An unnecessary romp into Red Dead Redemption with a small story about some of my favorite characters in the game.
This will be a collection of random writings all based around the minor characters of Red Dead Redemption.
RDR © Rockstar Gaming.
1910
Rain pelted at the canvas of the tent, wind cutting through the thin walls with ruthless abandon that left Harry Dobbing shivering. Harry was stuck in the main camp of Pike's Basin with the rest of the Bollard Twins Gang, and it had not taken long for the rain and winds to hit the vast canyon. Harry hated staying the night in Pike's Basin during storms as he was always quick to worry about flash floods hitting the canyon, even as unlikely that happening was.
A drawn out sigh escaped Harry's mouth as another shrill howl of wind, accompanied by the continuing dredge of rain, knifed through the canyon, leaving a shudder of nerves to crawl down Harry's spine along with the sigh. He detested the shrieks that the canyon walls produced with strong enough winds, and how unnatural and animal each howl of wind sounded. And now he was stuck in the canyon for the whole night while a storm raged overhead. Perfect...
Harry grumbled to himself than shifted into his sleeping roll further, pulling the wool bedding tighter against his body as he attempted to form a comfortable place in his bedding against the stiff mattress and bed frame he slept on. For all his shifting about, Harry still found no more warmth than his bedroll already offered, and quietly he chided himself for not preparing his canvas tent - his home within the Basin - properly with extra blankets. Even his thick nightshirt did little to keep him warm with the wind and rain cutting through every corner of the canyon. Harry shifted in his bedroll twice more than gave up, gaze shifting to the top of the canvas tent and the pole that supported the frame of the tent. He watched as the storm winds tore at the white canvas, beating the sturdy material with seeming fury, fury that left Harry slightly surprised his tent could withstand such an onslaught of wind and rain.
Have to thank Irvin for that, Harry realized, a small smile pulling at his lips as his thoughts turned to Irvin Pennick, a reliable, sarcastic and yet caring member of the gang. Irvin had always had a penchant for making each tent in the Basin as sturdy as possible, and the older man's work showed in how Harry's tent still stood under such a continuous force of wind and rain. Harry could almost hear Irvin grumbling irritably about 'poor workmanship' and 'proper' ways of building the tents so they would stand under a variety of conditions; and Harry was thankful for all of the grumbling and irritability that spilled from Irvin while he set to reconstructing each tent every year.
Another sharp, howling gust of wind snapped Harry from his thoughts, leaving a gritted frown to set against his face as Harry's tent shook under the strain of wind and rain. Though knowing that sleep was a far possibility for him, Harry still tried to tune out the screams of wind and pounding of rain but to no avail, unsurprisingly. Eye rolling, Harry shifted in his bed roll for a moment than slowly slipped out from the semi-warm bedding, a wince tuning through his body as his feet touched the freezing ground as Harry stood. He knew he couldn't sleep and, considering how useless attempting to sleep would be, figured a patrol around Pike's Basin's border would be a good use of his time.
Harry slowly pulled on his socks and boots, relieving himself momentarily from the bitter cold ground, but only for the time being. Turning to his right, Harry glanced down at his small - pathetically small, really - pine wood dresser where he stored what few articles of clothing he owned. Harry pulled out a black jacket and a stained waistcoat with a white front and shiny black leather backing, along with a pair of dark maroon pants that were stitched together at the waist with a black pair of chaps, placing the jacket, waistcoat and pants neatly on his bedroll so he could remove his nightshirt before dressing in his usual clothing. Once Harry had pulled the nightshirt off, he slipped into his pants and pulled the material till it fit snugly against his waist. After checking the snugness of his pants, Harry picked us the jacket from his bedroll and slipped his arms into the long sleeves of his jacket before pulling the jacket over his head. Harry tugged at the sleeves of his jacket, ensuring that they were tight against his shoulders and then he tucked the bottom of his jacket into the bordering waist of his pants. With his black jacket snug against his chest, Harry unbuttoned the front of his waistcoat and pulled the waistcoat over his jacket and then buttoned the material together to the best of his his ability.
Once Harry had buttoned his waistcoat, he kneeled to the third and lowest drawer in his small dresser and pulled out a dark duster coat he wore only for occasions in which storms were tearing through the canyon and New Austin. Harry never liked the heavy material of his duster coat and how it seemed to drag at his broad shoulders and slowed his movement, nor did he appreciate how warm he got under the duster coat even after only riding or walking for a few minutes, but he for once was looking forward to the inevitable warmth he would feel whilst wearing the heavy duster coat. For as much as Harry disliked the heavy duster coat and how if fit in him, he still greatly preferred wearing it over not during storms.
Satisfied with how the duster coat nearly covered his entire body, Harry turned to the pine dresser one last time. Resting on top of the dresser was his holster belt, which he wore slipped against his left hip, and an aged, leather eyepatch. Harry first picked up his holster and unbuckled it, fitting the black leather against his hip as he buckled the belt with a sharp tug at the holster, which had his revolver fitted into it snugly. Satisfied, Harry picked up the leather eyepatch and then hesitated, lowering the eyepatch to the dresser for a moment.
He'd lost his eye when he was eleven when a knife had been drug through the left side of his face, rending his eye so damaged that a doctor from Plainview had had to remove Harry's left eye entirely, which had left a gaping hole in Harry's eye socket now devoid of an eye. The doctor had quickly covered the empty eye socket with a black leather eyepatch, both for the poorly healed wound's well-being - the doctor had warned him of how easily infected the area where his eye used to be could get if not properly cared for - and so people would not stare so freakishly at the wound. Harry utterly despised how people stared at him - at his eyepatch - as if his eyepatch made the locals believe he was an unnatural freak, as if that was the only part of him any of them could notice - and notice with disgust, of course. Even the criminals at Thieves' Landing stared at him occasionally, though he noticed they always tried to act like none of them were looking at his eyepatch specifically, usually muttering something about how everyone of them found the Bollards far too 'clean' for criminals. He hated it. He'd rather people not stare and just leave him alone, but that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
Drowning his mind of his bitter thoughts, Harry rubbed at his cheek, a frown curling at his lips as he felt the deep scar that cut down from his eye socket and ended nearly at his jaw. The scar was long healed but still deep and very noticeable as a knife given scar. The only good thing that came from having such a noticeable scar was that people rarely if ever noticed how his entire left cheek had sunken in beneath the scar, leaving a strange hollowness to his face. Yet it wasn't the scar, the ghoulish sunken in cheek or even the stares he got from having an eyepatch that he hated most of all, it was what no one else but he could see that haunted Harry the most. He could never admit to his team how the loss of his eye had left a lasting mental scar within him that he had no way to heal.
Harry hated to even think what his teammates would think of him were he to tell them how deeply insecure and afraid he was, something he forced himself to always keep hidden behind a cold, confident facade that seemed to have tricked his teammates into thinking he really was as confident and sure of himself as he made it seem. The eyepatch to Harry was much more than just a cover for his wound - the severity of which he kept secret from his team, whom he had all convinced he was merely just blind and hated people staring at the ghosted film over his left eye - but a cover to his insecurity, fears and lack of confidence.
Shaking his head with a quiet growl, Harry chased away his thoughts and once again picked up the black eyepatch, slipping the material over the his empty eye socket and fitting the band beneath his hair and against his head. Teeth gritting Harry bent and picked up his boots, black with sharp, silver steel spurs, shaking each for precaution before pulling both over his feet, stomping each foot in turn to make sure his feet were properly set within the boots.
Harry glanced over his attire, making sure each article of clothing was properly fitted and snug against his body, including the heavy duster coat and, satisfied with how each article fit, turned to the iron headboard of his bed frame where a brown leather bowler hat sat propped against one jutting spite of the headboard along with an aged red kerchief . Harry picked up the hat, which had a tannish-white band wrapped around the base of the crown of the hat, and pulled the hat into his head, shifting his right hand up to his messy dark brown hair to shift strands of the unruly mess of his hair to respectable flatness beneath his hat. Once he had his hat affixed neatly to his head, Harry pulled the red kerchief from its resting place and pulled it tight against his neck, under his stubbled chin, and tied the ends together to the left and at the nape of his neck. Harry shifted his duster coat slightly on his shoulders - he could already feel the heavy material dragging at his shoulders - and slowly pushed aside the left flap of his tent to a biting sting of wind and rain hitting his face.
Sighing defeatedly, Harry shook his head and moved out of his tent, shifting the long, heavy duty duster coat closet to himself as Harry walked up to the extinguished fire pit in the middle of the basin camp. Surrounding the fire pit in a haphazard semi-circle were six other canvas tents exactly akin to Harry's tent - even to the specific tidiness imparted upon them by Irvin - which housed the eight other members of the Bollard Twins Gang within each.
Maybe I should check on the kids before, Harry thought, eye shifting to the two middle tents where the four youngest members of the team slept every night. Harry walked up to the tent closer to the fire pit, hesitantly pulling one side of the canvas flap open to peer inside of the tent to the reassuring sight of two sleeping forms curled up on cots inside the tent. Harry moved the tent flap further to his side and then walked into the tent, letting the tent flap fall behind him. Quietly, Harry walked in between the two cots, glancing to the cot on his right first.
Werner Cobb was curled into a tight, shivering ball on top of his aged mattress, his faded sheets - tattered with age and wear - were crumpled at the foot of Werner's cot, leaving him completely uncovered from the cold. Harry sighed and gently grabbed the crumpled sheets, unfurling them and slowly pulling the thin fabric over Werner's small frame. Werner let out a soft sound as Harry finished tucking the sheets against Werner's body, but Harry could still see the young man shivering noticeably.
"Wait here a second," Harry muttered, more to himself than to the sleeping Werner, and quickly exited the tent, heading back to his tent with the wind and rain still biting at him. Harry shivered as he entered his tent and walked to his bed, pulling his own bedroll from his bed and hefting it under his duster coat, hoping that he could keep the bedding dry from the rain. Harry left his tent and scurried to the tent where Werner slept, slowing once he entered the tent. Shaking the rain from his shoulders, Harry once again approached Werner, pulling his bedroll out from where he had stuffed it into his duster coat and slowly rolled the thick bedding open. As Werner continued to shiver, Harry slowly shifted Werner into his sleeping roll, gently pulling Werner's legs into the bedding as Harry shifted one arm under the young man's body and lifted him so Harry was able to pull his sleeping roll all the way up to Werner's chin.
Once Harry had situated Werner into his sleeping roll, Harry once again pulled Werner's sheets over the young man and then, with a small exhalation of air, Harry scuffled Werner's sun streaked blond hair and then turned to the second cot in the room.
Snoring softly, his broad shoulders shifting with each sleepy breath, curled into his sleeping roll and covered with numerous frayed blankets, was Pinky Wilson. Pinky was the second oldest of the four newest recruits - the 'kids' as Irvin had dubbed them when the four had joined the gang - and was also one of the more easygoing members of the team. Harry valued the young man's calm attitude, the ease with which Pinky was able to sooth situations and arguments within the gang. Smiling, Harry left Pinky and Werner's tent, ducking against the unrelenting wind and rain as he headed to the second tent.
The second tent was a sharp contrast to Pinky and Werner's tent, if only because of the untidy mess on the left side of the tent where Charlie Mash slept; his boots, horse tack, hat and clothes strewn over the floor around his cot. Maurice Sweet, the other occupant of the shared tent, tidiness was stark contrast to that of Charlie's side of the tent, which always made Harry chuckle. Harry approached Charlie first, noting how the young man had curled into a defensive ball, his mouth set in a hard, tense snarl that made obvious the stress Charlie was feeling.
Heart aching for the young man, Harry slowly sat next to Charlie in his bed and placed a soothing hand on Charlie's shoulders.
"Breathe, Charlie, you're safe," Harry quietly assured, his grip tightening slightly as Charlie shifted in his bed violently. Harry watched as Charlie twisted in his bed, brown hair slick with sweat and pained words slurring from his mouth, concern mounting in Harry's heart at the fretful state of the young man.
Not knowing what to do, Harry did only what he could think of, and gently pulled Charlie close to his chest, arms wrapping around Charlie in a comforting gesture. Charlie's twitching and muttering soon began to ease, the young man shifting into Harry's gentle hug instinctively - an act that drew a small smile to Harry's face. He cared deeply for the family Harry had found within the Bollards Twins Gang, and he could not help but feel an indisputable need to care and protect his gangmates, both in fights and from their own personal demons.
Charlie shifted closer to Harry, a sleepy sigh of contentment escaping from the young man as Harry gently brushed a hand through the kid's hair, a distant smile curving across his mouth as he looked down at the young 'hardened' criminal curled against him, muttering sleepily under his breath.
"Harry?" A voice, rough from sleep, pulled Harry from his thoughts, his head turning to the right to the sight of Maurice - his brown hair a mess and eyes half shut with sleep - staring at him.
"Yes, Maurice?" Harry asked, his attention shifting between Charlie, who was still snuggled against him, and the young man staring at him from across the tent.
Maurice did not speak at first, which immediately drew concern from Harry as Maurice was usually quick to speak and hardly ever was at a loss for words, and then the young man relented finally with a tired sigh. "I- I had another nightmare," Maurice admitted, pain etched into his face and in the set of his jaw and clenched fists as he spoke.
Maurice did not wait for Harry to speak, as he let out another stressed sigh and shifted into a seated position on his bed. "I can't sleep for the nightmares, Harry…" Maurice's voice was soft - scared - and laid a heaviness on Harry's chest as the normally brash and controlled Maurice continued to shift nervously and avoid Harry's gaze. "I thought i'd left him behind when I was a kid, but I can't…"
Harry sighed and slowly moved Charlie away from him, tucking the young man back into his own sleeping roll and then covering him with the blankets on his mattress before approaching Maurice's side of the tent. Maurice watched Harry and shifted to his right, clearing and leaving a spot on the old mattress where Harry could sit next to the younger man. Harry did so and turned to Maurice, an unspoken, prying question floating between both of them.
Maurice broke the distance between himself and Harry when he suddenly wrapped his arms around Harry and buried his face into Harry's shoulder, the younger man's smaller frame pressed against Harry without Maurice's typical reproach. Harry stiffened, taken aback by Maurice's uncharacteristic closeness for a brief moment before he returned Maurice's gesture by pulling the younger man into a gentle, questionless hug.
"I'm here Maurice, I'm not leaving," Harry breathed softly, "I won't leave you."
Maurice said nothing in response, instead opting to wrap his arms around Harry in a tighter hug before he whispered a soft thank you. Harry looked down at the young man, someone who Harry considered family, and gave him a small shake of his head. He figured his proposed idea of taking a night watch ride would have to wait, not that Harry saw an issue with that. Not when one of his family was so obviously in need of companionship. His family came first— always.
"It's nothing, Maurice. You know I will always be here for you."
The Bollards are a complicated mess of a team but each one of the characters has endeared themselves to me immensely since I started researching them this February. The characters are based off the personalities gleaned off of their quotes and my own interpretation of how the act, the actions they take and how they speak.