Arthur Morgan's Journal rdr2

Shady Belle

Met a weird fella - wants 100 gallons of moonshine. For love? Never heard such nonsense in all my life, and I know some talkers of nonsense. Guess I'll go ask that clerk - Alden? Trelawny's disappointed friend - if maybe he knows a way of finding it, as I think there's money in this.

Took the shine to the fella in Saint Denis. A professor no less. Andrew something or other. He's built an electric chair as a kind way of killing folk as needs killing. Oh, the irony of it all. Even more ironic, me so tough and him so weak and I never got paid.

My lord, now I have done everything. I went to a ball, like a fool in a fairy tale. The mayor of Saint Denis. Dutch got us invited by old Señor Bronte and off we trooped, trussed up like turkeys for Thanksgiving and waxed and polished and primped to within an inch of our lives. Bronte did not mingle with the other guests but lorded over the place like a Roman Emperor deciding who to have killed for his fun.
Place was full of drunks, lunatics, liars and clowns. But the thing was kind of fun. Managed to not get into too much trouble and may have some business opportunities on account of enquiries there. We shall see, I guess. Seeing Bill dressed up like an ambassador and awkward as a school girl was one of the funniest moments of my life. Met Evelyn Miller, the writer, which was amazing for Dutch. Met the mayor.
Dutch and Hosea seem to think this dump is a world of possibilities. They want to look into the bank and some other business opportunities. We shall see. As long as we can keep ahead of the Pinkertons and Mr. Cornwall and the rest of them for a while, maybe we shall be okay.

Saw Mary and the awful Daddy, who has taken to drink, which unsurprisingly ain't improved him a whole lot. What a foul pig he is. Taken to hawking off family heirlooms and cursing the world for it. Still a stuck up son of a bitch.
Now Mr. Linton has passed away, I wonder what he wants for his daughter? Funny thing is, I love her and yet am a bad lot.
Old Daddy is a good, upright man and yet he treats his daughter like a possession to be mistreated and abused as he sees fit.

Strange creatures, men.
I don't know.

All I know is that I love her and she both loves and detests me. It never worked before and it won't ever work now, yet it gnaws at me, the idea of it gnaws at me like a sickness. I've got to give all that nonsense up. I'm an outlaw, a murderer, a man with a code different to ordinary folk, and Mary ain't never going to be for my world.

We went to a Vaudeville show in town.

Dancing from France. Quite a business. What is wrong with me? Do I really think I can retire someplace nice and live a normal life with a wife? Am I a big enough dolt to believe that is possible?

Met this fella, Algernon Wasp. Not sure how to describe him, but I won't forget him anyway. I could not do him justice. Different kind of fella. But he says he'll pay good money for assorted feathers and eggs and whatnot for his creations for various rich women. Gave me a list of things he wants.

If I want to get paid for this nonsense, I got to find a bounty - name of Wilson J. McDaniels - so he can be humanely disposed of, at enormous cost to everybody, as opposed to shot in the head, like I would do. Still ain't been paid for this.

Went to see the professor at his lab. He had built a sort of mechanical son. He seemed to think it was amazing but we could not get the thing to work properly. I was not half as impressed with him as he was with himself.

Took McDaniels in, and watched him fry. Weren't very nice. Weren't very humane. The professor got upset, and got involved before possibly killing himself with electricity. And I never got paid. If they catch me, I pray they hang me. That chair is the work of the devil.

I went to an art gallery. Seems fine and fancy living ain't quite so different from life in the wilderness, robbing stage coaches. Was an exhibition of paintings by the artist I met a couple of times, Charles something or other. French fella. Seems he'd been doing more than painting his models. Their husbands weren't so keen on the liberties he'd been taking with his subject matter. Whole thing descended into a brawl. Had to help him escape.