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Fates of the Fateless Ch. 8: Welcome Party

“Hey can I read that when you’re done?” You call out to Tilly, depositing another bale of hay for the horses. She was hanging out with you on the outskirts of camp, near one of the extra campfires, the smaller one away from everyone else.

“Sure.” Her eyes never leaving the pages. Her brows furrowed slightly and concentrated like a laser.

“Anything interesting?” You can’t help but ask.

“Well do you wanna read it or do you want me to just tell you?” she replies with a sarcastic tone.

“Hey kid, respect your elders.” You shake your finger at her jokingly. Which immediately made your brain hurt to think she should be telling you that. “I’m just bored, if you couldn’t tell.”

Her eyes scan to you and then the horses. “How goes the riding?”

“I can get on and off. Make ‘em stop and go. Not sure what else I need to know.”

“You keep it up, you’ll make headlines as the first woman horse jockey!” Tilly says with a bit of a sarcastic whimsy.

“That’ll be the day.” You approach your training horse, the one with black and white splotches. Even if he was a bit of a trouble maker, you didn’t have the heart to take on a different horse. “What’s his name?” you ask Tilly, brushing the slope of his back. Dust and hair flying off into the air.

“The horse?”

“Yeah, does he have a name?”

“Mmm… I think some of the boys call him Big Enough.”

Your eyebrows raise and your face morphs into one of disbelief. “Big Enough? That’s not a real name.”

“I didn’t choose it.” She side-eyes the two of you. “Would you prefer, Could Be Bigger?” you chuckle at her quick wit.

“No, I think Little Shit would be perfectly ironic.”

“He’s a Big Shit is what he is.”

“No, that title goes to Samson.” You both laugh.

Your laughs pitter down and your focus slips to the deep slope of Big Enough’s back. Mind wandering to the man in question.

“Has he… Has Samson done anything to you?” You ask with a bit of hesitancy.

“No, I think he’s too scared of me.” Her eyes crinkle with mischief and a smirk on her lips. It falls away when she sees the concerned look on your face. “Why do you ask?” She tilts her head and her eyes widen a fraction bigger. She lifts herself from her spot quickly, hands finding your shoulders, big brown eyes peering into yours. “Has he touched you?! I swear if he did anything, the boys’ll have him strung up like a pig!”

You shake your head, forcing a smile and a soft laugh, patting her little fingers that grip the fibers of your blouse firmly. “I just wanted to know you’re ok!” You curl your own digits around hers as you hold her gaze. “But… I mean other than just Samson. Have any of the men treated you…. Have any them hurt you?”

She ponders your question, eyes softening and a breath of air pushes out of her nose. “Never.”

“Good.” You breathe out with a smile, “I’m happy to hear that.” She squeezes your hand before letting go, grabbing the newspaper and depositing it into your hands.

The two of you jump slightly as a shriek, like that of a banshee is let out. Calling Tilly’s name.

“But if there’s one person I’m afraid of, it’s Miss Grimshaw.” Tilly takes a peek over her shoulder; your eyes follow to see said woman stomping around down below in camp with a scowl and marching with vigor. You see Joseph scramble to get out of her way, nearly dumping his breakfast all over Mr. Abadiano in the process.

Another shriek rings out into the air.

“How come she’s got a vendetta out against me recently? Haven’t heard her barking for you the past couple weeks!” Tilly eyes you suspiciously, arms crossed with a stink eye.

“Clearly I’m her new favorite.”

“Hmph! Must be, that or I pissed her off real good.” Tilly slips behind you towards the horses, quick to saddle up on her own. “Do me a favor, pretend you didn’t see me.”

“See ya.” Sitting down under a somewhat shady spot, newspaper in hand. Your eyes drift up to the date in the corner.

July 19, 1891

Not sure what I was expecting… the date’s still the same.

The news itself didn’t exactly stand out to you either. Nothing all that interesting. Something about politics, tidbits of history you don’t ever remember being taught. Likely because it was so mundane and easily overshadowed when compared to the World Wars.

Holy shit, that would be coming up in a matter of years…

Holy shit! You’d be alive to see some of the worst and best history has to offer.

Could I prevent such a thing? Could I prevent a lot of things?

You envision a version of yourself standing on a podium, preaching to the masses on how they can save themselves and their children from a terrible fate. Only to likely and without a doubt be assassinated for being a crazed woman speaking above her station.

Not to mention how dependent you’d be on the outcomes of history not going askew all because of your involvement. Even now, just being here existing where you shouldn’t exist; Could that be affecting the future?

Or… Or have you always been sent back to this time? Was this predetermined?

“Nope. Nope. We’re not going down that rabbit hole.” Shaking your head, forcing your focus on the paper. Only to fall onto a very blatant cutout.

“What the hell?” You mutter annoyed. As you gaze through the little peep hole, a body is seen approaching.

“Heey if it isn’t our little stowaway!” Swaggering over to you was none other than the infamous Uncle. A mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Whatchu’ doin’ out here all by your lonesome?”

“Cherishing my solitude.” You deadpan at him.

“Well, you can be a hermit later, we got a party prepare for!”

“A party?”

“Don’t get to celebrate too often, convinced Dutch and the boys to let us have some fun! Oh uh Pearson’s gonna need some help preppin’ the grub. And uh you still got that 10 bucks on ya?”

You nod at him silently.

“Great! Be seein’ ya at the poker table!”

As his body descends a familiar bulbous head of graying hair comes into view, Grimshaw giving Uncle a stern look before spotting you.

“Well, I guess you’ll have to do. Come on then, there’s work to be done!”

You’d think for a party there’d be a switch up on food. Maybe something a bit more indulgent or at the very least different. But no, it was the same old mystery meat stew with a side of stale rock hard bread and hot coffee to wash it down. That or alcohol. The stuff practically appeared out of thin air. Whiskey, beer, and something that smelled like straight up rubbing alcohol.

And it went FAST.

Forcing you to bring out a new crate to the table, nearly dumping the whole thing at the sight of a certain someone taking a generous swig.

“Hey wow wow!” Closing the distance with a stark leap, you nearly spill the whole bottle down Tilly’s front yanking it out of her grasp. “What do you think you’re doing?” Hand on your hip and a stern eye. She just gives you a stern eye back.

“Enjoying myself, what do you think?”

“I’m thinking you aren’t old enough to drink!” Her face contorts into one of absolute confusion.

“What are ye talkin’ about, ye daft woman?” William scoffs.

Everyone in the circle is looking at you like you just grew another head. You feel your face flushing hot with embarrassment before relenting. “Fine!” you extend the drink back to her, only to pull it back before she could finally grasp it, “Just be sure to drink plenty of water and eat something ok?”

Terrible influences. Everyone.

“I for one am willing to forgive that terrifying display of temperance.” Uncle breaks open another bottle of beer, “But! Only if you play a game of poker with us. Or are you a stick in the mud with that too?”” He waves the mouth of the bottle at you teasingly.

“I don’t-” you ponder a moment, are you really going to admit you don’t know how? It’ll just be another nail in your social coffin. “-remember how to play.”

“That’s fine, gotta kick one of these boys out before you can join anyhow.” The five men, Uncle, Mr. Abadiano, Arthur, William, and Jie all sit in a circle with lone little Tilly who was dealing this round. “Just watch and learn from the master.” Uncle shimming in his seat with a smile eyeing his cards. You curiously watch as they each go about throwing in chips increasing the amount each round, eyeing the cards on the table displayed for all to see that would make or break each of their chances. You ask questions as the game moves forward, picking up the rules as they go.

“Ah! I bet one o’yas was cheatin’!” William slaps his cards onto the table hard, chugging the rest of his bottle of beer as he begrudgingly leaves the table.

“I know when not to push my luck.” Jie slides off, leaving with what little money he didn’t gamble away.

Tilly’s good, holding her own for quite a while. But Mr. Abadiano was better. The whole table groans as he reveals a heavy hand.

“Damn!” Her once untouchable mountain of chips topples, swept across the table to their new champion. “If this was dominos, you’d all be weeping at my feet.” She shimmies her way over to you, hip to hip. “I’ll help you out with the next game.”

“Why wait! Let ‘er hop in while the games hot!” Uncle threw his hand into the community cards, mixing them together causing Arthur and Mr. Abadiano to grumble in protest.

“Damn it Uncle! I had a good hand!” Arthur grumbles, flicking his cards into the pile.

“¡Ay! Viejo estúpido…”

“Hey now! I know an insult when I hear one.” Uncle quickly shuffles the deck before you find your first two cards. Upon revelation, you have no idea what you’re looking at.

“Ooo! That’s not a bad hand!” Tilly whispers into your ear. “Start small, put in maybe… 10 cents to start off. Catch them off guard.”

The table goes around the next few rounds, each of the men standing firm and increasing the pot. Tilly whispering little hints along the way. It’s time everyone reveals their cards.

“Read ‘em and weep boys!” Uncle flaunts.

“Tsk!” Arthur slumps in his seat throwing his cards.

You follow with uncertainty, giving Tilly a glance. She just pats your arm.

“Well not too bad kid! Let’s see how your luck runs.” Uncle flips the next set of community cards. “Damn it!” He exclaims.

“You won!” Tilly grips your shoulders in excitement.

“Cool! I guess…” you look back to the table, still unsure of what you were looking at. You couldn’t help but notice the looks the others gave you at the modern slip of the tongue. You look at your earnings, you won maybe… 2$?

William comes barging back over with a bundle of bills in his hands, “Alright, dis time I ain’t losin’!” Sitting with gusto, a cigarette and an open bottle of liquor, nearly toppling his stool over in the process.

“Haha! A glutton for punishment!” Uncle cracks, turning his attention to Mr. Abadiano. “And you, you a member of temperance like this girly here?” Only now do you notice everyone has a drink in hand. Everyone minus you and Mr. Abadiano.

“Liqueur loosens lips. Makes men stupid.” Abadiano leers at uncle, creasing his wrinkles. “You’re a perfect example of that.”

Uncle peers at him a moment in shock before losing himself in a fit of giggles. “G-good Lord! Live a little both of ya!”

“Sorry, I guess we have different definitions of fun.” you speak.

“Well what did you do for fun back… uh… home?” Arthur inquires, clearly regretting his use of the word “home”.

“Um… board games, reading-” God, what do you say that wouldn’t be too modern? Movies in old timey terms would beee… “-Plays?”

“Plays! What kinds of plays did you see?” Tilly eagerly inquired.

“There was one about dinosaurs-uh- and scientists at a park.” A mental hand smacks your forehead, why’d it have to be that one to pop into your head.

“Dinosaurs?! Like them big monsters?” Uncle asks.

“Uh-huh. It used to scare me as a kid.”

“What’s the name of this play?” Mr. Abadiano surprisingly seemed a little interested.

“Uhh… it was a local play. Not sure you’ll be able to find it very easy. Very underground.” You’re getting the hang of the poker rules by now, finally picking out certain combinations that were better than others.

“What kinda focked up town did you crawl out of?” William still can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. “Never heard o’ something so bizarre in my life.”

“Sorry. Shakespear doesn’t exactly do it for me.” You reply shrugging your shoulders.

He eyes you with a bit of confusion and annoyance. “Can’t understand a word your Fokin’ sayin’ half da time.”

“Ditto.” He just squints at you suspiciously, sucking in a drag. Eyes then glance past you and he smirks as he exhales.

“And whatchu’ want ya smug Focker?! Still can’t get any tail?” He yells, your head swivels and your stomach sinks at the sight of Samson lingering maybe 6 feet back for who knows how long, one of the larger liquor bottles in hand and a glaze in his eyes. And they’re looking right at you. He doesn’t move or say anything, just oggling you with a distant look in his eyes. “Here-” William drains the rest of his drink, much of the booze dribbling down his front and completely missing his mouth before it completely empties. “-dis should fit a pecker your size.” He then chucks the bottle with so much gusto he topples over the table, laughing like a maniac as the glass bottle shatters into a million pieces as it hits the rock wall just behind Samson. Said man flinches hard as he curses under his breath. His face twisted with anger and a mean look in his eye. You worry at first if a fight might break out. But the comfort of Arthur comes in his burly voice.

“Move along.” Arthur speaks firmly. Twisted in his chair to meet him face to face. Samson doesn’t even try to argue, stepping slowly to the side eyeing the still laughing William with disdain for a moment before they land on you again. You feel as if his eyes become darker before he finally walks off.

“Hoowee what a piece of work that feller is.” Uncle tuts, shaking his head. “Always someone to sour the mood.” He then smacks William, who is still plastered across the table, upside the head. “At least someone’s got the partyin’ spirit in ‘em!”

“Spirits my friend. I got de Spirits.” William giggles.

“We playing poker or what?” Mr. Abadiano pipes up, grumpy at the interruption.

“Mm I might call it here. Kind of too dark now, can hardly see what I’m holding.” You mutter. You make to stand before Arthur taps your arm, drawing your attention.

“Don’t wander off alone. Ok?” He doesn’t have to say why. And there’s that sort of puppy dog look he gives you. The one that says ‘I’m not a threat’.

“Ok. Thanks Arthur.”

The sound of music blasted out of an old gramophone near Dutch’s tent, playing some sort of European opera, the crusty audio bounced off the stone walls cradling the camp, echoing natural acoustics. The coupled members are all dancing with their lovers, swaying and laughing like they were in a scene of Pride and Prejudice and not in the middle of nowhere. You catch sight of Hosea whispering something in Bessie’s ear causing her to go bright red, smacking him lightly in the chest with a laugh.

You swerve in the opposite direction spotting John lingering expectantly by the group. Perhaps waiting to ask someone to dance. That someone is sure as hell not going to be you. You barely miss his eyes meeting yours, pretending you don’t see him. Beelining for the pot of stew.

There was a certain discomfort in your stomach, it had been building up throughout the day and now only intensified by night. thinking it to be hunger you serve up a generous plate. Sitting off in a little corner by the fire. The first hefty bite proves it to not be the issue. And to make matters a little more awkward, everyone decided your little corner was now the hot spot to be. Whipping out a guitar and chanting a not so harmonious rendition of Ol’ Dan Tucker. Everyone's a little tipsy and overwhelmingly positive.

Happy faces sing along, drunk and slurred but with so much joy. Swaying back and forth giving their all belting out the lyrics. One song ends and another starts. Joseph and Agatha start dancing, everyone starts cheering them on.

Except you.

In a moment accompanied by beautiful music and carefree laughter, to you it was all a mockery. Mockery at your misfortune and unholy circumstance. As if God himself was pointing down at you, igniting a feeling of displacement.

You don’t belong.

Anger rises up. Anger at whatever higher power decided to use you in their game of amusement. Why did you deserve to have your life turned upside down? Why’d you deserve the most baffling impossible curveball thrown your way?

Why’d you make me leave everyone behind?

You tear your eyes away from the sight before you to glare down with misty eyes at your dingy bowl. The same damn food for the hundredth time. The very sight of it made your stomach turn.

You’re quick to lift yourself up and away from the uncomfortable atmosphere, dropping your bowl of unfinished dinner. No one seems to notice.

You can barely see with only the sliver of moonlight to illuminate your path. Your fingers pull on the strands of sage brush as you pass, anxiously plucking the leaves and staining your fingers with their fragrance. Haphazardly grabbing a dry branch here and there, something to keep your hands busy.

“God I’m so pathetic…” You take a deep breath in, holding for a second before exhaling through your nose. “You’re fine (y/n)! You’re fine! Keep it together… “ Slapping your face each time you felt you’d break. Leaving your cheeks slightly swollen and stinging.

You repeat the process, slowly calming the tightness in your chest and averting a full on panic attack. Forcing the bad feeling down until it was just a sick pit in your stomach.

When’s this feeling going to end?

You’re pacing, wandering, with no clue where you were going. Only to distract yourself even just a little. Keep from standing in one place for too long. Nearly face planting in the dust after tripping over a decently sized rock. You stare at it irritably, throwing back your leg and delivering a hard kick.

“Rah!”

It ricochets into a flurry of directions, its trajectory changed by new obstacles in its path. The distinct sound of stone-on-stone echoes off the chipped rock. CLACK! CLACK! GONK!

Gonk?

Your eyes cast themselves in the direction of your kick, spotting the outline of a pile of sand rock nestled together in one place. Smoothed edges and worn away by exposure, lichen growing on the undersides. You circle the land mark looking for the source of the odd sound. Your foot accidently kicking away shrubbery that sat unanchored by exposed roots.

You kick another to the side. And another and another until your eyes catch sight of your stone, laying right on top of a wooden chest. Tucked tightly away in the sand rock. Hands grasping at the handles, pulling with some effort to even just slide it forward a few inches. The moon’s light revealed a worn old chest, sun bleached in places and chipped in others.

Wait a minute…

You’ve seen this chest before, while only briefly you definitely recognize it as the one and same chest from the wagon.

Why is it all the way out here and not in camp?

Why keep it tucked away from the safety of the owner’s gaze? Why feel the need to hide it? What makes it worth hiding in the first place?

You should leave it; forget you even saw it. That would be the smart thing to do. That would be the rational thing to do.

But your fingers were already curled greedily under the latches. Your ears painfully straining to hear even the slightest difference in the constant hum of chirping crickets, slowly gripping the worn and chipped chest lid as you shakily eased each latch open only lifting your fingers as soon as you were sure it was firmly touching the wood with no risk of sound. You were almost too afraid to lift the lid to reveal its no doubt controversial confines within, your hands perspiring so much you could feel the hot dampness collect under your palms and dribble down your wrists. With one more assured scan of your surroundings you made the plunge. The hinges creaked slightly causing you to pause each and every time.

Something flashed brightly as the moonlight slipped into the cracked opening, finally open just enough to see what was guarded so secretively. At first you weren’t sure what you were looking at, a bunch of papers, glittering pebbles and other lustrous bits and pieces.

It's just a bunch of…Junk?

Your brows strain against your forehead as your mind flashes through some sort of reasonable explanation for the need to hoard and hide away a seemingly unorganized and mindless collection. Staring long and hard, until the pebbles began to take shape. They weren’t pebbles. They were teeth. Gold and silver teeth gleaming out at you nestled amongst watches and all sorts of jewelry. An obscene amount of beltless belt buckles, various sized rings and bands. And paper money, some stained that unsettlingly familiar deep brownish red. Amongst the oddities laid various scraps of paper. You pick one up in your hands revealing a crude drawing of a man that only takes a second for you to recognize as Mr. Van der linde. Though a vision of him that seemed so out of sorts to what you’ve been accustomed to. A deep set scowl on his face, shrouded dark eyes and a bitterness in his expression that left no inclination of the seemingly always jolly and charming man you’d been traveling with all this time.

The picture is accompanied by text in a bold font that practically jumps off the page.

WANTED

DEAD OR ALIVE

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE

Holy shit…

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The secrecy and paranoia, constantly moving, the blood on the shirt, that damned feeling in your gut. It all made sense now.

They’re outlaws.

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