Playing Dangerous ↠ ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

chapter 7; flipside

'Are you gonna hurt me now?
Or are you gonna hurt me later?'

-

Fuelled by anger, you pushed the horses on forcefully back to camp. You didn't want to risk the chance of Micah being able to catch up with you.

The two heavy-weighs whinnied loudly as they charged back towards camp; yet still at a pace steady enough it would not cause any damage or risk to the wagon. Your hands gripped tightly to the long leather reins, white knuckled. Your jaw was tensed the whole way home, your entire system riddled with disgust and contempt.

You had a bone to pick with Sean MacGuire too.

Sun beating it's hot and heavy rays down upon the unforgiving landscape, you were glad to meet the cool relief of the forest shade when making your way up the final stretch to Horseshoe Overlook.

Among the constant knocking and rumbling of the wagon's movement, you heard a familiar voice call out to you, demanding to know who was there. It was none other than John Marston, but you were too angry to respond – as you guided the two horses through the other side of the forest and into the tree-encircled area of the camp.

"Ah- she's back!" Pearson's voice called, and the portly man strode his way over to the wagon where you were quickly dismounting from it's seat. After the intense ride back, you were overly hot, bothered and severely angered by what had just happened back in Valentine.

"Nice of you to just wander off like that, MacGuire." You snapped, the worn wooden steps of the wagon creaking under foot- before your white kid-boots hit the grassy ground beneath you. Sean gazed around in nonchalant confusion, acting as if he knew nothing of what was going on.

"I thought you didn't need me?" he replied back, Irish tones ringing with innocence. The sound merely made you scoff, and your inner self decided it best to just get on with sorting the horses, lest you get really pissed off and say something you might regret.

The conversation had drawn Arthur out from by the cliff's edge, where he had been quietly sketching in his journal. The gunslinger closed the leather bound book, slipping it into his satchel – as he reached the inner space of the camp; and could immediately sense the hostility and tension radiating.

Your stout manner had rather pissed Sean off, he didn't like to feel as if he had done something wrong – ever. The man was always out to prove himself, and you assumed that must've come from this gang mentality.

"You know, (name)," Sean had been saying, chewing annoyingly loudly on an apple, "I ain't my job to be your chaperone. I don't know why you've got your drawers in a twist-" you managed to make out behind the sloppy chewing sounds that just further aggravated you.

Quietly observing, Arthur had now come to realise what had happened. Sean had not really done what was asked of him... and already, Arthur's pallid blue eyes were searching around nearby for Micah, the man he had been so worried about you being left alone with.... But he was nowhere to be seen.

A guttural growl escaped you suddenly, and you lashed around, haughtily removing the heavy leather neck piece from around the Belguim Draft's thick neck. Your arms slung it over the nearest post, and in every movement your anger and frustration was clearly represented.

"I know you are not my chaperone, Sean." You started defensively, "But when I'm in he company of that... slimy bastard-" you snapped, referring to Micah, "You might understand that I do not wish to be left on my own."

You hadn't really realised it, but as you had been gesturing your hands to enforce your anger, you had become shaky, and salted tears had become to brim at your glassy eyes. Everyone was now looking intently at you, growing concern on their faces.