The first thing that comes to mind when you finally reach Saint Denis is noise.
God, you couldn’t believe just how much bustle went on there until you were brought out of it, thrust into the relative peace of the open west. It’s like a constant din in your ear, a gnat humming; irritating.
“Take a left here, it ain’t far.” You point down a cobbled street lined with freshly tended hedges and flowers, guiding Arthur easily through the traffic towards the residences. It was nothing like the sprawling farmstead your daddy once owned, but William never could stand the idea of living in the sticks.
Arthur slows the pace, sizing up the large building that comes into view. It's a large block of apartments, he assumes, for the wealthy of Saint Denis. He doesn't like how everyone is on top of one another. No freedom, no space.
“So, this brother of yours, what’s he like?” Arthur asks, taking his time down the street.
“Besides a sniveling, whiny, mommas boy?” You shrug, “nothing too bad, I guess. I mean, he’s always wanted to be something , y’know? More than the son of a horse breeder. And we had money, but the way he gambled it you’d think it was never ending!” It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth to know that he renounced everything that was honest and hard-working and good about your family in favour of fanciful facades and debt-inducing high-rise living.
Not that you'd call this kind of life a rich one.
"Daddy's family came over from France a while back and they made their money in coal," you explain, "but he always liked horses and decided to invest in stables and breeding. And he always made sure to be in the thick of it, working with his men." The memories are bittersweet, but you always look back on them fondly.
"Sounds like he was a decent man," Arthur hums.
You laugh softly and nod.
"Yeah. He was," you sigh, frowning, "I just wished it could have stayed like that. Us all out there together, raising horses, living a simple life. We were happy."
Arthur knows that feeling all too well and feels a pang of sympathy for you. You don't belong there any more than he does, like a boat cast among endless waves you fight just to break free of the tide and go back to what you know best.
"But then momma died, daddy followed her and William," you scowl, "well he sold every last bit of that life to come here !"
Arthur is quiet, your anger radiates in harsh waves and he'd rather not fan the fire further.
“Well, here we are,” you murmur, throat tight with nerves, “let's go.”
Arthur hitches his horse up outside the iron fence and helps you down from the saddle, sharing a look with you before you brush yourself down and hold your head up high. You lead the way inside, beckoning Arthur towards a set of stairs.
He notes how you pointedly avoid the front desk and the rakish-looking man with round glasses that sits behind it. He doesn’t ask, instead focusing on the grandeur as you ascend to your floor.
The walls are a delicate pastel blue, pristine, with soft white curtains framing each of the high windows. Potted plants decorate the hallways as well as tasteful paintings dotting the walls. Everything is so neat and orderly, nothing at all like the chaotic mismatch of the camp. Arthur's admiration slows his walk, but you find it amusing as you stop and watch him.
He catches your slowly spreading smile when his eyes sweep the room and quickly coughs, tipping his hat down to cover his embarrassment as he strides over to you.
"C'mon, let's get this over with," he grunts as he passes you, ignoring you smirking as you follow.
You take a deep breath when you come to stand in front of a white door that isn't dissimilar to the others in the corridor and Arthur notices a look of panic flit across your face. You’re uncomfortable but it only stops you for a moment before you throw open the door and stride in with the air of a woman much above your station.
The interior of the room shares a similar grandeur to the rest of the building, only this time the colour palette is a little more vibrant. Navy blue, saffron, and beige. It’s a little off-putting for Arthur, but he finds that you suit it rather well.
There’s calm opera playing from a gramophone in the corner, set atop a polished wood table. Two men sit on comfortable looking loungers watching a third man, who had been pacing upon a floral-patterned rug, had been ranting. All three quickly look towards you and Arthur as you enter, staring at you with wide eyes.
“Kitty?” The third asks in disbelief, mouth ajar, and Arthur sees you stiffen as he rushes to you, gathering you up in a tight hug.
Your brother William, Arthur presumes.
“William,” you sigh, “please don’t call me that,” you snap,
but find yourself melting slowly into the embrace despite your best intentions. You’re incredibly angry at him but even you aren’t made of stone. His dishevelled appearance and red-rimmed eyes betray his worry and you know in your heart that he has been wild with fear while you were missing.
“It’s you, i-it really is you!” William laughs, eyes shining. He doesn’t even regard Arthur standing solemnly by the door, silent as the grave.
“It is,” you reply, hugging him tightly for a brief moment before pulling back, looking at Arthur over your shoulder, “thanks to some new friends I made.”
Arthur tips his hat to your brother, who blinks owlishly at the burly cowboy he has only now noticed is standing in his living room. The other men stare in silence, but narrow their eyes slightly in disgust at such a commoner being allowed in their presence. You purposely ignore them.
“Oh,” William swallows, clearing his throat. He steps up to Arthur, offering his hand to shake.
“I must thank you for rescuing my sister,” he smiles, but the expression is awkward.
“Oh, uh,” Arthur tentatively takes his hand to shake, “you’re welcome mister but it wasn’t me that saved her. My friends Charles and Javier are the ones who did that, I’m just here to bring her home safe.”
Skeptical of Arthur's tale, William looks at you for clarification but before he can speak one of the men from the lounger stands up and interjects.
“Then where are these men that saved you, darling?” Comes the biting remark. “Why didn’t they bring you home?”
Jebediah Kramer, in all his obnoxious glory. He’s an older man, with thin, graying blond hair that is combed over in a futile attempt to hide his hair loss and piercing blue eyes that seem to suck the life out of anyone unlucky enough to be caught under his gaze. The blue dandy suit he wears likely costs more than should be spent on clothes and his shoes are shined so bright they’re blinding.
William stumbles over his words, looking to you for aid. He never was a good talker but it’s clear from the way that your bristling where you stand nothing good will come out of your mouth if you speak either.
“They were hurt in the shoot out,” Arthur lies smoothly, noticing how all eyes turn to him with varying degrees of shock, “yeah, a band of outlaws got hold of Miss DuBois and they happened by since it's a well known spot for outlaws.”
It's hard to hide the impressed smile at Arthur's quick thinking, knowing that you'll ruin the ruse if you slip up. Normally you'd be on edge around a man who can lie so easily but you can forgive it this time, it serves a purpose after all.
"I'd be dead if not for them, Jebediah," you add, clasping your hands above your chest in a display of feminine meekness, all misty-eyed, "I was so scared!"
The men share looks but William comes to your side once more, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders, ushering you to the couch. He coos about how awful it must have been and how they must reward these fine men for their heroic deeds, all while Jebediah stares Arthur down.
This is going to be more difficult than either of you first thought.
