Snake Skin | John Marston

American Freedom

After a few days on the run again, Y/N was convinced that she would never see those fools again.

It was bright daytime, the sun was burning holes in the back of her head. A hat would have been reasonable, but those usually got lost or ruined during shootings, so it was no use.

Y/N rode her black stallion all the way to Dewberry Creek, which in her opinion was a fine stop to collect herself. The woman stopped in a plain region near the creek and hopped off her horse. She pulled out a big map and located exactly where she was at that moment. She marked that area with a pencil and proceeded to search for the area where supposedly Charles and his buddy John set up camp. She marked the area where they met and set up crosses all over the radius.

"That is where we ain't goin', boy," she spoke to her stallion, who simply paid no attention to her.

To her surprise, she heard a gunshot, followed by another one. She sighed as she drew her weapon out, instantly cocking it as if it was a bad habit, and slowly and carefully followed the gunshots. After a minute or two of walking, the gunshots became louder, meaning the shooter was close. Y/N assumed it was just one person because the shots were regular. An old, completely rundown shack came into her view with a huge oil wagon right beside it. It didn't take long for the girl to notice the culprit of the gunshots.

He had ginger hair and wore slightly torn rags.

She raised her weapon at the man, coming closer and closer. But he was so into shooting the bottles that he didn't notice her at all.

"Hey! Hey! Goddamn, what is going on?!" suddenly a man appeared from behind the oil wagon, saddled up on a horse. Y/N noticed him instantly and pointed her revolver his way. He immediately pointed his gun at Y/N, leaving the ginger man in complete confusion.

Y/N recognized the man. He was once again wearing that blue blouse.
It was the man from the bar.

Y/N kept her gun up, "How's Lenny?"

"Lenny? He's fine. Just fine. Why don't you put that gun down?" the man said, calmly.

"A-Arthur, what is going on?" the other fella questioned, backing up casually.

"You put the gun down, pretty boy," Y/N spoke, jabbing the gun in the air.

"Pretty boy? Pretty boy? Are you serious, woman?" Arthur exclaimed with the most disappointed tone ever.

"Ha! Pretty boy Arthur!" the other man exclaimed, humored.
The thick Irish accent made Y/N smirk.
Y/N pointed the revolver at the Irishman and he gulped, raising his hands quickly, "Ain't no need for that! Shoot Arthur instead, lass!"

Y/N burst out laughing, bending over just enough to touch her knees. Both men watched her in awe. Did she forget she was at gunpoint?

"I'm sorry." she wiped her eye with her pinky finger. "It's just, eh, why does this moron talk like that?"

"Watch out, he might shoot you," Arthur warned the girl as he got off his horse, snickering a bit.

"You're a real fuckin' funny shit, Arthur Morgan. Real fuckin' funny," the Irishman spoke, clearly feeling targeted.

"Calm down," Arthur said.

"You better sleep with your eyes open,"

"You gonna sleep with your brain blown open," Arthur came closer to the other man," if you ain't careful, boy,"

The Irish chuckled, "I love ya', Arthur Morgan,"

"Aw, how cute," Y/N interrupted them. The two men completely ignored her remarks.