CW Class: RDR2 FanFic

I recently started working toward a certificate in Creative Writing online through Coursera just to give myself more ways to practice my writing and expand my skill set. I’ll be writing quite a bit for the prompts and figured why waste it? I’ll post them here without the prompts so as not to hurt any academy integrity but also you can read them and see if I’m any good at these.

My two characters are Arthur Morgan and John Marston from Red Dead Redemption 2. While they are both outlaws, Arthur has lived a life dedicated to their gang, having given up the love of his life, committed horrible acts of violence, and lived a life of crime and vagrancy. As things have developed and he’s become wiser, Arthur starts to question whether the gang was worth all he’d given up and if the senseless deaths were necessary in the gang’s pursuit of their goals. Arthur begins to seek redemption for his actions and hopes that he can help some folks before his last breath. John Marston has a romantic relationship with Abigail and has a son named Jack with her. Since Jack’s birth, John has been unsure how to take his new life as a father and is struggling to come to terms with his new role. John is often distant and while he may not be very smart, he’s a thoughtful man who will do anything for those he loves. John is now searching to start a new life outside of the gang for him and his family to make an honest living.

Cal sucked down the shot of whisky. The whisky seared his throat going down and he winced, scrunching his face before letting out a deep breath. He’d only just begun and knew he needed a few more. He tapped his fingers on the bar top and the bartender began pouring him another shot.

“Leave the bottle,” Cal nodded and threw five dollars down on the bar top. The bartender set down the bottle and slid the greenbacks into his pocket.

“What are we gonna do?” Said the man next to Cal, facing the opposite direction. He was tall, slender, and had a massive scar on the right side of his face that wasn’t masked well by his beard as hair didn’t grow along it. The man he was talking to put a dollar on the table and the bartender put two tiny glasses in front of them, filling them up.

“I don’t know, John,” the man said with a drawl. “We’ll figure it out. We have time.”

They both reared back and drank the harsh whisky, the stuff that was meant for purpose not for pleasure.

“Not much time,” said John. “We left all our money in Blackwater, Arthur, we got nothing now and we got prices on our heads. We need to move,” he said with a sigh.

“There’s a stagecoach coming through this way tomorrow morning. ‘Sposed to have a bit a gold on board,” said Arthur.

Cal poured himself another as he listened to the conversation, careful to look away across the bar so as not to be caught eavesdropping. He had seen the pistols on each man’s hip and they looked to be the type to use them.

John leaned in, “I don’t want anymore blood on my hands, Arthur,” he whispered.

“You do it right, ain’t no need for blood on anyone’s hands,” Cal said facing the wall.

“You lending your ears where they shouldn’t be, mister?” Drawled Arthur. He slammed down his empty glass.

Cal let out a belch and turned toward the men. “That coach is going to have two drivers, three hired guns as protection, and will have a thousand dollars in a safe.”

The two men looked at each other and their jaws dropped.

“I can help, but I don’t work for free,” said Cal. He grabbed his bottle and motioned the men toward a table in the back of the saloon.


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