Chapter Text
Arthur hated Valentine just as much as the last person, flooding with shit smelling pig pens and rednecks with more twang than even him. But what he hated most of all was how he was looking for work there. Actively looking to work with the shit smelling rednecks, make money from assholes who don't deserve money in the first place.
No — that was mean. Then again who wouldn't be after the mess that was Colter. His bones still ached from the cold and eyes still stung for the unshed tears. Two people dead, blood caused by a massacre on his hands, brother torn apart by wolves, gang broker than a deadman, and now stuck in a livestock town of hell.
Arthur waded through the busy streets, boots absolutely caked in mud, even his horse looked brown by the short trot to the stable. He was a black horse.
“Excuse me, sorry sir…” He muttered, almost making a worker topple over, though the giant board slung over the other man's shoulders was more at fault for that.
Arthur scanned the buildings, mentally racking his brain to determine which job would be the least torturing to do. The only good thing about this was the warmth of the sun, rays brushing his skin…and heating up the already stinky manure to make it reek. Half assed greetings were called out by the locals, the town was too full to be dead, but too empty to make money solely off being an errand boy like he did before. That and crime was off the table – for now. So legal employment it was.
┍━━━━━━━━╝✹╚━━━━━━━━┑
Before he knew it, he had looped all around town. Lost in thought. And still jobless.
Arthur glanced around the auction yard to take it all in. The heads of the animals flooded the pens, moving in sync like waves of the sea. The idea of going to loop all the way back was an unpleasant one, feet staying firmly in the mud as his mind wandered again…wishing he stayed at camp, wondering what was for lunch if he had stayed, how he would draw this scene, absorbing the oddly loud bleats of goats… was the noise getting closer?
Soft fur brushed against his jeans, snapping him back to reality. He felt a sudden wave of bodies pressing against his legs as they almost beckoned him to follow the flow. He was completely surrounded by a herd of goats.
“Sorry, trying to get them to their pen.” A softer voice spoke out, gesturing to the gate beside him.
The source was a girl, a young one at that, black dress battered and visibly stitched, mud caked onto her. Not that he was one to talk in his current state – but she looked rough.
“You weren't even going to warn me?” Arthur mused. He was trying to not get mad, she didn't look a day over, – what, – ten years old?
The girl scoffed, adjusting the scarf around her head as her frazzled bangs split from the top, “You gotta be real outta’ your mind to not notice a herd of goats heading your way mister.”
Yeah, fuck not being upset. She was right, but fuck it.
“Damn you got a sharp mouth, huh?” Arthur managed to find an opening in the sea of goats, stepping to meet her halfway.
“Likewise.”
A short snicker escaped him, “These your goats?”
Somehow that question managed to stump her, tilting the straw madhalla on her head over her eyes.
“I'm just the herder, sir.” The herder's voice was unsure, though a small smirk crawled back onto her features as she patted his side, “Not that you’d remember that.”
“Fuck off.” In retrospect, he shouldn't have said that to a kid, but she sure was an annoying one.
“Gladly.” The flood of goats finally reached their pen, and the girl finally scurried away.
With a heavy sigh, Arthur trudged forward, feet heavy in the mud, awful sun beat down on him. Time to go around the block, again–
“That girl stole your belt.”
Arthur had never whipped his head around faster,
“Excuse me??”
“You heard me, the herder girl stole your belt.” The man, who actually looked like a farmer, pointed to himself, “These are my sheep, the girl just steals crap from the people auctioning. She stole your bag too, a street rat she is, though shes oddly good at herding sheep—”
Arthur cut him off, “Why didn't you say that in the first place??” already barreling in the direction of the girl.
She couldnt be too hard to catch — right?
┍━━━━━━━━╝✹╚━━━━━━━━┑
He could part ways with his gun belt, the provisions and bullets were not his problem, and his jeans only had a slight chance of falling down. But his bag? With the financial state of the gang? He could not afford to lose all of that cash.
Arthur could see the black dot that was the herder girl in the distance, a dot that was much faster than him and already disappearing into the horizon. His old bones ran far slower than a young child of skin and bones.
“Get back here!” He yelled breathlessly, somehow forcing himself to move fast enough to catch up…then immediately watching as she disappeared down an alley.
The backstreets had twists and turns between houses he couldn't grasp, if it wasn't for the mud he hated so much, he would have lost her footprints ages ago. The wind passing by him as he ran made his ears pop, the magic of adrenaline fading making his head feel light. But right before he was about to give up the cause, he saw her .
Stuck on a dead end — thank god.
The herder girl pressed her back to the brick wall like she wanted to melt into it, that snark she had fading to fear. And fear faded to violence.
He just barely managed to tackle the gun out of her hands before she shot him dead, squirming under his weight as hasty hands disarmed her. After Arthur threw the abundance of firearms she had on her person into the mud he carefully pickled up by the back of her collar, other hand on his hollister,
Arthur took a second, catching his breath, “I aint gonna hurt you. Just…hand over the stuff. Please .” He didn't know why he was being nice…well, he did. He just didn't like to think about why he was.
By the time he had her under control the fear had passed from her gaze, just a frown and furrowed brows, looking away from him as she held the bag and belt behind her back.
“Cough it up kid.”
“I need it more than you.” She snapped.
Arthur was getting fed up, “You ain't even know me. Give. It. Back.”
The girl opened her mouth to speak, another bratty comeback he had prepared himself for, but a shout cut her off.
“Fariha get over here!”
That sure got her attention.
Suddenly that fear that faded so fast came back, but this time she looked terrified . It didn't go away like when she realized he wouldn't hurt her — no. This girl, presumably Fariha, seemed to know whoever called out didn't have the same hospitality.
Fariha squirmed out of his grasp, collapsing on the ground in a panting heap, scurrying out of the alley like a rat. On one hand, she had finally dropped his stuff. Yet after all that…he felt…bad. Sacred maybe? She obviously wasn't okay, starving out in the muddy streets, now getting chased around by someone she was even more obviously horrified by the mere voice of.
What if that was Jack? What if that was Tilly?
What if that was Issac?
“Arthur…you fool …” He murmured to himself, forcing himself to chase after her. He was exhausted from running, legs burning with each step, yet he kept running with bated breath.
Arthur was greeted with the sight of a church volunteer clutching a gun instead of a cross, an angry sort of face you'd see before getting beat to a pulp plastered on his own features. And of course, a beat up kid at the end of the barrel.
“You can’t be stealing food from the church Fariha!” The man shouted, face flush with anger,
“I wasn't stealing! It was one cookie from the food pantry!”
He scoffed, “Yeah well that's for people in need. You're just — just a dirty jew! Faking your hurt for sympathy!”
Well that escalated quickly .
With a huff, Arthur jogged over in front of Fariha.
“What—” before the volunteer could answer, “Wait…” Arthur held up a finger for him to pause and doubled over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“What in god's name are you doing?”
“Hey!” the man snapped, “don't use the lord's name in vain!”
“I— what?” Arthur dismissed his words with a wave, “Never mind, why are you trying to shoot kids in the middle of the goddamn day? My condolences if she stole from you, but that's extreme.”
“This is none of your business!”
God Arthur was fed up.
“That's it—” Arthur reached for his holster, pushing Fariha behind him to safety, “If you don't— wait.” His hand gripped around nothing . His holsters were on his belt, and his belt was discarded in the alley where she dropped it. This was another level of unlucky.
He turned to the girl behind him, “You still have your gun?”
Fariha, disheveled and on the brink of tears , stared at him dazed, “What?”
He shook his head, groaning, “Nevermind.” His attention quickly turned to the church worker again, mind reeling for a solution.
“If you want to blow random kids' brains out for god knows why…” Arthurs throat went tight with hesitation, this was stupid, “Then you'll have to shoot me first. Fuck off.”
This was so stupid . Yet here he was, fully prepared to have his insides caked into the mud for a random child who robbed him. But for a moment she wasn't a stranger, she was Isaac. Or maybe a witness, someone sent down for Arthur to witness what he saw before he was just a cross in the front yard. He’s lived long enough, suicidal as that sounded, she hadn't.
The volunteer opened his mouth, triggering finger twitching. Arthur's body, on the other hand, went rigid. A newfound panic pumping through his veins.
A gun went off. He shut his eyes.
But no pain bloomed, no angels came to greet him, the ground didn't open up to let him into hell. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.
The man laid dead. Bullet point blank in his head.
“ My god—” He turned to Fariha, who held a gun with held breath as if waiting for something to still happen. Her small hands shook and eyes stayed plastered as a glossy wide stare. “You did that??” Arthur did a double take, a small smile trying to twitch onto his face. He wanted to be impressed, thank her at least, but as he saw her shoulders shake he knew this was not the right time.
The adrenaline had worn off and it clicked that she could have died. She could have been nothing more than an unmarked grave in a town she didn't even know. Or worse, some stranger could have died in her place. One she had done nothing but rob from. Her hands pressed to her eyes, sobbing with raspy and quick breaths snuck between.
“Right…” Arthur spoke with a gentleness even he didn't expect, wrapping his arms around her as he noticed her legs get all wobbly, “Easy now…you're okay…”
This was stupid. Idiotic, She had robbed him. He had things to do. He couldn't look out for a kid.
“I've got you…” With one small hug suddenly his heart hurt in a way of forgiveness he couldn't quite grasp. Yet his hold held something soft, a tenderness he didn't like to see in himself.
Be tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you