Arthur Morgan One-Shots, Imagines, and Preferences

Make You Feel Good (NSFW)

A scatter of grime rises from the floor and twirls around the room as the dinghy wooden door pushes open. Midday sunlight cascades through the partially open window pane on the opposite wall highlighting the fine dust particles that have collected on the antiques and other strange items.

"Hello, Sir," the man behind the counter greets Arthur with a thick French accent. "May I interest you in anything?"

The question goes unanswered by the outlaw for a few moments as he thinks of his answer. Truthfully, he isn't even sure why he's here. Some kind of criminal activity is what tends to lead him to the pawnbroker, like train robbing, pickpocketing, and bounties, but today it is sheer boredom and curiosity.

"Nah, just lookin'," Arthur replies to the elder man with a nod, hat still covering his azure eyes.

His spurs clink as he explores the shelves, his eyes roaming over peculiar items: a whiskey bottle in the shape of a man's head, a poorly taxidermied rabbit, a gold pocket watch encrusted with obviously fake gems, a single woman's shoe; Useless crap. The next shelf contains what appears to be hundreds of small glass bottles of different shapes and colors. Bitters, snake oil, and some hair pomade are all covered in a thick layer of fuzzy, gray dust. At the end of the shelf, a dark blue jar half the size of a beer bottle catches Arthur's eye. The gold embossed lettering flits in the sunlight. L'huile de pépins de raisin, the bottle reads. French? Arthur questions himself.

"Massage oil," the store clerk says quietly over Arthur's shoulders. The cowboy jumps, nearly dropping the fragile, cork-sealed jar to the floor.

"Jesus, you always lurk over your patrons? Ain't a good way to keep business ya know," Arthur scolds the man. Seeming not understanding, or just outright ignoring him, the French man continues to talk.

"Fine treat for a lady or... for yourself, I do not judge," the man speaks weakly in English, clearly not fully versed in the language.

"Look fella, I was just lookin' at the bot-" the cowboy begins to speak.

"You give me, hmm... twenty-five dollars, yes?" Arthur stares in shock at the price the man is asking.

"25!? For oil? You've got to be-"

"10 dollars, yes or no?" the elder questions him, once again not letting him finish his sentence. "Yes?" The pawnbroker asks again as Arthur searches for a response to the half-crazed man.

"Are you that desperate for money pal? Beggin' your customers?"

"5 dollars... yes or no?" Arthur stares at the man bewildered by his act.

"Wha- how... ya know what, here..." Arthur says, rolling his eyes with furrowed brows and giving the man the five dollars. The store owner begins to walk away with both the money and the bottle before Arthur plucks the glass from the French man's hand and heads for the door.

As Arthur exits the grungy old brick building, he heads for his horse, huffing out a chuckle through his nose about the strange interaction he had just had. Massage, Arthur recalls what the man said as he trots along the brick paths of Saint-Denis. He remembers hearing about the new "health procedure" from Trelawny after another one of his prolonged disappearances and now he's finding it quite an appealing idea.

—

A gentle wind blew through the trees surrounding Shady Belle. Arthur scans the area for you, looking toward the laundry pile which was your previous position. An old wooden shudder creeks with the breeze as he approaches the former plantation house. Sadie cleans her rifle in a chair outside the front door.

"She's upstairs, don't look too happy," Sadie informs him. Her rough voice is soothing as she lets out a cloud of cigarette smoke. Arthur nods as a thank you and continues upstairs.