Today just might've been the most terrifying day of my life.
I was just coming back from another hunting trip with Rufus, when suddenly I see this group of three to four men outside the house. I asked them what they wanted, and they asked if I was "John Marston," but I told them he was dead. But they said no, and clarified by saying "John Marston Junior." I asked them who wanted to know.
They said they didn't want any trouble with me, but they wanted to know if I'd seen my mother. I drew the gun on them right then and there. Of course I did—some idiot I am. They just laughed, and the one of them took the gun right from my hands before they both started beating me to pulp. I might've died had Mama not come out when she did, begging them not to kill me.
The bastards were about to leave me there—wheezing and coughing—and then take her, when suddenly some weird old man came. He demanded they let the two of us go, and the men just drew their guns, threatening to shoot if he didn't turn around.
The old man drew his gun and shot each and everyone one of their guns out of their hands in what I swore was just a second. I don't think even Pa could've done something like! I swear I could see one of the poor bastards piss themselves as they went running off to hills scared.
I didn't catch the man's name, but he told us to come to him if anyone like that gave us anymore trouble, and that he was staying in Blackwater for the time being. Mama thanked him for helping us, but said it weren't no trouble. He also said if I was John Marston's boy, and I told him I was. He said he knew my father before leaving, saying something about having some poker game.
Mama kept fussing over me all day. In a way, it's great to see her back nagging at me again. Me? I just kept looking out the window in case any of those men came back. If those men are there, it meant I was right—Ma has a price on her head. And it that meeting from earlier meant anything, it also shows I ain't ready to fight anything that can shoot back.
So, Blackwater huh? If he could shoot like that, I wonder what else he could do…
Just saying, this isn't an Ass-pull. From what I've heard/read, it's hinted that you-know-who taught Jack a trick or two before dying. If that's the case, no wonder Jack was as good as his old man when he was just 19 years old.
Why am I even talking like this? Anyone who's played RDR 1 knows who this is? Eh, screw it, I guess I'll play dumb.
Fun Fact: The fic was originally called "Jack's Journal." Why the change when they're the same thing? Because FF kept putting it as "Jack/s Journal" for some reason. I did check, and nope, it wasn't a typo or a fluke. Hence, the slightly longer name.