At Horseshoe Overlook Camp, faint singing drifted out from Dutch's tent. Jamie perked his ears and realized it wasn't anyone in camp—it was a phonograph, the needle scratching over a record while Dutch let the music roll.
With anticipation in his eyes, Arthur stepped up to the fire where the meat was roasting and called out to the crowd already gathered by the smell. "It's ready!"
Almost at once, a cheer rose from the folks at another bonfire.
To Jamie's surprise, everyone carried the roasted meat straight over to Pearson, who started cutting it into smaller pieces.
Then they grabbed handfuls of meat and bone, tossing them onto the same plates they'd just eaten apple pie off, before digging in.
Jamie caught on after a moment. Nearly a third of the camp was womenfolk, and a whole slab of meat wasn't easy for them to handle. Cutting it up made things simpler and more proper-looking, too.
Because of that, Jamie's plate ended up stacked with several chunks of lamb. He carefully speared a piece and slipped it into his mouth.
The meat glistened with fat, the gamey smell cooked clean away, and the flavor—rich and juicy—spread across his tongue.
Was this lamb? It was damn near perfect.
Maybe it was the sheep around here… or maybe Charles was just that skilled at roasting.
Most likely, it was Charles's doing.
Sitting by the fire, Jamie chewed on the tender meat while watching the others eat and drink. Plates of roasted lamb went down with bottles of whiskey or brandy, laughter and tall tales ringing out across the camp. The whole place had come alive.
"How can you eat meat without a drink?" Arthur chuckled, noticing Jamie keeping to himself. He plunked down beside him, shoved a bottle of whiskey into his hand, and said, "Here, this one's yours."
Jamie usually stayed away from liquor back home—he was the sort to get drunk off a little too much.
He didn't hate it, just never had the taste for it.
But this wasn't exactly his old life, and curiosity got the better of him. Taking the bottle from Arthur, he hesitated a moment, then bit the cork out with his teeth and tipped it back for a sip.
The burn hit his mouth and throat in a rush, sharp and fiery, and Jamie coughed hard a few times.
"Hah! You'll get used to it," Arthur said with a laugh. "If you can't stomach that, try brandy. Folks say it tastes like fruit. Though most around here'll tell ya that's a woman's drink. A man's drink is whiskey—and the stronger, the better. Cheers, partner!" He clinked his own bottle against Jamie's and took a long swig, chasing it with another bite of lamb.
Jamie rolled his eyes at the remark, muttering under his breath, "Whoever said that oughta be made to drink industrial alcohol." He took another big bite of meat and lifted the bottle again, sipping slower this time.
The two finished the meat on their plates and didn't go for seconds.
Arthur gave Jamie a pat on the shoulder and led him around camp, introducing him to everyone they came across.
Each time someone noticed Jamie holding a drink, they welcomed him with a cheer, raising their bottles and swapping a few words before letting him pass.
By the time the round was over, Jamie had another bottle of whiskey in hand, his head spinning and his steps heavy.
Arthur had wandered off somewhere, and Jamie wasn't sure who he'd last been drinking with.
'Was it Lenny? I don't know... Shit, I need to sober up...'
Spotting an empty chair by the camp's round table, he slumped down into it.
Javier sat nearby with a guitar across his lap, Karen had put her coat back on and leaned against the table, and Uncle was laughing with them over nothing in particular.
Dutch stood in front of his tent, cigar glowing in the dark, and barked out in his commanding tone, "Don't just sit there dozing off. How about a song?"
"Hey, my friend, do you know 'Louisville Lady'?" Uncle slurred, looking to Javier with a grin.
Javier just gave a small nod, strummed out the opening chords, and let the tune roll.
"That's the one!" Uncle chuckled knowingly.
The music carried through the camp as Javier's fingers danced over the strings, and soon enough voices rose up with the chorus. The rhythm was easy, and laughter filled the air between the lines. Uncle sang with a drunken edge, leaning in and throwing in the verses one by one, while Karen joined in now and then, clapping to the beat.
When the song wound down, Uncle leaned back with a satisfied groan. "She's swayin', and hell, we're swayin' too, hah!" he joked, sending the whole group into another round of laughter.
Jamie sat there, smiling faintly, though the whiskey was starting to turn his stomach.
The song and the campfire made the world tilt just a little too much.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp wave of nausea. He pushed back his chair, staggered a few steps, and hurried toward the edge of the woods.
Bracing against a tree, he gagged until sour liquid hit the ground. A cool night breeze passed through the branches, and he drew in a shaky breath, feeling the sickness fade.
By the light of the moon, he spotted a broad, smooth rock not far off.
He dragged himself over and sat down, letting his head fall back as the world finally steadied.
Horseshoe Overlook at night had its own kind of wonder.
In 2020s, living in the city, Jamie had hardly ever bothered with the night sky—too many city lights and smoke hiding the stars.
Here, though, the heavens were alive.
On his first night in this world, Jamie was fortunate enough to see why the Milky Way was called a river. In the dark blue sky, bright stars appeared one after another, packed tightly like pebbles in a stream.
For the first time in years, Jamie found himself spellbound.
"Do you like looking at the stars too?" came a hoarse voice from the other side of the rock.
Jamie jumped, heart racing, the drink's fog clearing at once. "Who's there?" he called, startled.
"Heh. Thought you saw me sittin' here before you came over," the voice replied.
Jamie leaned around and saw a woman dressed in black, sitting in the shadows.
He hadn't noticed her at first. Recognition settled in. "Sorry, Mrs. Adler. Guess I wasn't paying attention. I've had a bit too much tonight."
Sadie Adler gave the faintest shrug, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "It's fine. You just seemed mighty taken with the sky. Reminded me of someone."
Jamie followed her eyes upward. "Haven't seen a sky this clear in years. Guess I got carried away. But, uh, this party's for the both of us, isn't it? Shouldn't you be over there too?"
Sadie's jaw tightened, her voice low and bitter. "For them, any haul's an excuse for a feast. You and me? We're just the reason they got to light the fire tonight. Don't mean much more than that."
What she said sounded reasonable.
For a beat Jamie couldn't think of a reply.
He scrubbed his memory for everything he'd learned about the Van der Linde gang and the people he'd met today, then pushed his thoughts together and said, "I don't think that's right. The ones who burned your home and killed your family were the O'Driscolls. The folks celebrating over there — they're the Van der Linde gang."
"What's the difference? They're all killers and thieves. A name don't change that," Sadie said, her voice hard and a little scornful.
"No, Mrs. Adler, there's a real difference," Jamie said, growing more sure as he spoke. "Have you seen other gangs with so many women who stay and help run the camp? Do other gangs call their people 'family'? Most important—would another gang have taken you in after you lost your home and husband? Think about it: if it were some other outlaw, do you really believe they'd have saved you when they had the chance?" He fired the questions quickly, one after another, forcing Sadie to reckon with each point.
Sadie fell quiet.
Jamie thought the moment might stretch into nothing, as if the whole camp had stopped breathing.
Then she let out a long, ragged sigh—like the sound of a weight easing off—and small sobs followed. "You... you make sense," she said, voice breaking. "Maybe... maybe there is a difference between people. I... I kept telling myself they were all the same. I wouldn't let myself accept what happened, and I pushed everyone away."
Jamie, who'd never made a woman cry before, felt a panic twist in his gut. But his head was sharp — now wasn't the time to freeze.
He moved closer, sat beside her, and put a steady hand on her shoulder. "I can tell you loved him," he said quietly. "Losing someone like that hits like a bullet. But life keeps moving. Hiding in that hurt won't bring him back, and it ain't what the folks who saved you want to see. We live by purpose—when one ends, another starts. Letting everybody worry over you— is that really what you want your life to mean?"
Sadie flushed with anger and grief. "No! My purpose is revenge. I want the O'Driscolls dead. I want them to pay for what they did. I want to watch them rot—one by one. I want to bury them with my very own hands!" The last words came out through clenched teeth, a raw hiss of hatred and pain.
Jamie shivered unexpectedly, wondering if this was what folks meant when they talked about killing intent.
This woman, who looked calm and almost fragile on the outside, carried a storm of hatred in her heart deeper than he ever expected.
Sadie finally seemed to wrestle her demons down.
She rose to her feet, her hardened expression softening, and bowed her head slightly toward Jamie. "Thank you. Truly. You helped me settle something I couldn't face on my own."
Jamie quickly waved his hand, shaking his head. "No need for thanks. Didn't Dutch always say we're family here? You wanna head back and join the others? Haven't had any of Pearson's roasted meat tonight, have you? It's real good."
Sadie gave a faint smile, slipping her hat off and setting it beside her. She smoothed her hair back with both hands and said, "I'll pass. Think I'll stay out here a while longer. Don't you worry, I'm alright now. Go enjoy yourself."
Jamie nodded with a touch of regret. "Alright then. I'll head back. You should rest early too."
"Mm." Sadie hugged her knees and settled back into the shadows the way she had before.
After that talk, the whiskey's haze had lifted some for Jamie. His steps were still a little unsteady, but he managed back into camp where the fire still burned.
Arthur sat by the bonfire with Pearson, Bill, and Uncle, the smell of charred ribs lingering in the night air.
Uncle's laugh carried above the crackle of the flames as he told some rambling story.
Jamie walked over and dropped into the spot beside Arthur.
Arthur glanced at him with a crooked smile. "Feelin' better?"
Jamie gave a proud nod. "It's just a bottle of whiskey. Ain't no problem. Little rest, a piss, and I'm fine."
Arthur smirked knowingly, leaning in close. "I saw you earlier. Sneakin' off behind camp with that widow. Didn't figure you had such… tastes. Guess I was wrong tellin' you to go ask the others for advice."
Jamie blinked, taken aback. He waved a hand in front of Arthur's face. "Arthur, you drunk? I was just talkin' with Mrs. Adler. How the hell'd you come up with that?"
Arthur brushed his hand away, slung an arm around Jamie's shoulders, and chuckled. "Even if it was just talkin', that's somethin'. Mrs. Adler hardly says two words to most of the women here, let alone the men. You're makin' progress."
Jamie stared at him, speechless. Arthur had to be drunk. He pushed Arthur's arm off and stood. "You fellas keep at it. I'm tired. Headin' to bed." He let out a wide yawn and turned toward his tent.
Still in his clothes, Jamie dropped onto his cot.
He sat up again, frowning.
No pillow.
With a sigh, he muttered, "Figures." He pulled off his coat, folded it into a makeshift pillow, and set it under his head. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.
He lay back down, tugged the blanket over himself, and listened to the fire crackle and the gang's muffled laughter drifting through the night.
Life with the gang was rough, but for now, it was home. Jamie's eyes grew heavy, and soon he was drifting off.
In his half-dreaming haze, a sharp series of electronic chimes suddenly echoed in his mind: [Red Dead Redemption System activated. Detecting player progress...]
[Player successfully joined the Van der Linde Gang on the first day. Reward: 1 normal draw.]
[Player's favorability with Arthur Morgan reached 20 points. Reward: 1 normal draw.]
[Player's favorability with Sadie Adler reached 20 points. Reward: 1 normal draw.]
[Player prematurely facilitated Sadie Adler's transformation. Reward: 1 special draw.]