Chapter Text
Strawberry really was a beautiful town.
The small tourist town stood between a freshwater river and the West Grizzlies Mountains. The snow-capped background and ambience from the flowing water made it an excellent location. Arthur would have found the place perfect if not for the lack of a saloon and abundance of rich tourists. The West was meant to be wild and free, not some gaudy toy for people unfit for it. Arthur could save his praises and criticisms of the small mountain town for another day, though; he had a foolish errand to get done with.
When Lenny came running back to their camp at Horseshoe, panting and anxious about Micah’s arrest, Arthur was satisfied to leave him like that. For too long Micah had been a migraine for Arthur; the man was hellbent on making an enemy of Arthur and half the gang. When he wasn’t in their Dutch’s, their leader, ear with terrible ideas like that ferry job in Blackwater, Micah was harassing the women at camp or picking fights with the non-white men. The ferry job was a disaster, forcing them into the mountains where he burned down that poor widow Mrs. Adler’s home. He had half of mind to kill the fool for the perverted look Micah gave her that night.
But he had saved Dutch’s life, some six months ago, and Arthur had some appreciation for that.
So there Arthur was, standing tall and wearing his best clothes to look distinguished in a town of snobs. He wore a jet black vest complimented by a light blue dress shirt. Arthur’s look was accompanied by a custom-made jacket made from bison and lined with the fur of a grizzly bear. Arthur had dark grey jeans and black boots on. Gone was his worn gamblers hat with an old rope band and replaced with a black wide-brimmed stalker hat with a dark blue embroidered band.
Arthur spotted Micah’s horse, Baylock, hitched a ways off from the
Sheriff’s office. He was a Missouri fox trotter with a black coat and a white face. He wasn’t too different from Arthur’s horse, Hannibal. Arthur’s horse was a massive shire, however, and the white on Baylock’s face made it resemble a skull.
“Hey, boah,” Arthur drawled as he rode into town, “Where’s your idiot at?”
As if the horse could understand him, Baylock turned his head to the general direction of the county jail. That earned a dry chuckle from Arthur as he dismounted his own horse and hitched Hannibal by Baylock.
“You two just rest here a minute,” Arthur ordered as he pet Hannibal and gave Baylock a carrot. Who knew how long it had been since the stallion last ate?
Arthur walked up the street and to the jail. It was around noon and the town would have been bustling more had it not been raining. The streets were muddy and the air was frigid. Though it was still preferable to the weeks Arthur and the gang spent in Colter.
It was a simple building crafted from sturdy wood. The word ‘jail’ was spelled out in bold letters at the front. Arthur took a minute to pull his hair behind his head before walking inside.
“Let’s get this over with,” Arthur thought as he met eyes with the Sheriff of Strawberry.
The Sheriff was an older man with white hair and a bushy mustache. He wore a beige colored hat and matching jacket. He had been reviewing papers at his desk when he came in. He asked, “Can I help you?”
Arthur held his hat by his chest as he cleared his throat, “Uh, forgive me, sir, but I believe an associate of mine was arrested here. Blonde hair, horseshoe mustache, looked to be in his mid-thirties.”
“We got someone fittin’ that description, yeah,” the Sheriff said, his voice bitter, “Got into a fight with some folk. Got a man killed.”
Arthur tried not to pinch the bridge of his nose. Lenny had told him about Micah killing a man. Perhaps Hosea’s training would come in handy.
“Well I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Mitchell Connor's his name,” Arthur explained, “He’s an associate of Leviticus Cornwall I was sent to retrieve him.”
The Sheriff huffed, dry and humorless, “He could be the goddamn Prince of Egypt and I'd not care. That fool and the dumb mick he was with with are set to swing tomorrow. Stick around to give your report to Cornwall if you please.”
Arthur sighed inward. He had a feeling it would go this way. The outlaw debated reaching for his volcanic pistol or the cash in his satchel. Arthur wasn’t in the mood for a shootout and he did have a couple hundred in his bag.
“Perhaps this’ll change yer mind,” Arthur said as he pulled out about fifty dollars, a friendly smile on his face.
The Sheriff was losing his patience, Arthur realized, as the man stood and barked, “You are pushing your luck, boy. If I were you, I’d stop making a fool of myself before you get tried for aiding and abetting a killer.”
Arthur put the money away as he eyed the Sheriff critically, then he glanced at the two deputies behind himself. Their faces were stern and they looked ready for a fight.
“Good day, gentlemen,” Arthur said carefully before exiting.
Now outside, Arthur began to ponder his next options when he heard a voice, arrogant and sickly.
Micah.
“Let me outta here you maggots!”
Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at Micah’s pained shout as he made his way to the left side of the building. He spotted Micah grasping at the bars of his basement cell’s window.
“Well hello, old friend!” Arthur chirped as he put his hat back on.
Micah had a couple bruises and a swollen black eye. His black jacket was gone, leaving him with a dirty red shirt and beige pants.
"Arthur, that you?” Micah asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Fraid so,” Arthur remarked.
“You here to get me out?” Micah assumed hopefully.
“I ain’t decided yet,” Arthur sneered.
“Very funny,” Micah scoffed.
“Oh I ain’t jokin’, cowpoke,” Arthur mocked as he knelt down to look him in the eye, “I heard so much bluster outta your mouth these past six months, and now I’ve gotta perfect chance to be ridda’ you.”
"I always looked up to you, Arthur,’ Micah said with feigned hurt.
“Well that’s your first mistake,” Arthur said, standing up.
“Well you gotta do something,” Micah half-pleaded, half-hissed.
The rain was beginning to come down harder as lighting cracked and thunder boomed.
“I might have an idea, stand back,” Arthur commanded as he planted a stick of dynamite on the bars.”
“Ohoho, I like your thinking, Morgan,” Micah said with a grin as he obliged.
Arthur stood back as well, drawing his black volcanic pistol with golden engravings and aimed at the dynamite. Time seemed to slow as lightning struck once more. Arthur allowed the air to leave his lungs as the world turned to a dull, copper shade.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5…
BOOM!
The left wall to the jail exploded in a glorious ball of fire as thunder clapped in the background. Micah emerged from the smoke cloud, a grateful grin plastered on your face.
“Thanks Morgan, gimme a gun!”
Arthur handed Micah his spare cattleman as a man in black with a green neckerchief appeared from the smoke as well.
“Thanks,” Micah said. And then he blew out the other man’s brains!
“The Hell was that for?” Arthur hissed.
“He was an O’Driscoll,” Micah said casually as the door to the jail burst open, “Get down!”
They didn’t duck fast enough, as the Sheriff snarled at Arthur, “I knew you were trouble!”
“Shit,” Arthur muttered as the Sheriff and his deputies opened fire at the rock he and Micah were hiding behind. Lightning struck once more, and Arthur dropped the trio right before thunder roared again.
“Good work Morgan!” Micah said as he ran to the bridge by the jail.
Away from their horses.
“The Hell you goin’? Horses’re the other way!” Arthur called out as he put down two lawmen on an incoming wagon.
“I got unfinished business here, cowpoke!” Micah shouted as he made his way to the middle of the bridge, covering it in lawmen’s blood.
“Shoulda left you to swing,” Arthur thought grimly as he hid behind some crates on the bridge with Micah. A wagon of lawmen rolled up behind them as a squad aimed from the front, “We’re pinned in!”
“You shoot behind, I’ll clear out the front!” Micah suggested as he opened fire at the front, killing another two.
There were six men coming up behind them. Arthur brought down three as lightning illuminated the battlefield. The final man hid the ground with a splash when the thunder caught up. Micah took this opportunity to move up, shouting, “C’mon, Morgan!”
“We should be long gone by now!” Arthur shouted as he reloaded his pistol.
“Like I said, unfinished business.”
They made their way across town, downing at least fifteen men in the process. So many unnecessary deaths for seemingly nothing. The gang had been sloppy, sure. They had taken innocent lives before, they’re pursuit of fortune blinding them.
This was different though. Dutch had taught his men not to find themselves in these predicaments. Even Bill Williamson abided by that rule. This wasn’t the work of a van der Linde.
This was an O’Driscoll’s calling card.
“Over here!” Micah said as they came to a stop by the hills. In front of them were a couple of houses. The closest one had four elk skulls hanging from the porch’s beams.
“We need to go,” Arthur insisted as he looked around for any other lawmen.
“Calm yourself, woman; we’ll be gone in a minute,” Micah mocked as he banged on the door, “Skinny! Get out here!”
This continued for a moment before a balding man opened the door slightly.
“It’s Norman, Micah, and I got nothin’ to say to-” the man, Norman, said before Micah pulled him in and shot him in the gut. He bled out not long after.
“What is this fool’s problem?” Arthur thought, missing so much context.
“Excuse me a minute, Arthur,” Micah said as he entered the house. It was silent for another moment before Micah said, “Hello Maddie, did you miss me?”
Arthur heard a horrified whale as the windows lit up from gunfire. Arthur saw a woman, Maddie, fall lifelessly in that moment.
Micah emerged from the house, brandishing his twin double-action revolvers, “They had something of mine. I showed him, and I'll show the rest of this town!”
And so Micah went back into the warzone, killing men defending themselves with unyielding ferocity.
“You have really lost it this time,” Arthur snarled as they circled back around to their horses.
“Let’s go, Arthur!” Micah said as he mounted Baylock and rode off.
“Stop saying my name!” Arthur called after as he rode off on Hannibal. It probably didn’t matter, though, as any survivors were either not in town or hunkered down in their homes.
Arthur contemplated that fact with no satisfaction as he and Micah made their escape. They brought down a couple more pursuers before finally feeling safe.
“Mighty fine shooting back there, Morgan, I must say,” Micah beamed as they came to a stop.
“What the Hell was that back there?” Arthur snapped, “Making a house call, in the middle of all that!”
“Bastard had my guns, was gonna let me hang,”
‘I’m starting to wish I had, Goddamn maniac!” Arthur spat.
“Wasn’t about to let that business go,” Micah countered, not backing down.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Blackwater is in spittin’ distance!” Arthur said, “Who was that feller?”
“Skinny? Was a guy I did a bank job with down south; didn’t end well.”
“I saw how it Goddamn ended,” Arthur replied, “You wanna pull shit like that, pack your bags ‘n run with Colm O’Driscoll!:
“Look, it was a bad situation, but I’ll make it up to you,” Micah said coolly.
“You owe Lenny too, if he hadn’t come 'n warned us in time-”
“Yes, yes. You will all be thanked profusely, but for now,” Micah said before reaching into his saddlebag, “I’m giving you a holster, as a sign of thanks.”
Arthur took the holster wordlessly.
“I know we don’t always see eye to eye, Arthur, but we’re family now,” Micah said as he turned around, “Sons of Dutch, makes us brothers, and sometimes brothers make mistakes.
“You comin’ back to camp?” Arthur asked without a lick of concern.
“Ooh no, I’ve been a bad boy, Arthur. Gotta find a way to make it up to Dutch. Come find me at my camp by Strawberry; we'll see if I can make it up to you too,” Micah said before riding off.
"Goddamn snake," Arthur hissed before fleeing the scene.