmy. “I'm gonna leave if she gets antsy about the crowds and fireworks, and probably head away before they go off, so I can see how she is at a distance, but she's a gundog, so she might be alright."

Savannah shrugged, unaware of the situation with Marley and Dakota, and also not really caring. She was just happy Marley wasn't avoiding her. "I dunno, Keene, maybe?"

Ah so there was another witch about. How sweet. Kevin found the woman quickly, feeling the magic in the air trailing from the broken instrument to the caster in question. It was a decent spell, clever and rounded at the edges. Still, her own had already reached the music, and Kevin wasn’t particularly interested in letting others cross paths with hers. Her hand turned, hidden in her glamor. The music grew louder, horns and bells chiming in, whispers of voices in a dozen unknowable tongues joining in. All of it centered around that sweet, young caster. The musical notes began to take shape around her, turning into birds, into bubbles that popped with a scream, and all the while, the volume continued to grow.

Jared spared a bright smile for Remmy and the stranger before mumbling a soft “I hoped you’d grown out of hating mimes… We haven’t really spoken about them all that much since you got back…” He glanced back at his mime friend in the band hoping they weren’t hearing this; he’d hate to offend such a new friend like this. “They’re just trying to get along like everyone else.”

The mention of the word partner made Marley’s skin vibrate and she nodded perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than she should’ve. “Agreed. People aren’t worth the trouble,” before shooting back another chug. “Oh, right. Agatha.” She should’ve known that, Agatha had practically tripped over herself to volunteer tonight. She was a real teacher’s pet, but for whatever reason, Marley only found the trait endearing, whereas usually she hated it. She watched Dakota back away and head off, wondering if it was because of her, frowning. She glanced at Savannah, only for a moment, before turning her eyes away. “What do you think of the band? Kinda eerie, huh?”

“You’d be surprised,” Mercy said to Solomon, eyeing the stranger with even more curiosity. “Though it has been awhile I suppose.” Besides, Mercy’s brand of mischief might utterly ruin the mimes’ night. How could she resist? Especially as Arthur so eagerly introduced her and the stranger. “It’s an honor to meet you, Solomon,” she said, shaking hands. “But you can call me Freyja if you like. I’ve known Aren… well, forever really.” And that was the truth. Idly she wondered if she and Solomon had perhaps met in passing when she’d been in Maine herself in the early 1700s. Or if the man had known Arthur’s family. His children. But the dour thoughts passed easily as she was jostled by Arthur. She sighed in a pseudo-put upon fashion, smiling faintly as the little girl showed her necklace to her father. “You really want me to do this?” she asked, looking first at Arthur then at Solomon, who seemed a bit worried all of a sudden.

“Kind of weird is an understatement,” Nell replied dryly, glaring at a passing mime as if she were daring it to say, or sign something. “Steal the ball?” she asked with renewed curiosity. Surely that would be a good way to throw a wrench in the mimes’ celebration. Unfortunately Jared’s words were lost as the music swelled around her, and her skin prickled as another magic blossomed. Apparently someone wasn��t all too thrilled with her antics around the band. “I can’t hear you!” she yelled over the music towards her friends, but that didn’t matter now. If someone was upset she was messing with the band, deafening her was the wrong way to make her stop. Instead it fueled her hatred of the mimes even further, and in another moment she let her magic fly again, targeting the mime band with renewed vigor as she flipped the chairs of the first row, sending mimes tumbling.

It was her. The mime who had given him the lapdance on his birthday. The one with too many teeth and stripes under her stripes. He tried to get away, make a run for it, but she had peeled off her stripes and was tying him up. Shit. Shit fucking shit. Of course Nora was thrilled. Kaden tried to pull his hands away, but she had a vice grip on his wrist and wasn’t letting up. Even with hunter strength it was hard to pull away. He heard strange sounds coming from the center of the Common from the band, seemingly. Like someone threw something at the musicians. “Hey, uh, this was, this is great but I gotta go.”

Remmy glanced between Nell and Jared, wondering what was going on between them that someone would think Nell liked mimes. Anyone who knew Nell knew she hated them. It was strange to think she ever did or ever would like them. But then she was shouting and Remmy was glancing around anxiously. “Nell, are you okay?” they asked, reaching out for her, but she was already doing something else, and Remmy watched as the front row of the mime band was upturned. They winced. “Nell, was that--”

"Kaden's here, too," Savannah said. She knew she'd spotted him talking to a goth-looking person earlier. Speaking of the band, Savannah's head turned as the front row of the orchestra seemed to all be thrown off their chairs. "The band are... interesting, but... Oh. Well, I don't think that's part of the show."

Quickly forgetting the bizarre sound he’d heard in favor of getting up to no good, Solomon nodded enthusiastically. This wasn’t normally his brand of activity, but something about running into such an old friend had rekindled a spark in him that had been snuffed out long ago. “Well then, Freyja, yes! We do!” He scanned the crowd for another unsuspecting guest, spotting a balloon gripped in the hands of a young boy, and grinned. “It’s easy… like this!” Letting loose another small volley of thorns, Solomon’s delight quickly turned to confusion as the balloon burst and out fell… dust? What was that? “Huh,” he grunted, a little disappointed. But then the dust was on the move, balling up in clumps as it rolled along the ground, with alarming… intelligence. “Uh oh.”

There was a horrific clatter of musical instruments (including the ting of a strangely loud triangle). The mimes stopped all at once, helping their brethren to their feet. In unison, they turned to face Nell in particular, and frowned as one in perfect synchronisation, drawing a sad face onto theirs. There was a ripple of perfect silence across the crowd before the music started up again. Unbeknownst to Nell, changes were beginning to happen at the Vural household. Then they sat down, picked up new mime instruments and began to play once more.

“Single cops who spend all their time at the precinct. Aren’t we stereotypes.” Ally noticed Marley frown when Dakota disappeared and wondered if there was a story there. “Very eerie here. How do you think they’re doing it? Hidden speakers.” She said, leaning over to see if she could spot them. She noticed them get thrown off their chair. “What is happening?” she said, wondering if they should do something.

Jared whipped around to see the chairs fly and his smile vanished. “Nell what the hell! Stop that, what have they done? They haven’t done anything, stop that.” He glared at her and stomped over to help pick up the chairs. He missed the eerie stop of the music completely in his anger.

As the mimes looked to Nell in unison, she raised a single finger. A very carefully chosen finger. The most offensive finger a person could raise as she collectively flipped them the bird.

Remmy, noticing the mimes all staring at Nell, backed away slowly, taking Connor and his dog with them. “We should...go.”

Connor didn't need to be a genius (he definitely wasn't one) to figure out that Nell was the one messing with the band. He raised an eyebrow, chuckling as she gave them the finger. "Careful. I've heard they can be pretty dangerous." He nodded to Remmy. “Yeah, good idea,” he teased. “You’re on your own, Penelope.” Miriam had made him promise, after all, not to let the dog get into any dangerous situations.

Nell’s finger began to develop stripes.

Wincing, Marley took another long sip of her eggnog, watching the turmoil begin to crescendo-- pun intended. All the mimes were focusing on one single person, and Marley noticed it was the little jailbird, Nell. Chuckling, Marley relaxed little, excited to see how this might play out. She glanced over at Ally and Savannah. “Well, here’s to being single and dedicating our lives to shit like this, yeah?” she raised her glass to them both, not bothering to answer the unasked question of whether they should intervene. She wasn’t on duty, she had no obligation to act, just like with the Dullahan. Instead, she’d enjoy the show, and the free meal. She deserved it.

Oblivious to the ensuing chaos by the bandstand, Arthur watched the strange clumps of dust rolling across the floor mildly entranced by the dust bunnies. "Huuuh, weird." As if on cue another couple of balloons popped, but this time instead of their owners suffering the repercussions he heard a pop too close for comfort and felt the wet slide of something down his face; which was now covered in a stream of white mayo. "Ewwwww- I hate mayonnaise Disgusting."

Nell couldn’t deny that her first thought upon seeing her finger develop stripes was ‘chop it off.’ Thankfully, she did no such thing and made the very wise decision to raise her other middle finger, brandishing it as she stuck out her tongue to the mime band. “I have two, bitch!”

Her other finger began to develop stripes. So did her tongue.

Sam Rainsbottom grinned for a camera as he posed in front of the New Years party panorama. “Hello everyone! This is WC Student Broadcasting coming to you from the Coooomon!” Sam’s blue eyes flicked up to where the Yearbook students manning the camera switched to a new cue card. “We’d like to officially thank the Striped Club, The Quiet Place, and Your Mime and Ours, and whole Silent Thespian community for sponsoring this civic event!”

Sam looked back at chaos of stands being tipped over “shit shit” he side shuffled and made motions with his hands for the camera to pan away to some non-destruction scenes of this New Years party.

Marie-Jeanne giggled silently, tapping Nora's nose that developed some stripes of their own. She did not do the same to Kaden, holding him tightly as she pulled a balloon out of her pocket. Don't ask how she has pockets. Don't ask how a large balloon fit in the pocket. All Kaden and Nora needed to worry about was that the balloon was slowly expanding, getting ready to pop.

Mercy glanced over at the ruckus from near the ‘mime band’, but since it was actual sound being made, she didn’t pay much attention. She turned back to watch Solomon send a volley of… was it thorns??... through the air and pop another balloon. “Good shot,” Mercy grinned, squinting at the balls of dust that rolled away. “Oh… it’s just some dust bunnies. Nothing to worry about.” The air hummed with chaotic energy, the brisk chill of the evening and the sounds of the crowd - barring whatever was happening with the ‘band’ - along with the contagiousness of her companions’ mischief was quickly taking over any good sense she might’ve shown. The balloon that popped nearby only got a passing glance from the Fury, though she did grimace a little at substance that coated Arthur’s face. “Are you sure it’s mayo?” she asked, scooping a bit onto her finger to taste. “Yeah… yuck. Definitely mayo. With undertones of birb.” But… with no harm done from yet another balloon, Mercy finally handed Arthur her drink. “Those were both great shots, boys…” she said of their individual balloon-popping. “Now it’s my turn…” With that, she turned and walked off into the crowd. A brush of a hand here… a tap of a finger there… and when she returned a minute or so later, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright with mischief and the effects of her power. Mercy glanced at her watch. “You wanted chaos…” It read about a minute or so til somewhere nearby a bell would toll. “You’ll get chaos…”

Nora giggled. Nora actually fully giggled as Marie-Jeanne tapped her nose. She might have actually giggled more if she'd known that her nose was now striped. It was like mime themed freckles. Her eyes followed the balloon, looking up at it. The roundness of the balloon reminded Nora that she was on a mission. "I'm sorry. I have something I need to do." Nora rolled to her side and started rolling towards the giant ball. Not very fast, to be fair. Definitely not fast enough to get away from the balloon. The balloon popped above her in a shower of rainbows. It was a beautiful effect. It was less beautiful as Nora noticed that her outfit went from the signature black to colorful rainbow.

Looking a little grossed out when the new substance appeared on Arthur’s face, Solomon only looked more aghast when Mercy tasted it. “That… could have been one hundred percent bird poop! You’re brave,” he laughed. Happy to see that she’d finally decided to join in, the leshy watched curious as she walked away, nudging Arthur gently in the side. “Cool friend you got there, Aren. She seems like fun!” His eyebrows raised again as she came back into view, and that struggle with the unknown took hold once again. “What did you do?” he gasped excitedly, eyes widening.

Tired of being unable to hear the voices of those surrounding her, and currently angered by the mimes audacity at stripe-ing her, Nell cast another bit of magic to disrupt whatever spell it was the other caster in the crowd had thrown at her. The music returned to its normal, albeit still disturbing volume, but at least she was no longer being taken over by sound. Unfortunately...there was no saving her fingers. In rebuttal, she magicked a few of the mimes into the opposite of her fingers...rendering them solemnly solid rather than striped.

Kaden tried to pull away and swore he could have made it, but it was too late. It didn’t matter. The balloon exploded and rained down color on them. Great. That was fine. Just a nice pretty balloon. And he seemed to be free to walk away. “Great. Nice seeing you again. I guess.” And while Nora rolled away, Kaden just walked around Marie-Jeanne as she blew him a kiss and headed towards the ball. He looked down briefly and noticed the color seemed to be following him. Hmm, no it was on him. He looked down at his clothes and noticed, like Nora’s they were all rainbow. He look at his hands and his fingernails were rainbow colored. With a deep dread, he sighed and leaned over to take a quick look at himself in a pane of glass nearby. He saw his hair. It, too, was rainbow colored. “Putain de merde!” he screamed. Loudly. It wasn’t Regan loud, but it was loud. He heard balloons popping in the distance. And what sounded like flesh exploding closer by. He looked to his left and black sludge was splattered across the way.

Whilst trying to help the first row of chairs up again Jared tripped. He’d never been super sure in his step when he was wearing shoes. So, as he tripped a balloon tied off to one of the nearby benches popped. In the rain of confetti Jared blinked. And then he blinked again. His entire being was striped. But it wasn’t static. He was flashing stripes that moved up and down his body as if to the beat of the remaining music from the band. He was a disco mime.

Nell's stripes began to extend down her fingers and her arms. They extended into her clothes. She would notice that, but the more sinister change, she would not notice later tonight, once she was out of these stripey clothes. She could only speak when dressed as a mime.

Solomon's statement made Arthur snicker even if he was kind of disgusted by the sentiment. "That's rank, ew." But his disgust was forgotten as Mercy wandered off into the crowd attempting to roughly track her movements but she was lost for a few and so he turned back to Solomon. "She is. Like the coolest." There was a small swell of warm pride as Mercy returned and whatever she had done he knew it was bound to be great. In for a penny in for a pound, he popped another three balloons. One of which splattered a white substance on the ground into which a young boy stepped... And got stuck. "Mummy!” the boy screamed “Mummy! Help! I'm stuck!" The second balloon popped, and a rotten banana peel fell out of the sky landing on Mercy’s head with a wet squelch.

Marie-Jeanne exploded at the sound of Kaden's yell. She would be back.

Sam listed off more town facts and corporate sponsors as the sparkler burned in his hand. His eyes briefly strayed to the sparkler ignition. Pure white and black flames poured from the sparkler, strange umbral fire and pale fluoresce weaved together in a mydriatic dance that caused an ecliptic blur across Sam’s vision when he focused on it.

How..did…how could fire? That's not how light works..right?

A cough from the camera guy brought Sam back to reality, away from questions, and unwelcome thoughts suppressed across generations. Sam grinned with a thumbs up as the mime-flame burned without a sound.

A rainbow tear slid down Nora's face as Marie-Jeanne exploded in front of them. Nora, tied up, defeated, lay there. Was there a point to stealing the ball? This was a bad end to the year.

Nora looked defeated. Which was probably for the best. They likely didn’t need to anger the mimes anymore. “Come on, let’s go back to the party or whatever you’d call this,” Kaden said as he tugged on Nora’s arm to lead them back to the center of the Common. As they made their way back to the center of the Common, he saw Nell. Covered in stripes. “Putain de merde, what the hell happened to you?” he said in between laughter. It was horrifying, sure. But it was also fucking hilarious.

The gayest bear to ever exist, covered in rainbows and stripes, followed Kaden without complaint. Not a word would come from Nora’s mourning mouth for the rest of the night. The rest of the new year was in memory of Marie-Jeanne.

An enthralling quiet descended across the crowd as the mimes began to mime out the minute long countdown. Even if you wanted to yell (with two colourful exceptions) you would barely speak louder than a whisper. On top of a tall spire, a striped black and white ball slowly descended. The silence rang like an orchestral harmony, which was a strange experience for everyone who hadn't heard loud silence before. When the clock hit midnight, the silence was loudest of all. Then the ball burst, and black sauce the hadn't been seen since the Sauce had dried up exploded over the whole common, covering many people. Those who got some in their mouths would soon come to regret it.

“What happened to me? What happened to you?” Nell cackled as she took in his rainbow stripes. But Nell certainly wasn’t about to let Kaden have the last laugh, and with another narrow of her eyes and quick spellwork, she wasted no time in hauling a metric fuck-ton of Sauce towards the hunter, pouring it over Kaden in a cursed and sticky waterfall, but purposefully leaving his rainbow hair on full display.

Snickering as the banana peel dropped on his new friend’s head, Solomon gave Arthur a nod in solidarity. Not wanting to fall behind, he made sure to get another popped balloon under his belt, but… nothing happened? He was certainly close enough to have seen it, the young man was passing right by them, balloon tucked beneath his arm when Solomon reached out and burst it with a prick of his thorned finger. Disappointed, he gave the two of them a shrug. “Guess it was a dud…?” Glancing up as a sudden hush fell over the crowd, he watched with interest as the mimes counted down silently, the ball slowly started to slide down, and then… exploded? Alarmed, he raised his arms to cover his face, sidestepping behind Arthur quickly as he could.

“Nah. Bird poops all runny. Was too thick for that.” Mercy wiped her hand on her jeans as she departed for the crowd. It wasn’t often that she used her power to such an extent, but tonight, with so much chaotic energy thrumming around them, the pull was… irresistible. Add Arthur’s gleeful encouragement - along with that of her new friend Solomon - and nothing could stop her from tipping the scales in favor of letting chaos reign supreme. She gave Arthur a warm, knowing smirk as she returned, and glanced at Solomon as the moment the bell would toll drew closer. “You’ll see…” She looked up as the little boy got stuck in the glue, but his mother got him out eventually, sans a shoe she didn’t bother to retrieve. “Eww!” she laughed, swiping the banana peel off her head… “That’s so gro-...” Mercy’s voice fell to a whisper. She frowned. She looked at her watch.

There was only silence where a bell should’ve sounded the time…

Silence that was deafening… until...

...pop… pop… pop-pop… POP

The sound of balloons.

Because in the crowd that Mercy had ducked through moments earlier, people were raising whatever they could find to the floating bits of plastic… and as the New Year began… they were popping them, one by one. Not all of them, and not everyone, but enough.

Mercy wasn’t sure what was happening. Only that she was covered in…. glitter. So much glitter… but it could've been worse. So much worse. So in true Fury fashion, she embraced the chaos she’d helped create… and laughed.

The echo of pops broke the otherwise eerie silence and Arthur didn't even bother to stifle his chuckle. "No no no!" he protested as Solomon tried to hide, grabbing his friends arm and scuffling to get behind him instead... Right as a balloon popped over his head and covered him in glitter. Well, that was the weirdest New Year’s he’d ever experienced.

Even the camera footage has been tainted with the Sauce as Sam and his camera crew tried the playback function on soggy recording device. Everything just played back in black and white without any sound, like an old silent film.

Sam tried to give an updated new report on what happened for the Camera after trying to wipe black goo from his hair and gag it off his tongue. But he couldn’t speak. Sam raised his voice and even shouted until he was red in the face, but not even a rasping sound left his throat.

Eventually the sauce-sodden student was reduced to forlornly scribbling on the cue card with markers and holding them up to the camera.

HAPPY NEW YEAR WHITE CREST

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

#wickedswriting

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