Establishment
(click on the title to read it on ao3!)
Summary: An infamous conman has a rather peculiar encounter with a young street robber.
Pairing: Gen (arthur morgan x oc storyline)
1,819 words
Warnings: canon-typical violence
“Don’t. Make. A sound.”
The man’s breath froze solid in his throat as the cold metal blade pressed against his side.
He slowly raised his hands above his head, shaking like a leaf. His mouth opened, but the scream died on his tongue.
“Give me what you got.”
His unsteady hand fumbled into his coat pocket, reaching for his platinum pocket watch. The thief quickly snatched it off his hand.
“Keep going” they ordered, gritting the words through their teeth. They knew he had to be carrying way more than just a single pocket watch: the guy was exceptionally well dressed, with his three piece suit and blinging waistcoat chains; he looked like he came straight from the city.
This blatant display of opulence utterly repulsed them. They clenched the knife so hard their knuckles went white. The victim whimpered when the knife ripped an unsightly slit into his fancy coat.
“Shut it” threatened the robber, briefly letting their guard down to scan their surroundings. No one heard.
The poor bastard reluctantly parted with his wallet and his gold wedding band, much to his perpetrator’s content. Satisfied at last, the pickpocket pushed the man forward.
“Get lost” they barked, stuffing the loot inside their tattered clothes, hiding it as best they could. The city feller sprang away like a prey animal chased by a hungry predator, tripping in front of a couple of bewildered strangers.
“Now, time to get lost myself.” Not a bad haul. In fact, it was the best haul they had had in a good while. This could easily get them a nice, war-
Suddenly, the sounds of footsteps. The thief spun around so fast, too fast.
Their face smashed against some guy’s vest.
They jumped back, holding out the knife in defense, expecting one of the sheriff’s men.
The old man laughed gleefully, not an ounce of intimidation on his weathered face. He raised his hands in apology.
“I’m very sorry miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“What the hell do you want?” she growled, her heart pounding against the stolen pocket watch. She failed to understand what was so funny about someone pointing a knife at him. A tremor shook her.
The man smiled. “Relax,” he coaxed, “I’m not here to arrest you. I’m much more familiar with the type of business you were just performing, to tell you the truth.”
The girl appeared puzzled, but she didn’t yield her knife. A burning heat spread to her chest as she realized she wasn’t as well-hidden as she thought.
“I saw your work back there. Great pick! Big city man, afraid of his own shadow” he remarked, a distinct note of pride in his voice. “You got yourself a winning strategy, kid. I’m impressed.”
The girl shifted on her feet, unsure. She lowered the knife, but she still kept a fierce grip on it.
“Uhm, thank you, I guess”.
The older gentleman appeared to remember something. “Oh, forgive me my manners!”
He held out his hand, slightly bowing his head with a charming smile.
“Hosea Matthews, at your service.”
The young woman hesitantly shook his hand.
“Kris- Kris Blake” she stuttered, eyes darting from side to side before finally sheathing her knife.
“Pleased to meet you, miss Blake. May you be interested in a work proposal of sorts?”
The two of them left the alley and walked along the narrow dirt roads of the small livestock town, looking like father and daughter out on a friendly stroll. Hosea offered to buy Kris some lunch first, so that they could discuss their business undisturbed. Plus, the girl looked like she hadn’t eaten a bite in days: the tattered clothes draped on her skinny body like wilted flower petals from a long, dried up stem, and they were old and torn. A strip of fabric dangling from her skirt almost made her trip and fall into the muddy street.
Kris dug into her stew hungrily, circling the plate with both arms as if someone was going to snatch it away at any moment. Hosea observed her carefully, a tinge of compassion crawling through his stone-cold façade; he made sure to hide it neatly beneath the cracks.
The proposal was plain and practical: if Kris was willing to put her thieving skills at the service of Hosea’s gang, she would be provided with everything she needed: some new clothes, her own bedroll to sleep on, warm meals everyday and safety in numbers. People to protect her.
Kris lifted her eyes from the plate and studied Hosea for a moment; her mind was going a million miles per hour. Sure, it sounded way too good to be true, and the man displayed the classic ornate, compelling vocabulary of a silver-tongued conman, if she had ever heard one. But…
She glanced down at her clothes: dirty, dingy, the fabric ripped all over; when she tried to run her hand through her hair, it nearly got stuck into the matted curls; the unfamiliar fullness of her stomach was making her nauseous. She had no choice. Anything was better than this.
Mistaking her hesitation for reluctance, Hosea offered to have her meet his “business partner”, so she could hear the proposal out of his mouth, too.
He paid and they left the saloon, headed to their meeting point down the street, into the seedier, less crowded part of town. As they walked, Hosea caught Kris’s attention when he mentioned other girls being part of the gang, young and once lost like she is now. She had to admit, it made her feel just that bit safer, knowing she wouldn’t be the only sheep in a pack of wolves. She shuddered at the mere thought.
“If I may ask,” the man politely probed, “how long have you been on your own, miss?”
The long pause between his question and her answer told Hosea everything he needed to know.
“I-I don’t remember exactly...” The question seemed to unsettle her.
“Well, if I may be so bold, miss Blake, I think you would do well to come with us.” Hosea replied in his most paternal tone. The young rascal reminded him of a certain someone he met a long time ago.
“Sure, those boys are criminals; but they’re good men, mostly. I know them very well, and we always make sure that they behave.” He winked at Kris, and she reflexively smiled, if just for one second. She was starting to like the feller, whether she liked it or not.
“If you say so.”
“Ah, there he is!” Hosea exclaimed as a dark haired man with a mustache approached them.
“My, my, what do we have here? I see that Mr. Matthews has been out scouting for talent!” the stranger said, his deep voice as smooth as butter and just as charged with flattery.
She could smell his cologne before even seeing him, and he was dressed quite garishly, wearing three big rings per hand. The golden chains on his waistcoat made her grimace, a reminder of her recent encounter. He had a quality to him that made him stand out from other men, but Kris could not quite figure it out.
“Miss Blake, I’d like to introduce you to my business partner, Dutch Van Der Linde.”
Van Der Linde doffed his hat and bowed deeply.
Kris’s mouth fell open. Where had she heard that name before? Then it came to her: she had just seen a wanted poster in front of the sheriff’s office that had that exact name printed on it. Pretty hard to forget; it was the criminal with the highest bounty on his head among all the posters.
“You’re- you are the Dutch Van Der Linde? Of the Van Der Linde gang that’s been terrorizing the whole damned country?” she blurted out.
Dutch chuckled under his mustache and lit his cigar, taking a couple of puffs. Much to Kris’s disbelief, he appeared to be flattered.
“In the flesh. But, I must say” he remarked, taking another drag, “we only terrorize the ones who are so embedded within this corrupt system they call “civilization”, miss. Those who recognize the true virtue of man and its nature, we welcome and they join our cause to fight for true freedom.”
“What on Earth are you talking about?” asked Kris, dazed by Dutch’s grandiose, abstract speech.
“Let’s put it this way, then” he continued with conviction, “what kind of country leaves such a beautiful, smart, resourceful young woman such as yourself to fend for herself in the streets? What kind of system allows such depravity to take place? To leave our fellow citizens without food, shelter and constantly on the run from a noose, and for what?”
He paused and stepped closer to Kris, who automatically recoiled. His breath smelled heavy and pungent.
“For choosing themselves. For stepping away from the order of things.”
The young woman furrowed her brows. Her heart had resumed pounding and she felt a chill lay upon her skin. It felt like he knew.
“I have a saying: we shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed ‘em as need feeding. You have met the right people, miss Blake. We don’t follow the establishment. We are the establishment.”
“It’s up to you,” Hosea interjected, “we will be around until next week. If you need time to evaluate our proposal, we will be back here around this time on Friday.”
Kris remained silent for what it seemed like an eternity. She felt like she was playing a chess game against herself: a part of her knew this was a bad idea, while the other wanted to desperately say yes, yet that yes was steeped in desperation and fear. She wondered what would become of her life if she refused; she dreamed about how it would if she accepted. She was endlessly enraptured by the idea of knowing where her next meal would come from; of running her hand through her hair and it being smooth; of getting dressed in the morning and her limbs not getting stuck in one of the rips in the fabric.
Leaving her to her reflections, the pair made their way to their horses.
“No” Kris mumbled, then started after them. “Wait!”
The men turned around, looking at the girl expectantly.
“I’m coming with you.”
Dutch grinned, his dark eyes lighting up. Hosea nodded and smirked, gesturing towards his horse.
“You made the right call, miss Blake!”
“Here, I’ll help you up” Hosea offered Kris his hand as she mounted on his horse, Silver Dollar. From up there, the world looked different: wider and brighter, ripe with possibility. She felt like she had a chance at life again, for the first time in years. She trembled and she grinned and she wanted to scream. But she simply gripped on tight to Hosea’s waist and rode back with them to her new home.