Chapter Text
Arthur sat by the campfire, drinking whiskey, it had been a long day and he was exhausted. Javier was nearby and playing his guitar, having the women around him listening to the music. Arthur sighed then took a sip of his whiskey, just looking at the fire, no thoughts behind those eyes. He managed to stay awake for two days and he hadn’t been able to rest until now. He rubbed his eyes, thinking about how he needed to get out of camp for once and perhaps go fishing or draw a perfect and beautiful view. He gulped down his whiskey before putting down the bottle, wiping his mouth with his arm. He looked at the people surrounding him and they were simply drinking and listening to the music; as much as he loved to listen, there were things that he needed to do. Getting up from the log with a grunt, Arthur said goodnight to the gang members and went to his wagon, wanting to get a good amount of sleep. He sighed as the author is tired of not writing this fanfic very well. He takes off his hat, putting it on one of the crates he used as a table and sits on his bed, a sigh leaving his lips, rubbing his face. The outlaw was truly tired, incapable of doing things due to his weakened energy, feeling numb all over his body in a way. The man simply lied himself in his bed, looking up to the cloth that’s covering his space. Arthur didn’t even bother taking off his boots and clothes, not wishing to do anything at the moment; he grabbed his blanket, covering his own body and closed his eyes, the sound of fire and Javier’s guitar in the distance slowly lulling him to sleep.
Arthur wakes up to the sound of the birds chirping. The man’s eyelids fluttered, slowly gaining his awareness of his surroundings. He groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning, stretching his body as it aches from the hard work that he’s done. He got out of his bed, deciding to wash his face and change into a pair of clean clothes. The gang hadn’t woken up and it was only Arthur who’s starting his day but he hoped to speak to his father figure, Dutch. Could he call him his father figure? Their gang leader and the older man had raised him to be the man that he is now. They took him under their wing ; they taught him how to write, read, sketch and all the other things that were needed to know for survival. Arthur did his morning routine and sat on his bed, opened his journal and decided to sketch while he waited for the gang to wake up. The outlaw coughed as his pencil started doing its thing as he sketches on his journal, letting muscle memory do its course. Arthur wonders why author doesn’t have a fucking way with words, he didn’t let it bother him and kept sketching. However, he thinks of Mary, his former lover. The two of them planned to marry each other and live their life the way they wanted, but Mary's family were aware of Arthur's lifestyle and did not approve of their relationship. Even if Mary’s decision was hurtful, Arthur didn’t have a choice but respect it. Thinking about her made Arthur’s chest tight, closing his eyes for a moment; but the cold air sent him into a coughing fit, it can be heard around the camp. As soon as the coughing died down, the author had a writer’s block and went to sleep for a few hours, waking up to start on this story again which made Arthur put down his journal for a moment, letting himself relax and calm down.
Waiting for what felt like hours, the gang woke up and started their day by doing their routine and Arthur saw one of his father figures finally awake. Arthur got up and approached Hosea, clearly nervous to tell him. Surely the old man would understand Arthur's desire for a break. The man had recently fought a battle against tuberculosis, nearly killing him, but Arthur's spirit was far too stubborn and strong for the disease, defeating the damned disease. Arthur cleared his throat, catching Hosea’s attention. The man looked up from his book and smiled, seeing that it was arthur. “Ah, Arthur! G’mornin to you, son. How’d you sleep?” He asked, closing his book before putting it on the table.
“I slept just fine.” Arthur spoke in a soft tone, looking at the old man with a soft smile. “.. hey,’sea. I was wondering if I could take a break today? I ain’t been feelin’ so good–” Hosea cuts him off with a chuckle. The younger outlaw blinked, feeling confused at the older man’s behaviour. He looked away, his hand on the back of his neck and before he could open his mouth to speak, Hosea beat him to it. The older man faced him, tilting his head and sighed, straightening his back with a wince.
“Son, you don’t need to ask. Hell, you survived fighting the damn disease, we ain’t expecting you to pull your weight around the camp right away. Go wherever you want to go, my son.. Or stay here and take a break– it’s your decision.” Hosea encouraged the man, which made Arthur feel a little bit better. He felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders; he looked at Hosea and nodded. “Alright. I’ll get out of camp for a while.”
“Be careful, arthur.” the old man remarked, giving him a faint smile. “I’ll tell Dutch what you’re doin’.”
Arthur nodded and walked away, feeling fortunate to finally get the break he wanted. Though it was true he didn’t need to pull his weight around the camp, Arthur didn’t want to feel like a burden to his family. The outlaw walked back to his wagon, getting his hat and bag, shoving his journal in it before mounting on his horse and getting out of camp once and for all.