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Ah, Mr. McLaughlin!" he said warmly, setting down his measuring tape. "You've returned! Word of your deeds has spread all across Saint Denis. I must say, sir, it's not every day this city sees someone stand up to the kinds of men you have. You've done us all a great service."
Caleb smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Just did my job, Mr De Coursey. Needed the money, that's all. No need for the heartfelt thank you, but I appreciate it."
De Coursey chuckled, clearly amused. "Humble as ever I see, Mr. McLaughlin. Well, whatever your reasons, Saint Denis is a touch safer because of you. So then, what brings you here today?"
Caleb rested an elbow casually on the counter. "I'm here to buy a few dresses. For my woman. Some practical ones, and some a little more fancy, elegant, even. Something she could wear for a nice evening or a quiet walk. You know the type."
"Ah!" De Coursey's eyes lit up. "For the madam! Say no more. I believe I have just what you're looking for. Please, wait a moment."
The tailor disappeared into the back, the faint rustle of fabric and clinking of hangers following him. Caleb leaned against the counter, scanning the rows of clothing. Each piece reflected the opulence of Saint Denis's upper class, the kind of world Bronte ruled over. He thought of Mary-Beth for a moment, her soft laugh, her gentle curiosity. She'd look radiant in one of these dresses.
De Coursey returned moments later with four dresses draped over his arm, each carefully folded and protected in thin paper. He laid them gently on the counter.
"Now, the first one," De Coursey began, unfurling a soft blue dress with simple lace trimming, "is a practical day dress, comfortable, light, and perfect for traveling or afternoon wear. The second," he continued, holding up a pale cream colored gown with embroidery at the cuffs, "offers a touch more elegance, without being ostentatious. Very popular among the middle class ladies."
He moved to the third, a deep red evening dress, adorned with subtle golden accents along the neckline. "This one, sir, is meant for more formal occasions, dinners, perhaps, or theatre outings. Bold but tasteful."
Finally, he unfolded the fourth, a white dress of delicate fabric, almost shimmering under the store lights. "And this," De Coursey said with a proud smile, "is one of my personal favorites. Fine lace imported from France, soft as a whisper, and light enough for comfort even in summer. It's… how shall I say… romantic."
Caleb listened patiently, eyes studying each one. When De Coursey finished, Caleb gave a small nod. "I'll take all four then Mr. De Coursey. How much for all of it?"
De Coursey blinked in surprise before smiling broadly. "All four? Well, that would come to 347 dollars and 14 cents, sir."
Without hesitation, Caleb reached into his satchel and produced the money, neat, counted, and exact. The bills made a soft rustle as he handed them over. "Here."
De Coursey accepted the payment with a delighted nod. "Splendid! I'll have them wrapped in paper bags for you. Just a moment."
He went about the task efficiently, folding each dress with care before wrapping them in crisp brown paper and tying them neatly with twine. Caleb watched quietly, his mind wandering briefly.
This, moments like this, was what make him do the things he did, ithent han his own personal goals and ambitions. After nights filled with deception and danger, there was something profoundly human about standing in a store, buying dresses for a woman he cared for.
It reminded him of why he did all this in the first place, to build something lasting, to keep the people he cared about safe, and maybe, in some corner of his heart, to find redemption for himself in this world ayer the things he did, bit ironic since the world he was in was called Red Dead Redemption.
De Coursey returned, placing the bags gently on the counter. "There you are, sir. A fine selection for a fine lady."
Caleb nodded his thanks, gathering the bags. "Appreciate it. She'll love them."
The tailor bowed slightly. "Give her my regards, Mr. McLaughlin, and my thanks once again for all you've done for Saint Denis."
Caleb smiled faintly, tipping his hat. "I'll do that."
As he stepped outside, the sunlight hit him full in the face, warm and bright. He moved to Morgan, glancing once around to ensure no one was watching, then discreetly willed the four paper bags into his Inventory. The faint shimmer came and went, gone from sight, but safely stored.
"Alright, girl," he murmured, patting Morgan's neck again. "Let's get ready to head back to Shady Belle."
He mounted Morgan and guided her down the street. The clip clop of her hooves blended with the rhythmic pulse of Saint Denis life, the noise of trams, chatter, and the distant call of steamboats on the river.
He turned Morgan toward the main avenue that would lead him eventually toward the countryside. The next phase of his plan waited at Shady Belle. He had gifts for Mary-Beth, information for Dutch, and a head full of calculations for every possible next move.
He guided her out of the main avenue and through the streets, heading westward. The city slowly gave way to open road, the noise fading into the steady rhythm of hooves and the soft whisper of the wind.
Caleb glanced back once at the skyline of Saint Denis, the towers, the smoke, and the endless movement, before continuing his ride.
The sun climbed higher as he rode. Each mile that passed took him further from the city's decadence, closer to the swamps and forests that framed the gang's new home.
He continued his ride west, following down the main road as the midday sun hung lazily over the marshlands. The city noise faded behind him, replaced by the creak of saddle leather and the rhythmic sound of Morgan's hooves striking dirt.
The fresh air was thick with the scent of wet grass and bayou water, the occasional chirp of cicadas filling the stillness. The open road stretched ahead like a winding ribbon, leading him toward home, toward Shady Belle.
He passed the outer perimeter of Caliga Hall, its white manor standing tall in the distance, flanked by fields of tobacco and rows of workers under the sharp eyes of foremen. Caleb kept his pace steady, guiding Morgan south as the road bent and forked, the afternoon breeze brushing through his hair. Dust rose behind them, faint and shimmering under the heat.
A few minutes later, he reached a three way intersection and turned left, following the long stretch of road that cut through the edge of Boulder Glade, its trees standing tall like sentinels. The smell of the swamp thickened the further he went.
Spanish moss hung from the branches, and the sound of frogs croaking echoed from the shallows. Turning right at the next fork, he continued down south until the old cobbled path gave way to packed dirt, narrower and darker under the canopy of oak and cypress.
He tugged the reins, and Morgan veered left onto a smaller dirt trail, the path winding gently uphill through dense foliage. Sunlight filtered in broken beams through the trees, scattering light across the moss-covered stones. His eyes caught the faint outline of the two stone gate walls ahead, Shady Belle's entrance. The sight made him smile faintly.
"Home sweet home," he muttered.
He flicked the reins, and Morgan picked up speed, galloping toward the gate. The dirt path opened up into the familiar clearing where the gang's wagons were parked, and tents scattered across the overgrown lawn. The old plantation house loomed ahead, worn but solid, its faded white paint glinting under the sun. Smoke curled from a few campfires, mingling with the smell of stew and gun oil.
Two familiar figures stood by the front gate, Sean and Lenny, both on guard duty. The moment they spotted Caleb, their faces broke into wide grins. Sean waved an arm high, hollering in his usual loud, cheerful drawl.
"Well, would ya look who decided to return from his grand Saint Denis vacation!" Sean called out, his Irish accent cutting through the air like a whip. "I was startin' to think you'd made yourself comfortable with the fancy folk and forgot about us poor souls rottin' here in the swamp! Including your sweetheart Mary-Beth!"
Lenny snorted beside him, trying not to laugh. Caleb slowed Morgan to a stop before them, smirking.
"Well," Caleb said, tilting his head slightly, "you might be right about one thing, Sean, I could live just fine without hearin' your voice again. Lord knows I wouldn't miss your company. But forget everyone back here?" He gave a small shake of his head, eyes glinting. "Not a chance. Especially not Mary-Beth."
That got both of them laughing hard. Lenny slapped Sean's arm, laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. "He got you there, Sean!"
Sean clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to stagger back. "Ah, cruel words from me dear friend! You wound me, Caleb! Truly, my heart bleeds! To think I held a vigil for your safe return!"
Caleb chuckled, shaking his head. "You'll survive."
Still laughing, he guided Morgan toward the hitching post near the main steps. He dismounted smoothly, patting Morgan's flank before tying her reins.
To anyone watching, it looked like he reached into the saddlebag, but in truth, he discreetly pulled the four paper bags out of his Inventory, willing them into his hand with a faint flicker of that unseen light. The bags looked slightly crumpled, just as they should after a long ride.
As he turned around with them, Sean whistled low. "Oho! What's all this then, Caleb? Did you bring back some fine Saint Denis whiskey for your hard workin' comrades?"
Caleb raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. "No, Sean. These aren't for you. They're for Mary-Beth."
Sean gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest again. "Oh ho! For Mary-Beth, is it? You sly dog. Look at you, the mighty Caleb Thorne, buying gifts for a lady! Maybe the great Sean Maguire could learn a thing or two from you about courtin' the fairer sex, it seems!"
"Maybe you should take notes on shuttin' up," Caleb replied, brushing past him with a half smile. Lenny burst out laughing again as Sean threw up his hands.
"Aye, one of these days, you'll admit I'm charming!" Sean called after him.
"Sure," Caleb said without turning back, "the day pigs start ridin' horses."
Sean's sputtering laugh followed him as he walked up the creaking steps of the plantation porch. Sitting there, her back straight and sunlight glinting off her auburn hair, was Mary-Beth. She sat on a wooden chair with her legs tucked neatly beneath her, a small leather journal open in her lap, her pen scratching quietly as she wrote.
Caleb paused for a moment, taking her in, the calm, the way her hair moved with the breeze, the faint smile she wore when she was lost in thought. Then he softened his expression and said gently, "Mary-Beth."
Her pen froze. She blinked, looking up, and when she saw him, her face lit up with surprise first, then joy.
"Caleb!" she exclaimed, her voice bright and full of warmth.
She stood so quickly that her chair scraped across the porch, and before Caleb could even react, she rushed toward him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest. The paper bags crumpled between them as she hugged him fiercely, her head pressed against his shoulder.
Caleb let out a small, startled laugh, but his arms came around her naturally, holding her close. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair. "Easy there, sweetheart," he murmured softly.
Mary-Beth finally loosened her embrace, though her hands stayed on him, her eyes scanning him over worriedly. "You're not hurt, are you? You didn't get into any trouble?" she asked, touching his coat, his arms, his face, checking for wounds.
Caleb smiled faintly. "No, I'm fine. Not a scratch worth mentionin'. You know me, I'm too stubborn to die."
She let out a small laugh of relief, but before she could ask anything else, he lifted the paper bags between them. "Here," he said. "Got you somethin'. Dresses. Told you I'd bring 'em."
Her eyes widened slightly as she looked down at the bags, realizing what they were. Then her smile softened into something impossibly sweet. "You remembered," she whispered.
"Of course I did," Caleb said quietly.
She took the bags carefully, her fingers brushing his as she smiled up at him. "Thank you," she said, her voice tender. Then, before he could react, she leaned in and kissed his cheek, soft, light, and full of affection. "You're too good to me."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 7/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 4)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 3)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 2)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 4)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,655 dollars and 10 cents
Inventory: 104,669 dollars and 72 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 64 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, & 1 Ruby
Bank: -