Chapter 2: H. Overlook Part 2
Blood. Blood. Blood.
It's all he sees, feels, smells. The rain pours down on him, soaking through his clothes and onto the person beneath him. Onlookers gather, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of watching two men tear each other apart—waiting to see who loses, who dies first. His hand is clamped tight around the man's throat, squeezing, while his other fist slams into the man's face over and over. His knuckles are raw, split, but he doesn't stop. The dim street lanterns flicker, casting harsh shadows over the scene, highlighting the agony twisting across the man's bloodied face. The blood runs in rivulets from his nose, mixing with the rain.
It beganwhen he came back from Jimmy Brooks.He had returned the horse he'd borrowed, the brief moment of decency behind him. After that, he headed straight for the saloon, remembering Bill, Javier, and Charles were supposed to be there, drinking away the dust of the day.
When he walked into the saloon, the warm air and smell of whiskey hit him. Arthur spotted Javier and Charles at the bar, two girls standing between them, laughing together. Arthur shook his head slightly and made his way over.
Javier, leaning sideways on his arm, was the first to notice him. "Oh, Arthur," he called, opening his arm in welcome. As Arthur got closer, Javier stepped towards him. "Arthur, come here, come here." One of the girls had already turned around, while Charles glanced at Arthur, his hand resting on another girl's lower back, who also turned to look.
"Come over here, I want you to meet our friends," Javier added.
The redhead next to Javier was dressed rather inappropriately, but Arthur kept his gaze on her face, avoiding looking any lower. "Pleased to meet you," he murmured.
The other girl then turned around fully. She had dark hair, braided and resting on her right shoulder. At least she was dressed more appropriately, but Arthur didn't care much about what women wore—it wasn't his business. Still, a hint of concern flickered in the back of his mind, especially for the red-haired woman. Men ain't nice, and dressed like that... well, it ain't good, unless she was a prostitute. And even then, that didn't sit right with him.
The red-haired girl was the first to speak, her voice teasing. "Well, ain't you just the tough as teak mountain man." Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly at her, feeling a flicker of annoyance. Before he could say anything, the other girl chimed in, "Oh, you be quiet, Anastasia. Anyone can tell this one's a pussycat."
Anastasia laughed softly at the remark, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Arthur couldn't quite tell if it was meant to insult him or if it was just playful banter, but either way, it made his blood run a little hotter.
Javier, of course, ran along with their nonsense. "Exactly, yes, he's a pussy... cat. Ain't that so, Arthur?"
"Whatever you say." Arthur muttered, stepping back a bit, this time letting his eyes shamelessly roam over Anastasia's body. Her white shirt was barely hanging on, practically fighting to stay over her chest. It was a thin, shoulderless top that left her collarbone and upper body exposed, covering just her stomach and almost her chest. Around her neck hung a necklace with a green, round pendant. She wore a long, ankle-length black skirt with a floral pattern.
"How much you cost, anyway?" he asked, his voice low, cold.
Anastasia frowned, her expression hardening. "Well, ain't that a nice way to talk to a lady?"
Arthur scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I didn't know I was talkin' to a lady."
The tension between them hung in the air, as the smirk faded from her face and Arthur's eyes remained cold, unbothered.
"Excuse me." Anastasia snapped, her voice laced with irritation. With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, the other girl quickly following behind her, casting a quick glance back at Arthur before disappearing into the crowd.
Arthur just watched them go, unfazed, before turning his attention back to Javier and Charles.
"Well, I must say... you got a fine way with the women, amigo." Javier remarked, smirking.
Arthur walked over to the spot where the women had been standing, placing both hands on the bar. "Yeah, a regular dandy and charmer." he replied dryly, spotting an untouched shot glass on the counter. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and downed the liquor in one go, the alcohol burning its way down his throat.
"Where's Bill?" Arthur asked, setting the small glass—a shot glass—back down with a clink.
Javier hung his head low. "Oh man, I dread to think about it."
Then Javier tapped Arthur's shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey! There he is."
The three men turned to see Bill walking in, but he bumped into a man who was about to leave. "Hey! Watch where you're going!" the man shouted. Bill grabbed the guy's collar with both hands, leaning in close. Arthur wondered aloud, "Is he about to kiss that guy or punch him?" They stood face to face, tension thick in the air as more patrons—mostly men—began to watch, their curiosity piqued.
They didn't have to wait long for their answer. With a swift motion, Bill head-butted the guy, causing him to stumble backward onto a round table, knocking over drinks and creating a ruckus in the saloon.
"Oh, there we have our answer." Arthur said dryly, watching the chaos unfold.
His gaze shifted to Javier, who was holding a bottle and casually tossing it near a man sitting with his friend at a table. They both stood up facing Javier. The bottle shattered on the ground, adding to the frenzy. Arthur then noticed Charles picking up a chair and hurling it toward the bar.
And that's how Arthur found himself right in the middle of the bar fight. Moments later, a man twice his size came down the stairs—Tommy. The bartender clearly didn't want Tommy involved, but Tommy paid no mind. He strode over, challenging Javier, who wasted no time in punching him.
Of course, Arthur rushed in to help Javier, but that only led to him tangling with Tommy directly. It didn't take long for Tommy to throw Arthur right out the window, crashing onto the wet street below.
So here he was,fists flying, punching Tommy over and over again, blood and rain mixing together as the chaos of the night swirled around them.
Just as Arthur raised his fist again, a man grabbed him, holding him back. "Stop! Stop! Please!" The man looked at Arthur with a desperate expression. "Please, I beg you. Stop. Come sir. You've won the fight already, surely that's enough?" He held both palms out, trying to block Arthur's advance.
Arthur's rage-filled gaze bore down on the man—not out of anger toward this poor feller, but from the adrenaline still coursing through his body from the fight. He hesitated for a moment, breathing heavily, before slowly unclenching his fist and putting his arm down.
Then, with a quick motion, he threw Tommy to the ground, glaring down at him. "What business is it of yours?" Arthur growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"No business. No business, sir, but please... I beg you." the man pleaded.
Arthur ignored him, his jaw clenched tight. He pushed the man aside and walked away, shoving past two other men to break through the crowd that had gathered. He made his way toward the general store, gripping his arm where he had previously punched Tommy; it ached fiercely. His whole body was throbbing from the fight.
"Making new friends again, I see, Arthur."
Arthur snapped his head toward the sound of that voice and saw Dutch walking alongside someone he didn't expect to see here. "Look who we found sniffing about." Dutch said, nodding his head toward the man in formal attire. He looked far too polished to blend in with the ruckus around them.
"Josiah Trelawny." Arthur said, disbelief tinging his voice.
"The very same." Trelawny replied with a slight bow, his demeanour composed even amid the chaos.
"Well, well... I thought you'd gone to New York." Arthur said, sinking down onto the bench by the general store. His body ached all over, screaming for him to just rest, and he relished the brief moment of relief.
"And miss all this glamour? You must be joking." Trelawny replied, opening both his arms wide in a mock display of extravagance.
Arthur shook his head in disbelief, a smirk stretching across his face despite the pain.
Arthur stood up and walked over to the wooden stairs, sitting down again with a grunt. "How are you?" he asked Trelawny, rubbing the left side of his aching jaw.
"Well. Quite well indeed." Trelawny replied, sounding pleased with himself. Both Dutch and Trelawny stood in front of Arthur, who was still nursing his sore face. Trelawny casually placed one leg on top of the stair. "I went to Blackwater to look for you gentlemen. You're not very popular there, it seems."
Dutch crouched down to examine Arthur's face, his eyes sharp with concern before straightening up again.
Just then, Trelawny's gaze shifted, noticing Javier, Bill, and Charles approaching. "Ah, Javier and Charles. I've missed you... and Bill, looking as well as can be. Gentlemen, always a pleasure." he said with a graceful bow, ever the charmer.
"You're right, we ain't too popular in Blackwater." Dutch commented, picking up on Trelawny's earlier remark.
"We left a lot of money there." Arthur added, waving his hand in Dutch's direction.
"And young Sean it seems." Trelawny replied casually.
Everyone's head snapped toward him. "Sean? You've found him?" Dutch asked, his tone sharp with surprise.
"Yes, I have. He's being held by some bounty hunters, trying to see how much money the government will pay them. I know he's in Blackwater, but there's talk of them moving him soon." Trelawny explained.
Arthur let out a sigh, bringing his hand to the aching right side of his jaw. "Well, if we step foot in Blackwater..." Arthur started, his voice trailing off. He slowly stood up from his sitting position at the top of the small stairs in front of the general store. "...then we're dead men for sure."
"There'll be Pinkertons all over the place, but... if he's alive, we gotta try." Dutch said.
"Yeah, of course." Arthur replied, nodding slightly.
But how were they going to pull that off? Just crossing the border into Blackwater would put the law right on Arthur's back. They were watching every corner, waiting for the gang to slip up. It wasn't just risky—it was practically suicide.
Trelawny looked down at the ground for a moment before turning his gaze to Dutch. "It's you they want, Dutch." he stated bluntly.
Dutch met Trelawny's eyes, his expression practically unreadable. "Always is." he replied, a hint of resignation in his voice.
Arthur sighed and cracked his back, feeling the tension and aches from earlier. Damn, he was turning into some old, ugly bastard.
Dutch then turned to look at Javier, Charles, and Bill, who still looked like a bunch of dumb idiots after just getting into a fight at the bar. "Charles, go find what you can, carefully." he ordered. Dutch stepped back a bit and pointed somewhere vague before looking at Josiah. "Josiah, take Javier."
With that, the three men set off to follow their orders. Dutch turned to Arthur, his tone more commanding now. "Arthur, go get yourself cleaned up. Join them when you're ready."
Arthur nodded, glancing behind him at a barrel definitely filled with water. He didn't need to ask who "them" was; he knew. After being in this gang for more than twenty years, with Dutch as practically a father figure, Arthur understood Dutch well enough.
"Well, what about me?" Arthur heard Bill ask, his voice laced with confusion.
"Exactly, what about you?" Dutch shot back, raising an eyebrow.
"W-what does that mean?" Bill stammered, clearly not following the conversation.
"Ah, Bill. Come on." Dutch replied, rolling his eyes as he turned away, clearly exasperated by Bill's lack of awareness. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself, knowing Bill would always be Bill, no matter the situation.
Arthur placed both hands on the edge of the barrel before dipping his head into the cool water. He felt the refreshing liquid envelop his face, washing away the grime and blood from the earlier fight. As he lifted his head, he splashed some water on his face and through his hair, the droplets glistening in the sunlight. He took a moment to breathe, relishing the chill that contrasted with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.
Honestly, all Arthur really wanted was to find a hotel where he could wash up. He needed to scrub the sweat and dirt from his body and clean his clothes, too. A proper bath would be nice, but for now, this would have to do. He pushed himself away from the barrel, glancing around at the empty streets, mentally mapping out where to head next.
You know what? Screw it. Arthur decided he was heading to the hotel right here. It was dark, and he was filthy. He made his way through the quiet streets, eager to wash off the grime and settle in for the night. No one was around to see him looking like a mess, and that was just fine by him.
༺༻
Arthur stepped out of the hotel, feeling fresh. The morning air was crisp, and the scent of dew and earth filled his lungs. It felt good—innocent, like a new start... wait..his horse.
"Damn it." he muttered under his breath. His horse was still at camp, probably tied up and forgotten. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead. The damn thing was an O'Driscoll's horse he had stolen from Sadie's ranch—he hadn't even bothered to name it yet. Just great. Now he had to trek back to camp on foot. Just what he needed.
"Can't believe I'm walking like a damn fool." he grumbled as he started down the road, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. This day was already off to a wonderful start.
Arthur shook his head, half-considering the idea of stealing another horse. It wasn't like it was beneath him—hell, it'd sure make things easier—but really? They were supposed to be keeping a low profile. He snorted to himself. Low profile, as if that ever worked out with this bunch.
He flexed his hands, smirking at his own thoughts. Tryin' not to kill folk unnecessarily these days... But if anyone decided to push their luck, well, what happened next wouldn't exactly be his fault. These hands had a way of sorting things out on their own. It wasn't his responsibility if people didn't know when to shut their mouths.
Best to walk—for now.