The Man Comes Around, Johnny Cash.
* RDR2 SETTING, 1899, MARLON & RUARC.
Wrong place, wrong time. That could be said for more than a handful of situations in Ruarc's life so far, starting to become an unfortunate pattern.
And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder
One of the four beasts sang,
'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse.
The bounty poster hadn't quite done Ruarc Shepherds justice, the mock-up of his face likely from several years previous. The preacher-turned-homegrown-commandant wore his hair long now, down to his shoulders and salt-and-pepper grey, and he had grown a forked beard that lent itself gladly to his weathered appearance.
There's a man goin' 'round takin' names
And he decides who to free and who to blame
Everybody won't be treated all the same
Smoke stung the nostrils as flame licked at the whitewashed walls of the little country church set alight behind him. Ruarc sat astride a red overo, the beast of burden's blue eyes rolling back and showing their whites, frightened at the echoing screams behind the shuddering oak doors of the threshold. Ruarc's face remained placidly still, ever-stern, but his eyes - his eyes were glazed over in the strangest way, a cornflower blue pond overcast with algae bloom, glassy. "My. You're a day late and a dollar short, aint'cha?" Ruarc inquires conversationally, thoughtfully scratching at his beard, wrinkling his nose at the inconvenience of the man in front of him.
There'll be a golden ladder reachin' down
When the man comes around.
The chains on the church doors rattle once, twice, as a heavy body throws itself against the entry in an attempt to bust them down, but there's no third attempt, and the screaming is starting to die out; the fire only rises. A lost cause - funny turn of phrase.
"Live in Christ, die in Christ, and the flesh need not fear death. Lord, now let your servant depart in peace." The words have a disconnected air to them as they're spoken, hollow rites as they are final. "Pity. Sometimes, only thing you can do for a garden overtaken with weeds, is burn it out to the root and start again. I take no pleasure in it, but it doesn't make it any less necessary."
The hairs on your arm will stand up
At the terror in each sip and in each sup
Will you partake of that last offered cup?
"That's what it is to be a shepherd, son. You do what's best for the flock, and sometimes what's best for the flock, is to start all over again." The church is quiet now, but for the roar of flame, the stained glass splintering and fracturing along the iron frame until it shatters with a crackle, smoke billowing out from the windows in roiling black.
Ruarc eases forward on his steed, unafraid, blue eyes meeting Marlon's own. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to clean house, put the chairs back on the tables at the end of the night, and pinch out the candles, it's just natural order. The alternatives, well, the alternatives make this look like a fucking picnic." His laughter is hoarse, a rasping thing like snakeskin dragging over sand. "God'll forgive me. Just like he'll forgive your gun in the end. Just the same tools, different shapes."
Or disappear into the potter's ground?
When the man comes around.
