A/N: Micah and Milton are dead, so obviously all the problems in America are handled, right? Well, no. Still I had to shift focus to Remnant for the next good bit simply because I couldn't come up with content that felt believable. If I put Summer into the showdown where Arthur lost to Micah in canon, Summer would wipe the floor with everyone involved. It was her bread and butter while she was a Huntress, and the only reason Micah beat Arthur was because Arthur was pulling an Itachi and dying mid fight. Summer Rose anywhere near her best against a low down snake like Micah? Please. Also, we've broken 200 favorites and 100 reviews! You guys are awesome, no matter what unkind things I say about you when I'm up at three in the morning trying to work out how to make this story worth reading. In honor of the milestone, I changed the crotchety old gunsmith I wanted to use for Arthur's weapons into something a bit more referenced. Despite my firm decision to remain an Xbox player, there are absolute gems on the Playstation side of things. Disclaimer: I do not own God of War or any of its characters. While I'm at it, I don't own Red Dead Redemption or RWBY, either.
Chapter 10
The floor was cold. Right now, cold was good. It felt cool and calming against his face, and blocked out the buzzing in his head. It felt like a whole nest of hornets had crawled in through his ear and were currently having a bar fight in his brain. Or something like that. Arthur pawed at the ground and groaned, trying desperately to remember when the night had left him on the floor. He hadn't even drunk that much...had he? Whatever was in that Firewater had a KICK. Arthur groaned and sat up, struggling to contain his nausea as the world righted itself once again. He felt hot, but at the same time the wooden floor felt like ice. It was also not a floor he recognized, but there'd be time for that later. Arthur groaned again and cradled his head, trying in vain to shut out the lights that seared his eyes and scorched his brain. Even with his palms pressed into his eye sockets, the burning light continued to glare at him from inside of his head.
"Holy Mother Mary..." Arthur whispered, and his own words echoed a million times over in tune with the God awful pounding in his head. He reached around for his satchel, hoping at least for some hair of the dog, but the little bag was nowhere to be found. Nether was his gun belt, upon further inspection. That realization did wonders to punch through his hangover to end all hangovers, but Arthur's gut still rumbled when he stood up. Upon opening his eyes again, he blinked rapidly to clear his blurry vision. But what he could see told him he was in a room with a view. A balcony, if he was guessing right. With more blinking came clarity, and Arthur was soon looking out over Menagerie. The sun was still rising, and the sky was a wonderful shade of orange. A few clouds came in from the ocean, providing a brilliant backdrop that made him wish he had a camera. And wasn't about to hurl.
"Urk." Arthur's hand covered his mouth as he looked around desperately, and a sliding door to his right became his main focus. Stumbling forward, he less opened the door and more threw it to the side in search of the toilet. He found it in the corner, and only barely reached the bowl before fire and stinky brimstone climbed out of his stomach and threw itself into the water. He retched three, four times without reprieve, though the last one yielded nothing more than a single string of saliva. He wiped his mouth with a groan, adding a seared throat to his list of ailments, then struggled to stand. He stayed over the toilet for a few minutes, just in case his stomach wasn't quite done with its rebellion yet. When nothing else came up, he flushed the toilet and wiped it down with the convenient little waste paper roll next to the sink. Seemed kind of a waste for the roll to be so big if you were only gonna use it one time, but who was he to judge?
Now that his stomach had accomplished its business for the foreseeable future, Arthur's head was finally starting to clear up. He sighed heavily and wandered back out of the bathroom, doing his best to piece together the previous night. His memory failed him more often than not, though he did get brief glimpses...
"... an' it ain't like ah did it on purpose, I jes couldn't help it, ya know?" He swigged the bottle he had gripped firmly in his hand, the awkward little girl under his arm doing everything in her power to escape without seeming rude. "An your pa is such a nice, nice guy. I don't know why Sienna can't work with the feller, but what do I knows? I jes shoot the bad guys. You ever shoots any bad guys?" Blake Belladonna shook her head vehemently, trying to duck under his arm to escape both the impromptu confession and the repugnant booze breath that escaped his mouth.
"An another thing, how come it's the cats that are in charge? Like, are they just geared that way, or is it coincidensh?"
"Oh, I've made a real mess of it, I just know it." Arthur groaned, but the rest of the night did not come to mind immediately. He hadn't planned on getting black out drunk. Hell, he hadn't even planned on getting buzzed! All he'd done was ask for one drink. That bartender had set him up real good, and were it not for the pounding in his head and the hole in his memory, he'd have already gone after the son of a bitch. How had the rest of the dinner gone? Did he go and embarrass Sienna, or worse, ruin her chances of becoming the Leader of the White Fang?
Half an hour passed as Arthur laid on the bed proper, only standing to drink water and look outside. He hadn't tried the door yet because he wasn't recuperated, but with a little more time he'd be able to start snooping around. Just five more minutes...
"Uh...mister Morgan?" The voice came from outside, and Arthur couldn't quite place it at first. His mind was still slow and sluggish, and the only thing he could tell was that the voice was female. She sounded familiar, but his head wasn't quite on straight just yet.
"Yeah?" He sounded rough, and raising his voice only helped bring his nausea back.
"Dad said to come get you, but he wasn't sure if you would be well enough to have breakfast. Are you feeling okay?" Oh, right. Ghira's daughter. What was her name again? Betty? Blaine?
"He was right about that. Still, you wouldn't have any aspirin, would you? I ain't feelin' so great." The door opened slightly, and he saw pale fingers push it open just enough for a yellow eye to peek in. Arthur waved from the bed, still too tired to move, but it was enough to tell her that he was both clothed and not painting the toilet. Yet, anyway. The girl opened the door a little wider to step in, though she clearly wasn't going any further than she had to. In her other hand, however, was a miraculous little bottle of pain relievers.
"Dad said you'd be feeling bad. You were a little...out of sorts last night." She winced, clearly trying not to insult him while also wanting to speak the truth. Ah, the uncertainty of youth. Sienna were standing there, she'd probably have already started lecturing him for letting a drink get the better of him.
"Yeah, I feel like I was. Appreciate the medicine, though." Blake! That was her name. "You're a hero in my book, Blake." He reached up and took the pills from her hand, even as the girl herself shrank back into the hallway. If his scattered memories were anything to go by, he'd made a nuisance of himself to more than just the teenager standing at the door. Nothing else came to him, just a general sense of wrongness that he couldn't shake.
"Uh, sure. You're welcome, I guess." She stepped back outside with a haste he couldn't quite fault her for. "Will you be joining us for breakfast? Mom made eggs and bacon, but I understand if you aren't feeling up to it." At first, the prospect of food positively repulsed him, but Arthur knew better than to trust that initial reaction. On top of that, he couldn't afford to snub the people that he may have offended, especially when they let him sleep in their home.
"Yeah, I'll be down there in a minute. Just let me make myself presentable." Whatever Blake thought of that, she didn't share it. Instead, she closed the door and left him to his misery. Arthur groaned and slowly stood up, cursing the world for tilting so treacherously. When he was stable on his feet, the gunslinger stepped over to the window and braced against it, trying to use the morning sun to speed up his recovery. It helped a little.
"We;;, time to go see what all damage I did." He muttered groggily. Turning to the door, he rolled his shoulders back and made his decision; to face what would come like a man. He opened the door and stepped out into a quiet hallway, turned left and found the greatest foe he would ever face: the stairs. Oh, is it too late to go back to bed? He grimaced at the pounding in his head, knowing full well it was about to get a hundred times worse. Still, he was Arthur goddamned Morgan, and he would not be defeated by a flight of stairs. His reputation was as stake here. So, with trembling hands, he slowly took the first step. His stomach roiled and rolled, and his head felt like it would explode. But he persevered, and took another step.
Step.
Step.
Step.
One at a time, Arthur vanquished his foes, fighting on for breakfast and glory. He kept up his pace, knowing full well that if he stopped he would collapse upon the stairs and never move again. It was a tempting release, but he had to make it. He had to know what damage he had done the previous night. If Sienna was going to filet him alive, Arthur deserved to know ahead of time. When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked around. There were two halls that led in different directions, but he could hear muffling talking down the one on the left. Figuring that was as good a guess as any, he slowly trudged in that direction, occasionally placing a hand on the wall to steady himself. A right turn put him front of what he thought was the front door, but the layout was all wrong. Kali's laughter told him he was close though, and another corner led into what looked like the actual residence portion of the mansion.
A wide living room with two couches and a large mahogany table greeted him, its high ceiling bouncing the acoustics of Kali and Blake's conversation all over the house. A doorway in the back of the room seemed to lead to a kitchen of some kind, judging from the smell of eggs and bacon that wafted from that direction. Blake and her mother were seated at the table facing him, while Ghira sat with his back to the door. Arthur would have normally considered that strange, were it not for the fact that the man was the largest person he had ever met in his life.
"Oh, good morning Arthur." Kali noticed him first and greeted him with a glowing smile. Blake fell silent, obviously not quite as comfortable with the gunslinger as her parents, but Ghira's shifted to the side and patted a cushion in welcome.
"Morning to ya." He did his best not to stagger over to sit beside the man of the house, but judging by the sympathetic looks on his and Kali's faces, he didn't succeed. Still, the spread in front of him looked delicious, even if his rebellious stomach was digging its heels in for all that it was worth. Scrambled eggs, eggs over easy, buttered and cinnamon toast and crispy bacon was laid out on several ceramic plates. Kali and Blake looked to have some kind of hot tea in their cups, and Arthur recognized the smell of coffee coming from Ghira's. It was an awkward silence that filled the room as he sat down, and when he was finally able to look around the table, he felt a little better.
"How are you feeling, mister Morgan?" Ghira asked cordially, and Arthur did his best to smile. It came out as a pained grimace, but he tried anyway.
"Like I fell under a stampede." He replied honestly, wincing as his head continued to pound. "What's in that Firewater, anyway?" Ghira frowned at the name of the beverage, though he was quick to assure Arthur that he was not the source of his ire.
"Brendan likes to serve new people the hardest drinks around. I thought we had broken him of that particular habit, but it seems I was wrong. Do you remember how much of it you had?" More hazy memories floated around his mind, but nothing was definite or concrete. Arthur gave up on the mental gymnastics and shrugged.
"A bottle, I reckon. Now my head feels like a drum." Kali and Ghira both winced at his admission, and even young Blake whistled in surprise.
"Isn't that the stuff where you can only drink half of a bottle, Dad?" She asked, poleaxing her father and forcing him decide between defending his honor as a man and saying that he could drink more, or his responsibility as a father and admit the Firewater's danger. Sighing heavily, he went with the second option.
"It's a severely potent beverage. Most people can't handle more than a few shots without Aura to pick them up in the morning. I'm amazed you even remember as much as you do." Ghira sent his wife a withering glare when she giggled, and Blake could only roll her eyes at her mother's humor. It was that powerful? No wonder it had knocked him on his ass. Arthur was no lush, but he knew better than most what it took to get him hammered. One bottle of the stuff had apparently been enough to clean his clock.
"I'll be sure to avoid it next time." Arthur groaned, resting his forearms on the table. Ghira kindly set a cup of coffee and some sugar cubes next to Arthur's head, but the gunslinger didn't reach for it at first. He needed to rest after that laborious descent from the second floor.
"You certainly made quite a few friends last night. The guards seemed ready to escort you home, but it is beyond me how you got half of them to do the river dance with you." Ghira said, more astonished than upset. Arthur grunted in disbelief, though apparently it wasn't the first time he had turned a bunch of angry men into dancing fools.
"What can I say? It's a gift." Resolved that he wasn't going to feel any better, Arthur sat up and grasped the coffee gently. He sipped it slowly, mindful of its heat, then eventually up ended the whole thing. Ghira offered to pour him another, and Arthur gladly accepted it. The caffeine worked its magic, untying his mind from the nauseated knot it had wound itself into, and with the warmth came a modicum of stability. A few more memories from the previous night came to him, but he still had no idea how he had ended up in the Belladonnas' guest room.
"Not to mention that speech you gave about Sienna." Blake pointed out. Her parents gave the girl a pointed look, though her smug grin showed that she would not back down on this one. Kali's glare softened as she giggled once more, and Ghira could only roll his eyes. Arthur, however, felt his stomach drop to his toes.
"Speech?" He questioned. Blake was already fishing for her scroll as he looked around. "What speech?" Instead of explaining further, Blake handed her scroll over to her father, who in turn reluctantly passed it to Arthur. Holding it up to watch a video, Arthur already knew it wasn't going to go well just by how the first still looked.
He was stood up in front of the main table where Sienna and Ghira had sat last night. On the scroll, even from a distance, Arthur could tell that he had been well and truly sauced. A microphone was in one hand, and a bottle was in the other.
"Thank you everyone! Tonight has been real fun! You folks are the best a man could ask for, I just wanna say..." His drunk self paused, as if thinking about what he actually wanted to say. "People call you animals because you got extra parts, but believe me. You're all better people than the ones I've met out there in that world. You folks are kind and thoughtful, an' you got some mean liquor! But I think what made you folks so great is because everyone else is so terrible." Arthur could only groan as he watched himself upend the bottle in his hand. Behind him, Sienna tried to take the microphone from him as stealthily as she could, but even she couldn't be sneaky when he had a spotlight on him. Abandoning stealth in favor of a frontal attack, Sienna offered a nervous smile to the crowd before she came to his side. Her arm came across his front as she tried in vain to snatch the mic, and he moved his own out of the way. When she came around to the other side of him, he stepped away and brought it up to his face once more.
"An' I'd be just as bad as the rest of them people if it weren't for my friend Sienna Khan. Now folks, I know she seems scary at times, but I don't knows anybody who care more about the Fau-uh, the Fan, you folks." He stumbled over his words, and was only held up on his swaying legs by the tiger Faunus trying desperately to steal the amplifying tool from his hand. "She's a beautiful woman, and I'll fight any man or -hic!- woman that says otherwise! I can't think of no one better for the White Tooth."
Sienna became more insistent even as her face grew red, and he could hear Blake snickering on the recording. The people around her where she had been filming were all laughing as well. Arthur felt like he would die from shame. On the screen, his drunken self finally turned to face Sienna, though he still managed to keep the mic away from her.
"Did I ever tell you that? Oh, man alive, if I were ten years younger." Sienna's face resembled a tomato as she hissed at and begged him, doing her damnedest to snatch the microphone away from him. He turned and stepped toward the rest of the room, holding his bottle up high like a champion's torch. "Y'all are the greatest! I love ya!" And with that declaration, he brought the bottle to his lips and drank. And drank. And continued to drink until he fell backwards and hit the ground. Sienna had just pried the mic from his grip when he hit the floor, leaving her standing over her sauced friend with a look of absolute horror on her face as she realized that all eyes were on her. The hall had gone completely silent. Sienna Khan looked down at him, then around at the now silent party.
"Uh..." The normally cool and collected Khan offered weakly, before she remembered who she was and cleared her throat. "If only the rest of them were so easy to convince!" The joke did its job, and the whole room erupted in laughter. The scroll shook as Blake herself laughed along with the rest, and Arthur's dancing vision could only barely make out his friend dragging him away from the center of the room, and the screen turned black.
Arthur handed the scroll back to his host, then let his forehead hit the table with a dull thunk. It hurt, oh boy did it hurt, but maybe it would be enough to kill him and save him from the wrath of his mortified friend. Ghira patted his back consolingly, returning his daughter's scroll to her as he did so. Kali's amused smirk and glances made so much sense now, and even the normally bashful Blake was laughing at his expense.
"She's gonna kill me." Arthur groaned out, and Ghira couldn't stop his laughter either.
"I don't believe so, mister Morgan. If anything, you've definitely proven that she's ready for leadership." He smirked at some hidden joke. "She thought on her feet and got you to safety, as well as getting an entire room full of people to forget about how embarrassing you were. If anyone would have guessed that from the infamous Lady Khan, they kept their peace." Arthur just groaned again and looked around the table. If he was going to meet his end, he'd do it with a full stomach.
"Anybody want the rest of those eggs?" Kali pushed the plate toward him without a word, and Arthur grabbed a fork and dug in. The rest of breakfast covered lighter, less embarrassing topics like Ghira's final three weeks as leader of the White Fang, or Arthur's request to Kuo Kuana's local gunsmith. He explained what he was looking for any why, and Ghira nodded with approval.
"It is good to recognize when improvement is needed. I'm surprised that you would want better gear when what you have has seen you through so far." The big bear of a man reached underneath the table and drew out Arthur's gun belt, handing it and his satchel back to him. "Your weapons are well crafted and maintained. Were it not for the larger Grimm, I would ask why you wanted a change at all." There was a tricky question right there. The truth of the matter was, American weapons were great, definitely the best he could get a hold of back in Lemoyne. But the biggest thing he had ever killed with those weapons had been a bull alligator and a giant grizzly bear. The Grimm he had fought in the past month could have easily slaughtered those two animals, and he needed to be ready. The next time a Sea Feilong or the like showed up, Adam might not be around with his bullshit Semblance.
"I can't fight everything, but there are a few critters out there that worry me. I figured a big iron on my hip would do me better than chaining Sienna to my waist for the rest of time." She could fight, of that there was no doubt. He'd watched as she dove into combat against a giant lightning breathing sea dragon using nothing more than some impressive acrobatics and a chain. Not only that, but she'd landed the first hit on the Feilong, that explosive knife she had launched. He'd brought half an arsenal with him and some special ammo to boot, and the only thing he could do that she couldn't was shoot it in the eye.
"That may come about anyway, if your statement from last night has any effect." Kali teased. While Arthur could only groan miserably once more, the two obvious Faunus in the room perked up, mother and daughter's ears twitching in unison. A few seconds later, a great loud knock sounded at the door. The reaper had come for him. Arthur stood up and cracked his back, appreciating that the coffee had helped bring him back from the dead, at least. If Sienna was going to skin him alive, he'd at least face his death coherently. Ghira stood as well to answer the door, taking the lead as Arthur belted his guns on and grabbed his satchel.
"Appreciate the breakfast, Kali. Blake." He offered a two fingered salute to the two seated women, then followed Ghira out towards the foyer. As he passed into the room, Arthur noticed his hat and coat were still hanging up from the previous night. He grabbed them down from the wall pegs as Ghira opened the door. Sure enough, Sienna stood outside in her normal clothing, her face impassive even as she scanned the foyer.
"Lady Khan." Ghira greeted politely, inclining his head. "How can I help you today?" Arthur stepped out from the corner, not one to hide from a challenge.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Chieftain, but I seem to have..." Her amber eyes finally settled on Arthur, and they narrowed dangerously. Shit. "...misplaced something." Oh, that was just low. Treating him like a lost suitcase, was she? Arthur knew he had publicly embarrassed her in front of the White Fang and the citizens of Kuo Kuana, but everything Ghira was saying hinted that it had been for the better. Why was she so bent out of shape if he had helped the people see her more as a person and less as an absolute leader?
"Yes, I believe you have. Worry not, however. I'll return what is yours." He said it with a smile on his face, and Arthur was ready to get snarky were it not for the blistering sunlight that came through the doorway. Normally, seeing Sienna with the sun behind her was a real treat, but with his hangover still lingering, it only made Arthur want to claw his eyes out. Anything to save them from the blinding light.
"Real cute, both of ya." Arthur groused, stepping around Ghira and out into the warm tropical morning. Sienna made room for him to exit, if only slightly. Like she was sidestepping a ball of shit as it rolled down the hill. "Chief, it was an absolute pleasure having breakfast with your family. Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna go die in a hole somewhere." Arthur tipped his hat and nodded. As he stepped down the stairs that led to the path through the village, he heard Sienna and Ghira exchange some whispered words. His hangover really sapped any hope he had of caring what they had to say, but he knew it ended with an indignant hiss from Sienna and Ghira's roaring laughter. He had barely turned around when Sienna stomped past him, taking extra care to drive the heel of her foot onto his boot. Arthur yelped in surprise and pain and pulled away from her, even as Ghira closed the front door.
"Hey, wait up." He called, and all it seemed to do was make Sienna walk faster. Cursing and hopping along on one foot until the throbbing went away, it was a miracle Arthur didn't fall the rest of the way down the steps. When they reached the bottom of the hill where the path led to her secluded little home, only then did the tigress turn and face him.
"What on Remnant were you thinking, Arthur?!" She demanded, and it took a conscious effort not to shrink in on himself. He suddenly was a young boy once more, looking up at Hosea and Dutch after he'd been caught thieving from the others in camp.
"I didn't know what he put in my glass!" He defended, earning only a frustrated huff as she continued stalking into the forest. Arthur followed close behind, glad that the foliage obscured the sun from his abused eyeballs. "I'd never even heard of Firewater before last night. Even Ghira says that the bartender is used to swapping drinks." His excuses seemed to fall on deaf ears, four of them to be exact. The dumbest thing was, he almost validated the rumors in chasing after her like a husband apologizing to his disappointed wife. It was completed by the part where she reached the door before he did and slammed it behind her, leaving him standing out on the front porch with a hangover and a confused expression.
"Then you can go figure out how to recover, mister Morgan. I'm sure your horse will be excellent company!" Was the last he heard from her as he stood outside the door. He knocked lightly on the door, calling her name to absolutely no effect. Sighing heavily, he turned to look for Famine, needing a relaxing ride more than anything. And of course, the horse was nowhere to be found. This just ain't my morning. Arthur rubbed his face and groaned, then set off around the house at a frustrated pace. True to his luck, the Arabian was standing next to a stand of young trees, his reins wrapped around one of them so haphazardly that there was no way Sienna had done it. The grass around the trees was long and thick, except for a few spots. The damned horse had come seeking a snack, and got his reins wrapped around the saplings in the process. Given that the dirt wasn't disturbed terribly, it was a recent development.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He asked in exasperation, walking up to get the poor animal untethered. Famine only snorted in response, as if to point out that Arthur was no better. It was a sentiment he would have agreed with. "We are quite the pair, you and I." If the black Arabian had anything to offer to that, he remained silent. When Arthur finally freed his companion, nearly getting his hand wrapped up in the mess in the process, he led the stubborn animal away from the trees and mounted up, thankful for the shady comfort of Sienna's property. Even if the woman herself was embarrassed and upset because of him, he could enjoy the benefits of her generosity. Still, he had been responsible for making a fool of her, and the right thing to do would be to apologize... after she cooled down.
With that in mind, Arthur set out toward the path that led to Kuo Kuana, tossing one last look back toward the bungalow. The door remained shut, and there was no sign of his tigress roommate. Shrugging off the forlorn feeling in his chest, Arthur turned back and flicked his reins.
The gunsmith wasn't located in the city itself, but rather just outside of it in an enclosed compound. Ten foot tall wooden walls surrounded the property, as much protection from stray Grimm as it was to protect the forest from any accidents. Working on weapons and ammunition sometimes had disastrous outcomes, and there was less risk of a fire spreading all over Kuo Kuana this way. It also helped that the shop was built next to a medium sized creek, maybe twenty feet across and just a few feet deep. Two brothers worked there, and plied their craft for the good of the Faunus. Despite the fact that they themselves were human, Brok and Sindri had done plenty of custom jobs for the White Fang. And a custom order was exactly what Arthur needed as well.
When he walked up into the compound, Arthur could already hear loud clanging and what sounded like arguing deeper in the shop. He was hesitant to go any further inside, to avoid both the debate and the insufferable heat that came from the forge. Sindri liked to use his own custom parts and machined them himself, and it was up to Brok to smith them from steel and other materials. Since Brok had a Semblance that protected him from extreme heat, the short and angry little man didn't seem to notice just how hot a forge was, especially in a tropical climate. Arthur was sweating just standing outside the shop.
"Hey, Brok! You boys in there?" Arthur hollered over the din. The argument inside stopped, and after a few moments he could see a shadow moving in the dim light of the workshop. When it came out to the light, the bearded and stubborn face of Brok broke out into a grin. He was a short, stocky man, dark in complexion and bald. He wore a light t-shirt underneath a stained tan blacksmith apron. He wore thin brown pants and a pair of black boots, apparently as immune to Menagerie's heat as he was to his own forge.
"Mr. Morgan! Are ye here to hand over those pea shooters o' yers?" The stout little man asked, and Arthur would have gotten defensive were he not there to replace them. Life and Death had served him well, and even though this was their last day he was still loyal to his tools. He drew them one at a time from his belt and emptied the cylinders, then handed the engraved revolvers to the smith. Despite his gruff reference to them, Brok handled them carefully, his eyes roving over the metal with the gaze of a master craftsman.
"You gonna be able to fill the order with that, or do I need more material?" Arthur was willing to pay, but lien he didn't spend here could go towards his trip to Vale in a few weeks. Thankfully, Brok shook his head gruffly and turned back into the shop, holding the pistols out from him to protect their finish from his dirty apron.
"Who do you think you're talking to, boy? This here will be enough. For what yer paying, I've got plenty of metal ta spare!" Arthur sat outside, decidedly not following the little man into the oven he called a shop. Even Sindri tried to get breaks from the heat, and Arthur's lingering hangover told him there was a nap heading his way soon. The breakfast from earlier had settled nicely, and since he wasn't chucking it all over the place, it made him drowsy. He wanted to stand next to the shop in case they had any questions, but everyone in town said that Brok had been at this business for years. What harm was there in giving him creative license? Waving the shop off with one hand, Arthur walked back outside of the compound and turned toward the trees, spotting one particularly thick palm that had his name written all over it. When he reached it, Arthur turned around and put his back to bark and slowly slid down, settling in at the base of the tree. He looked around one last time, just to make sure no critters would crawl down his shirt while he was asleep. Once he was comfortable that the local wildlife would leave him alone, Arthur pulled his hat down over his eyes and got comfortable. Hopefully, things would be just a little bit better when he woke up.
Vacuo wasn't really all that different from the last time Summer had visited. It was still hot, still dry, and still full of assholes. The most recent one had possessed the nerve to swat her rear as she had walked by, and it had taken everything John Marston had to keep her from caving the degenerate's head in. Still, that was the price she paid for trying to get them official documents through shady, unofficial means. A few platinum watches and belt buckles had garnered enough lien for them to get by, seeing as how she had given Arthur everything she'd had left.
Now, she was explaining to John and Abigail the need for silence and calm while they toured the Vacuo Black Market. Which, for once, was almost an actual market. The little plaza was between two of Vacuo's less traveled streets, and no one here offered their name for any reason. A couple scrolls and some fake identification had been expensive, especially on a rush order, but she still had enough left over for them to hit a diner in the nicer part of town. She still hated being in Vacuo, or even on Remnant period. Every second she spent on this side of the gateway she risked discovery, and then everything would come crashing down once more. She would be worse than Raven to her family, and her enemies would be after her with even more tenacity. But she couldn't just dump them out into the desert like she had Arthur. There was no way for her to adequately explain the way that Remnant worked, and the differences between Vacuo and America were so great that she couldn't just pat them on the back and send them on their way. On top of that, Jack still needed to see a doctor.
"I can't believe any of this." Abigail did her best not to stare, but the colorful and strange people around her robbed the woman of her usual caution. Jack was excited to see all the cool animal people, though his frequent coughing worried Summer. Jack didn't have the big set of healthy, adult lungs that had allowed Arthur to survive TB for months. He was in great danger, not to mention contagious as well. The only reason they hadn't gone straight to a clinic was because she needed the fake ID's.
"Arthur made it through here? This is where he went to get treatment for TB?" John asked, watching a passing Faunus give him the stink eye. If John hadn't been so preoccupied with the bear ears on top of the man's head, he might have glared back. The table they sat at was outside and covered by a large umbrella, though a few previous customers had torn holes in the umbrella and carved vulgar things into the table. Thankfully, Jack wasn't quite at the age where reading came naturally.
"There's a clinic down the street from here. It's an official one, not like a few others we've seen, but it is your best bet for getting Jack treatment." Summer explained, then held up the scroll she was going to give John. "I'm going to see where Arthur is at."
"With what? That little mirror looking thing?" John was ready to laugh, but when numbers appeared on the scroll as she began to dial, his voice died in his throat. The dialing chime sounded a few times, but there was no answer. Growling in frustration, Summer tried again. Nothing.
"Where is he?" She wondered out loud, pushing the scroll back across the table. John hesitantly took it, though he examined closely rather than placing it in his bag. Abigail looked down at hers like it was going to transform into a viper. When Jack reached over to play with it, she pushed it further away from him without taking it herself.
"This place is ridiculous. Why did you bring us here?" Abigail demanded anxiously, her head on a swivel as she watched people walk by. Summer resisted the urge to run her hand down her face, and took a deep, calming breath.
"The Pinkertons were closing in, there was a dead agent on the ground, you are known to them as members of the Van der Linde gang, I'm pretty sure your son has Tuberculosis, and Arthur asked me to save you." Summer ticked off each reason on her fingers, watching dispassionately as Abby slowly shrunk into herself with each one. John gripped her shoulder reassuringly, then pocketed his scroll. No doubt he'd be exploring it later when they separated. She really needed to return to America soon, though. Already, she could feel eyes on her. Every person they had passed was a potential witness, and her family was only safe as long as her death was assured to the powers that be.
"Here's a map of the city." She pulled it up on Abby's scroll. "There's a clinic just around the corner here. Take this money and pay them with it. I've programmed Arthur's number into both of your scrolls, so when he is finally in a position to answer you he can arrange a meeting. He should be at Shade Academy if he listened to my instructions, but I don't have time to track him down. I have to get back to Lemoyne before someone here recognizes me." She set the stack of lien down in front of the Marston family, and didn't let it leave her sight until John had stowed it all away. Abigail looked miserable and terrified for her son, but John was just pensive. This was a lot to put on a family at once, but what choice did she have? She still had to meet Sadie and Charles and go to Canada, but she had to know that they would be safe.
"Why did he come here and leave us?" John asked, stopping Summer from standing up. "If he got cured, why didn't he come back? Why did he send you?" Summer looked around, on edge, but she owed him an explanation for why his family had been dumped into a strange land with no way back to America.
"Because the people that are after me are very dangerous, and I needed Arthur to take something very important to a friend of mine." She explained vaguely. "A war is coming, and my family will be in the middle of it whether I want them to be or not. I had to even the odds, but as long as everyone here thinks that I'm dead, my daughters will be safe for a time." Abigail's nose scrunched up at that, and she finally looked Summer in the eye for the first time since they sat down.
"How can you do that? Just up and leave your girls behind? What kind of mother are you?" It was a hasty question, born of ignorance and coming from a mother running on adrenaline and fear. But that didn't lessen its sting one bit. Summer relished that pain, however. As long as it hurt as much as it did, then she would forever be better than Raven. She was doing this because she loved her family, not because she abandoned them.
"Because if I go to them, I will have to watch them die." She responded lowly. "And I will bear all the pain in the world before I allow that to happen." Abigail opened her mouth, but whatever comment she had died as she sagged in her seat. Instead of coming up with something else to throw at Summer, she reached over and grabbed Jack's pale little hand, holding onto him for comfort as she considered ever having to make such a choice. Summer stood up with that, and walked purposefully out of the small restaurant they had taken shelter in. The dust whipped up as she turned onto the street, and then she was gone.
John watched her leave, searching for some kind of sign that she was coming back. When nothing happened, he turned and looked at Abigail. She was on the verge of tears, so overwhelmed with the turn of events that had transpired over the past twelve hours. Dutch, Micah being a traitor, the Pinkertons swarming the camp, Jack having TB... it was a lot to take on all at once. Sure, Arthur being alive was a welcome surprise, but the rest of it weighed on her heavily. Jack was too young to be bothered by it, his only real concern being the consistent cough he had like Uncle Arthur.
"Well, we won't get anything done sitting around here." John said resolutely. "Come on, Jack. We gotta get out of here and find Uncle Arthur. But first, we gotta get you well." He grabbed his son's hand and guided him off of his chair. Abigail looked around one last time before she too stood and followed her man out of the restaurant. When they stepped onto the streets of Vacuo, the strange device in John's hand moved along the map with them. It was disorientating at first, but John got the hang of it soon enough. It was like if the map he was looking at rotated depending on the direction he was facing. After traveling in circles a few times, they were finally able to find the little clinic next to some hardware store. It was a quiet, clean little place with a waiting room and a small window. An elderly woman sat on the other side, and she called them over as soon as they walked in.
Forty five minutes later, Jack had been evaluated. The doctor prescribed extensive bed rest and a whole bunch of medication.
"I have no idea how the boy got such an extensive infection such as this, but the desert heat will work as well as the medicine. He should be right as rain in a few weeks." The doctor had said. John had managed to pay attention, if barely. It had been all Abigail could do to ignore the deer antlers sprouting from the man's head. Still, the lien that Summer had given them was enough, although people in Vacuo weren't quite as willing to haggle as they had been in Valentine. When they walked out of the clinic, Abigail clung to John like a drowning woman at sea.
"John, what will we do now? That woman left us, and this place is so strange. And what about Dutch?" John didn't respond at first, thinking back to how they had arrived. He would normally share her concerns, but the way they had gotten to Vacuo was insane. Downright witchcraft, if he was to judge. She'd taken them to some ruins near Beaver Hollow, further up in the mountains near a waterfall. While he and Abigail were watching for intruders, John had heard the rock shift. When he'd turned around to ask what was wrong, Summer was standing in front of a rock gate that had a desert on the other side. It was as if the path walked right through the mountain itself. When they had all stepped through it, the portal had closed. And it was as if they had traveled hundreds of miles in an instant. Even the air had changed; the moist, humid forest on the side of the river had been replaced by a dry and arid heat reminiscent of New Austin.
"I don't think we gotta worry about ol' Dutch. Right now, we need to focus on finding Arthur and figuring out how to get out of here." He looked down at his young son, who was too busy watching all the strange and colorful people walk by. "As long as we're here, Jack's gonna get better. Until we know he's okay, we should probably find some work around here." John's eyes surveyed the dusty town around them, searching for any leads. Nothing sprang to mind at first, especially with all this crazy 'technology' Summer had told them about. Maybe he could work in the warehouses near the edge of town, or maybe even...wait.
John stepped away from Abigail and Jack to get a better view, not believing his own eyes. The figure stepped around the corner before he could do anything else, and John took off after it. He shoved complaining people out of his way, desperate to prove to himself that he hadn't seen it, that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. When he rounded the corner, all he found was a brick wall and a dark alley. Abby and Jack ran up behind him, his sun clinging to his pants.
"What was it, John? What did you see?" Abigail asked worriedly, fearful that their rescue had not been as clean as it first seemed. John stared into the alley for a long time, then finally shook his head.
"It was nothing." He reassured her, and patted little Jack on the head. "Just my head being funny." As he walked away and led his family toward the warehouse district, John nodded and affirmed himself. Sean MacGuire was gone, shot in the head and buried outside of Rhodes. And when he was alive, he definitely didn't have a glowing red eye.
A/N: Sorry for the delay. The one hundred and fifty year old courthouse I usually guard burned down this past week, so there was a lot of overtime spent in keeping the site secure. A real loss, one of the oldest buildings in the county. 1872 – 2019. Still, we're moving right along, and I'll hopefully have the next chapter out faster than this one. Saw Avengers too. Excellent movie.