Better Not Look Down - Red Dead Redemption II

Part 4 - I don't know, I just woke up here. I got lucky?

Not just physically, but something about the way he slept. He was on his side and nearly curled up in a ball, almost childlike. Yet he had several guns around his waist. It was an enigma to Javi that he wished to solve if given the chance, though he wondered if maybe he was just a pretty face without much else to admire.

Often good-looking people could be kind of daft, not all of them, but a good amount. It was a certain kind of pretty that seemed to invoke a sort of hollowness within someone, he didn't know if he had that or the other kind of pretty. The kind that was not bragged upon and worshipped.

A bird flew by his head, he looked at it and back to the man, and Javi realized how long he had been staring at the blonde unknown for. He hoped nobody had noticed his wandering eye. But as he worried about saving face, he quickly asked himself why he cared what the people around him thought. What was the plan? Was he to join the gang now, or would they just slap him on the ass and kick him to the trail?

Javi walked over to the far end of camp, taking a pained seat on the edge of the cliff. It overhung the valley untitled to him, and cutting through in the dip was a long wavy length of river. Trees were all around, he saw folks far down below on the trails, horses roaming, and a few deer prancing around. The clouds rolled by as he tried to relax for once in his life. Javi wondered what the clouds felt like, were they soft? Could he stand on one? He knew they were likely just gaseous, but he could always dream. To run amongst the clouds, to be above it all, it sounded beautiful.

That same group of girls were giggling closer as he pondered, Javi found them staring at him. He immediately shot them a dirty look, which did not cease their incessant giggling, but it did make them avert their gazes.

"What's yer name Spaniard?" a man spoke from behind Javi with a heavy Irish accent, the so-called 'Spaniard' glanced over his non-shot shoulder to see a ginger. The man sat down beside Javi with a grunt. The man was clean-shaven like himself, though the man had a pretty decent shadow going on. "Sean MacGuire," the ginger introduced himself with a hand, one he shook just a bit too hard. He was quite peppy.

Javi thought: I think he's quite good-looking too but in a much less masculine way than the blonde man. What makes someone attractive I wonder? Can someone even be attractive if attractiveness is entirely subjective to each and every person? I think that the blonde man's handsome, but there are certainly folks who would disagree. We all have preferences, but are any of them more acceptable than others? What if someone is attracted to bad breath or something? Some people like men with hair down to their shoulders, some like them bald. It's all objective. So it's strange I feel hesitant to admit I find this Irishman—he's hardly a man, younger than me for sure— attractive when nobody can really say he is or isn't attractive for absolute certain. Right?

"Javi, well actually José Javi Inez Garcia but that's a mouthful," Javi added.
"Wait a minute, I know ya. We met on that cliff, remember? Who roughed you up?" Sean asked.
"Oh yeah, I remember you... I was running from some lawmen and got hit. I guess I should be happy I ain't dead because a couple of them sure are."
"Good. Serves 'em right. You a wanted man then?"
"Shouldn't be. They think I killed my father so I've been on the run for a while now, just running and hiding over and over again. My bounty ain't even all that big, I'd be able to pay it with a job but unsurprisingly most folks don't want to hire a colored man for any honest work."

Javi almost admitted how big of a price he has on his head. But he stopped himself just barely, he couldn't tell anyone how much money was on his damn head. These folks would most definitely turn the newcomer in for the money, he knew he'd turn him in if he were in Sean's shoes.

The Irish man inquired further with gumption, "How'd you end up wit' us?"
"I dunno, I just woke up here. I got lucky?"
"Lucky ain't quite the word I'd use, but this ol' camp ain't all that bad," Sean then looked behind them and waved a hand across the place like he was trying to sell the place. "You think yer gonna join our little circus, Garcia?"
"Join you? For clarification, this was a gang ain't it?"
"Most definitely," Sean said bluntly. Javi appreciated the honesty.

"What makes you so sure he can join? No offense, but you don't seem like the leader here."
"Some taken. I ain't the leader but I know the only time we let a fella stay longer than the night is 'cause one of the founding fathers liked ya."
"Founding fathers?"
"Them two, right over yonder."

Javi followed the pointed finger toward two men in the center of the camp under the biggest tent. One was a skinny old grey-haired man, the other a big-head poker player type. He had gold rings, a chain, and a cigar. He looked incredibly out of place with the others.
"I think the older one is the guy who helped me."
"Yeah, that's Hosea. The other's Dutch. Between you and me, Dutch's a bit of a loon. But he certainly has some charisma."

The brunette sighed, "So if I do join, what does that entail? I mean, what would I be doing?"
"You'll get a tent and you'll be livin' with us. We ain't got much we needa do besides earnin' your keep. The hardest part is not having one of these grumpy old bastards on your tail."

Am I really considering this? Should I join these folks? I never thought I'd be a gang member, but what other options do I have? I can't go into town anywhere, I don't have anywhere to sleep, I don't even have a friend. I like Sadie. It'd be nice to have family around for once, and this Sean seems like he'd be a good—if exhausting—friend to have around.

"You uh, got any tips on how to survive if I do join?"
"Ya see that feller right there? The pretty-faced blonde one?" Sean pointed to the handsome man with a finger Javi noticed was missing its nail. It was scabbed over and about halfway grown back.
"Mmm hmm."
"He's one grumpy bastard but I know he's got a heart, but you won't see 'at heart if you get on his bad side. You'll see death itself."
"What's his name?"
"Arthur."