Potata Soup (An RDR short story)
Arthur Morgan sighed as he looked at the young boy, cold, probably afraid and confused as he sat, curled up, in the tent at the camp. “Goddamit,” the young man muttered as he stood up and grabbed a bowl off the makeshift table outside his own tent and walked to the small, ragged tent located in the corner of the camp.
“Hey, there, kid.” Arthur knelt down at the opening.
“Leave me alone,” the boy muttered meekly, his knees tucked up to his chest as he hugged them tightly. He looked small, skinny— too skinny, to be frank.
“Thought you might be hungry. Brought ya some potata soup.” He held the bowl in his hand, extending it toward him. “Ain’t nothin’ special but it’ll fill your belly.”
“I ain’t hungry. You best go on and git or you’ll be real sorry, mister,” the boy uttered with a slight tremble to his tone.
Arthur let out a huff and sat with his legs crossed at the tent’s opening and set the bowl down in front of him, nudging it toward the child.
“I said I ain’t hungry.” The child looked back at him.
“Alright. I get it, you wanna be stubborn. That’s fine but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit here and watch you starve, boy.” With that, Arthur stood up and walked back toward his own tent, glancing back to see a pair of hands reach out and grab the bowl, pulling it toward him.
He smiled softly as the boy picked up the small wooden spoon and slowly lifted it to his chapped lips, taking a small taste of the broth before slurping down a few bites. “Woah, slow down there, kid. You’ll get a stomachache,” Arthur blurted out uncontrollably as he walked back toward the tent the boy was in. “Hardy eatin’ for a lad that ain’t hungry.” He chuckled as the child wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt while Arthur once again knelt down.
“Shut up, will ya?” The kid muttered as he finished the soup, slurping the remains from the bowl.
“Feisty one,” Arthur muttered. “What’s your name?” He asked.
“J- John,” the boy looked at him. “John Marston.”
“Nice to meet you, John.” Arthur smiled in satisfaction, extending a hand out. “Name’s Arthur Morgan.”
“This don’t mean nothin’, Mister Morgan. I’ll be gone come mornin’.” John laid the bowl off to his side.
“Hate to hear that, son. Tough kid like you will do just fine surviving these harsh lands.” Arthur looked at him sincerely.
“I’ll be jus’ fine.” John looked at the ground and then at his hands, which laid lazily in his lap as Arthur stood back up to retire back to his tent. “Hey, Arthur?” John quipped out.
“Yeah, John?” Arthur looked down at him as John stood up.
“Before you turn in for the night, mind gettin’ me some more of that soup? I’m famished.” John looked up at him with an innocent gaze.
“Sure thing, kid.” Arthur smiled warmly and walked to the caldron which held the potato soup.
(Disclaimer: Obviously none of this is canon. Just a cute little image I had of how Arthur welcomes John to camp/the gang.)
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