Joy & Woe - An Alternate RDR2 Story | Arthur Morgan x OC |

30. beyond the cycle

A tear to unite me with those of broken heart;
A smile to be a sign of my joy in existence.

I would rather that I died in yearning and longing than that I live Weary and despairing.

-Kahlil Gibran, 1914

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

1 Week Later

- - -

Yeah... maybe it wasn't the beer and law chase. 

Ever since the strange conversation with Arthur those few nights ago — coupled with the fearful realization that she was feeling something a bit more than friendly for the outlaw — Joyce had hardly been able to get her mind off of it. Less because she was thinking about him, specifically, but more because she was terrified of the premise. 

Falling for an outlaw was something she thought she'd never do; her mom often spoke poorly about that kind of life, even for desperate folks. She always said that their daddy had become a bad man, falling in and out of crime before he decided to up and leave them. Mama never knew if he died shortly after, or if he was still roaming out there somewhere, high on the life he chose over his family. He'd meet his end by the bullet sometime or other, she reckoned.

Joyce had only softened her disdain for the outlaw life due to her own desperate times as she grew; she'd pickpocket some folks in the shops and streets to get by, or run an occasional illicit delivery if needed just for some cash, whatever it took to support her siblings. There wasn't much work for women in cities and small towns.

Ezra had become much of the same, playing his higher-stakes poker games and counting cards that he'd shove up his sleeve to win them some earnings. But neither of them had gone much farther than that... until this gang. 

When they were taken in, Ezra had to pick up a few more jobs with the boys than he would've otherwise, especially now that his arm was healing into a usable limb once more. He wouldn't talk about the jobs much with Joyce, probably because he knew they would upset her. She had to keep telling herself that he was grown, and knew what he was doing — he'd just have to deal with his sister constantly reminding him to not be stupid or careless, or else she'd kill him twice. 

And now, herself... her odd sense of morality was being warped and twisted. A combination of loyalty to the gang that saved her, while a potent sense prodded that she was essentially healing folks so that they could go out robbing and killing once more. Each time she'd patch someone up, she was setting up some more innocent folks to be in danger down the line. 

Dutch insisted they did what they needed to, and that they only robbed from those that 'deserved' it... but she wasn't so sure that was always the case. Part of her still felt conflicted if she dwelled too much on what she was taking part in here. 

And despite all that, she'd gone and gathered up some rogue feelings into some sort of affectionate care for one of the most brutal and (supposedly) heartless of them all — Arthur Morgan. 

Yearning like this for something, someone wasn't a thing that Joyce had ever felt. Longing to see her mother and sister again, yes — but longing for someone that was still breathing, right there in front of her, like she wanted something she couldn't have? Something that both disgusted her yet was like a magnet, drawn in an invisible pull? It was foreign, a strange taste on her tongue, a thorn in her side. Distracting, impractical, and odd. 

Frustrated and confused, she'd spent the next few days after that night dwelling on her own, taking long walks or spending way too much time searching and grinding up herbs for her mixtures. She'd purposefully avoided him, too — not that it was too hard, since Arthur was in an out of camp quite often, whether with others or by himself. Joyce would sometimes wonder where he went on his own time, and if it was anything as interesting as what her head was going through.