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Caleb nodded, already mentally mapping the locations from the game. Downes Ranch would be the most dangerous as the debt owner had tuberculosis, he needed to handle that before Strauss sent Arthur there by mistake.
With that settled, Caleb wandered through camp. Swanson nursed a bottle near the fire, muttering scripture and nonsense in equal measure. Abigail was hanging laundry with a stern look, her eyes scanning the horizon, no doubt watching for Jack.
Dutch entered back into his tent after he talked with him when he arrive, likely scheming up another grand plan. Hosea sat nearby, calmly carving something out of wood. Caleb was tempted to talk to Hosea, ask for advice, but decided against it. Not yet.
For now, he made his way to Pearson, who was gutting a rabbit on the table beside the stew pot.
"Caleb," Pearson said, not looking up. "You got any plans today? Could use a few more pelts, you know."
"I might have time soon Mr. Pearson," Caleb replied. "Gotta take care of a few things first."
Pearson nodded. "Just don't take too long. We're runnin' low on everything, as usual."
Caleb gave a short wave and moved on, where he then found Arthur sitting alone on a log, sketching in his journal.
"Mind if I join you?" Caleb asked.
Arthur glanced up, then scooted over. "Of course, its free country. Or so they tell me."
Caleb sat, watching the firelight dance across the journal pages. Arthur had drawn a wolf, lean, fierce, its eyes hauntingly human.
"Good likeness," Caleb remarked.
Arthur grunted, flipping the page. "You really want Strauss's job? Or you just being noble?"
"Little of both," Caleb admitted. "Figured you'd rather be hunting or scouting or robbing."
"Damn right." Arthur's pencil moved in quick strokes, outlining a tree now. "But don't think you're doing me some big favor. Those people... they'll look at you with dead eyes. Like you're kicking 'em when they're down. Because you are."
Caleb picked up a twig, rolling it between his fingers. "Ever think maybe we shouldn't be kicking them?"
Arthur's hand stilled. He looked at Caleb sideways. "You sound like Hosea. 'We're thieves, not monsters.'" He snorted. "But money's money. Dutch says—"
"Dutch says a lot of things," Caleb interjected softly saying this words without realizing it. "Don't mean they're all gospel and true."
For a heartbeat, Arthur's expression darkened. Caleb quickly realized that he have said something that shouldn't be said right now.
Because even though Arthur had begun to doubt Dutch due to Blackwater, his doubt wasn't so big that cause him to not trust Dutch anymore like in the later part of the game.
Especially since he wouldn't contract tuberculosis, meaning Arthur will not change like how he would be in the game due to him facing his own mortality.
Then, to Caleb's surprise, he chuckled. "You got sand, I'll give you that Caleb. I let that slide since you doesn't know Dutch like us." He closed his journal. "Just don't let Strauss hear you talking like that. Or Dutch."
Caleb let out a sigh of relief and wiped a sweat that he thought had rolled down in his face, and he nodded also apologize for his words, he doesn't mean it like that, he was grateful to Dutch for accepting him in this family and Arthur nodded his head in return.
Then they sat in companionable silence until Mary-Beth approached, holding two tin cups of coffee. "Thought you gentlemen might need some drink to keep you focused for the rest of the day," she said, offering one to each.
Arthur took his with a wink. "Much obliged, Miss Gaskill." He stood, stretching. "I'll leave you to your literary discussions. Caleb here's a real Shakespeare, apparently."
Mary-Beth giggled as Arthur ambled away. She sat where he'd been, her knee brushing Caleb's. "I heard that you offered to replace Arthur in doing Mr. Strauss debt collection job?"
"I see that the news had travels around camp," Caleb mused, sipping the coffee. It was bitter, but a welcome one as it help him completely awake.
"Karen heard you talking to Mr. Strauss." Mary-Beth tucked her skirt neatly around her ankles. "That's... kind of you. Arthur always comes back sour after those trips."
Caleb studied her profile, the delicate curve of her nose, the way her lashes caught the firelight. "Not just kindness. I got my own reasons."
She turned to him, curious. "Like what?"
"Some debts cost more than money." He thought of Arthur's fate, the coughing sickness, the slow decline. "Figure if I can spare him that, I should."
Mary-Beth's fingers brushed his wrist. "You're a good man, Caleb Thorne."
The touch sent a jolt through him. He covered her hand with his own, calluses catching on her soft skin. "Debatable, Miss Gaskill. But I'm trying."
After that, the two shared a small moment of enjoying the atmosphere, the rustling leaves overhead, the muted voices of camp members going about their routines, and the soft crackle of the fire nearby.
Mary-Beth was enjoying the breeze and closed her eyes, letting the quiet settle over them like a warm quilt. Caleb, content in the moment, glanced at her, then looked out across the plains. A breeze stirred the long grass just beyond camp, swaying like waves in a golden sea.
"You ever read much, Caleb?" she asked after a moment, her voice softer now, laced with curiosity.
Caleb scratched the side of his jaw thinking about his past life, where he had read several famous novels and watched plenty movies. "Back home… yeah, you could say that. Read plenty of books. Even daydream about making my own story, since I was bored."
Mary-Beth tilted her head and ask in suprise. "Making up your own story?"
"Yeah, day dreaming and stuff," Caleb replied, the corner of his mouth twitching because technically it's a lie, but if it could help him get closer to Mary-Beth it's not a problem. "Wanna hear it?".
Mary-Beth leaned in slightly, her eyes lighting with intrigue. "Of course! What story you day dream about?"
Caleb leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So there's this boy, see, skinny little thing with round glasses and a lightning shapes scar on his forehead named Harry Potter. Lives under the stairs of his aunt and uncle's house, treated worse than a stray dog."
Mary-Beth's cup paused halfway to her lips. "That's a dreadful way to start a story."
Caleb grinned. "Wait for it. On his eleventh birthday, a giant of a man bursts through the door—"
"Like Uncle?" Mary-Beth giggled, glancing toward where the older man snored against a wagon wheel.
"Bigger. Rougher. And this fellow, Hagrid, he tells the boy, 'Harry, you are a wizard.'"
Mary-Beth's gasp was worth every embellished detail. "A wizard? Like doing some magics and such?"
"Exactly." Caleb warmed to the tale, describing Hogwarts' moving staircases, the Sorting Hat, and Quidditch matches played on broomsticks. Mary-Beth's reactions were priceless, her hands fluttering to her mouth when Neville lost his toad, her indignant huff at Draco Malfoy's sneering.
Of course he embellish some things like car since it wasn't present yet, at least in ten years from now automobiles will founded but it was still a very foreign thing.
"You made this up yourself?" she asked during a lull, eyes shining.
Caleb rubbed his neck. "Bits and pieces, I suppose." The lie sat uneasily, but what was he to say? Actually, a British woman will invent this in around ninety to hundred years from now?
"Caleb Thorne," she whispered with something between reverence and delight, "you're wasted in a gang like this. You should be a writer. The way you spin words, it's like you conjure them."
Mary-Beth uncapped her new fountain pen with reverence and takes out her journal from her the is die of her dress without Caleb noticing. "May I... write some down? It's the most wonderful story I've ever heard."
Before Caleb could respond, a high pitched voice piped up, "What's wonderful?"
Jack Marston stood three feet away, grass stains on his knees and curiosity burning in his young eyes.
Mary-Beth smiled. "Hello Jack, Caleb was just telling me a story about wizards and magic schools."
Jack's mouth formed a perfect O. "Can I hear too? Please, Caleb?"
Caleb exchanged an amused glance with Mary-Beth. "Well now, can't leave a story half-told, can we?" He scooched over, making room on the log. "But you gotta start from the beginning, Jack."
As Jack plopped down eagerly, Mary-Beth opened her journal. The fountain pen's nib glided smoothly across the page as Caleb began again, "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley who owned a home with the number four, at Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal..."
Two hours later, Caleb's throat was dry from talking, but the enchanted expressions before him made it worthwhile. Jack hung on every word, bouncing when Harry caught the Remembrall and gasping when they reached the three headed dog. Mary-Beth's journal pages filled rapidly, her handwriting looping gracefully around sketches of owls and broomsticks.
Abigail approached eventually, hands on hips. "Jack Marston, I was looking for you everywhere, you were supposed to be eating lunch!"
Jack whined, "But Ma, Caleb's telling about a boy who—"
"I don't care if he's telling about ghost or cowboys or anything else," Abigail said, though her sternness faltered at Jack's pout. She glanced at the journal. "What's all this?"
Mary-Beth held up a page. "It's the most marvelous tale! Wizards and potions and—"
"Magic ain't real," Abigail interrupted, but she leaned closer despite herself as Caleb described the Mirror of Erised.
As he had another person to tell the story, Caleb voice was much louder when he reached Harry's first Quidditch match, causing Pearson paused his stew stirring to listen.
By the time Snape's broom caught fire during the match, a small crowd had gathered, Karen with her mending forgotten in her lap, Tilly pretending not to eavesdrop while doing some stitching, even Charles pausing his wood chopping.
"Then Harry catches the Snitch in his mouth," Caleb concluded the chapter, miming the motion. "Wins the game even though he's near falling off his broom."
Jack whooped. "That's better than any story I read Caleb!"
Mary-Beth put down her pen on her journal. "You should write this properly, Caleb. It's... extraordinary."
Heat crept up Caleb's face. "Just something to pass the time."
Karen smirked. "Pass the time, my foot. You got the whole camp acting like kids at story hour, Caleb."
As the group dispersed, Mary-Beth lingered. "Will you tell more sometime? I want to get every detail right." She held up the journal, pages upon pages filled with notes and doodles of owls and something that should have been a golden snitch.
Caleb's chest tightened at her enthusiasm. "Sure. But only if you promise me something."
"Anything."
"Let me read what you've written sometime. See how it compares to... how I imagined it."
Mary-Beth beamed. "It's a deal." Her fingers brushed his as she handed him the pen to inspect, sending another jolt through him. The way she looked at him, like he'd hung the moon rather than regurgitated a stolen story, made his stomach flip.
Jack's voice shattered the moment. "Mr. Caleb! What happens next on the story?"
Abigail hauled him back by his collar. "That's enough for today, young man. Let Caleb rest his voice." She nodded at Caleb. "Though I wouldn't mind hearing more myself later."
As they walked away, Mary-Beth whispered, "You've made quite the impression."
Caleb watched Jack animatedly retelling the Quidditch match to an amused Charles. "Didn't mean to cause a stir."
"But you did." Mary-Beth tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "In the best way possible."
The setting sun painted her face gold, highlighting the freckles across her nose. Caleb wanted to freeze this moment, the warmth of the sun, the scent of her lavender soap, the way her skirts rustled as she shifted closer.
"Sometime soon then?" she asked.
"Sometime soon," he agreed.
That evening, Caleb sat by the scout fire, polishing his Schofields while the camp settled into nighttime routines. Arthur dropped onto the log beside him, tossing him a bottle of beer. "Made quite the spectacle today, huh?" Arthur remarked, taking a swig from his own bottle.
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Name:Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 6/10
- Agility: 6/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 6/10
- Charm: 5/10
- Luck: 5/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 2)
- Rifle (Lvl 2)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 2)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 1)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 1)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 2)
- Poker (Lvl 1)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 1)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 1)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 1)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 0)
Money: 700 dollars and 61 cents
Bank: 40 dollars, 2 gold bars, a large bag of jewelry, and 3 gold nuggets