Sunny

While Dutch and Rain Falls were undoubtedly enjoying their warm, fuzzy 'honeymoon' period back at Hope Ranch, bonding over shared philosophies and freshly baked bread, Arthur, along with a perpetually bewildered John, and a positively glowing Sunny Quell – the freshly minted sheriff of Rhodes – had just emerged from the imposing maw of the Saint Denis city hall. The air still hummed with the faint, sweet scent of newly minted corruption.

"Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston," Sunny began, his voice a barely contained tremor of reverence, his eyes wide and shining with an almost religious awe. He practically vibrated with suppressed excitement, bowing so low his head nearly scraped the grimy pavement. "Since the matter is… concluded, I won't trouble you any further. I'll take my leave now, with utmost gratitude."

Who, in their wildest, most feverish dreams, could have imagined such a thing? He, Sunny Quell, just two months ago, was a miserable ranch hand, toiling under a blistering sun for a paltry twelve or thirteen dollars a month. His family of three, perpetually on the brink of starvation, crammed into a makeshift shack in the wretched slums, a place that barely deserved the dignified title of 'house.'

His wife and child were perpetually underfed, dressed in rags, and their very lives were a daily gamble. Vagrants, like starved wolves, circled their shack every day, their eyes glinting with hunger. He didn't even dare carry the forty or fifty cents he managed to earn each day. Instead, he'd sprint to buy food immediately after work, sharing it with his wife and child right there on the street, only daring to return home after dark, and even then, he still occasionally found himself robbed, beaten, stripped of the few coins he managed to cling to.

If it weren't for the tiny, desperate flicker of hope embodied by his wife and child, he would have long ago plunged himself into the unforgiving depths of the sea. In truth, even without such a drastic measure, living in such a soul-crushing environment, a person couldn't last many years. A sudden fever, a chance encounter with a villain with a knife—any number of cruel fates could claim the lives of his family of three at any given moment.

(Dying young, a quiet, almost routine tragedy, was horrifyingly common in the West back then; the Van der Linde Gang itself, in a grim irony, was comprised almost entirely of people whose families had vanished too soon.)

Then, two short months ago, a whisper had spread, a rumor, then a wild, exhilarating roar: a Mr. Callahan… no, a Mr. Van der Linde… was suddenly, miraculously, recruiting workers at a warehouse in Saint Denis!

And he was specifically, almost unbelievably, hiring female workers! In the West of that era, women generally had no viable job opportunities. When even men couldn't find work, the notion of someone hiring women, especially those from the desperate squalor of their slum, without connections or a single cent to their name, was utterly impossible.

(It was a stark contrast to the East, where, during the same period, women were beginning to appear in the workplace, even being specifically recruited for roles like teachers. But this was the untamed, unforgiving West, where jobs were scarcer than honest politicians, and people dared not travel far.

The chasm between East and West at that time was wider than the disparity between a forgotten, archaic empire and the vibrant, brutal new world of America.)

So, upon learning that Mr. Van der Linde was hiring women, every single female soul in the slum went utterly, gloriously mad. His own wife, along with the other desperate women, had bolted through the streets like crazed banshees, their tattered dresses flapping, not caring if their chests were exposed, their bare feet bleeding from the rough, unforgiving ground.

They scrambled over each other, each one a wild, desperate blur, driven by an animalistic need for a chance. And his wife, miraculously, was one of the fortunate few. She was chosen by Mr. Van der Linde, simply because she knew how to sew.

Thus, in one dizzying, unbelievable leap, his entire family had ascended to heaven! They now received free food and lodging, only had to work a perfectly reasonable twelve hours a day, enjoyed two glorious days off per month, and, as a couple, could save a whopping fifty-five dollars a month!

The factory provided their clothing, their son could actually attend school, and he even got to drink a cup of hot milk, personally provided by Mr. Van der Linde, every single day to ensure his nutrition! And now, now, he, Sunny Quell, had directly become the Sheriff of Rhodes!

The events of the past two months were so impossibly dreamlike that Sunny couldn't even grasp them. The lingering stench of the slum still clung to his nostrils, a phantom reminder, yet the clothes on his back were now the crisp, official uniform of a sheriff! In the morning, a forgotten farm boy; in the evening, ascending directly to the Emperor's court! It was nothing less than a divine intervention!

Sunny Quell's entire being, his very soul, was now utterly, completely, irrevocably filled with Mr. Van der Linde. He had already rebelled against God, cast aside his old faith, and utterly, totally, converted to the worship of Mr. Van der Linde!

Sunny, would surely repay Mr. Van der Linde's boundless kindness with his very life from this moment forward!

Watching Sunny's face, contorted with such fervent, ecstatic excitement, seeing his body trembling with the sheer force of his emotion, and listening to his voice, still a bit shaky with awe, a slow, knowing smile spread across Arthur's face.

He stepped forward, a hand casually resting on his hip, and patted Sunny's shoulder. Then, with a carefully measured tone, he mused, "Alright, Mr. Quell, I imagine you're eager to share this… monumental joy with your family right now. But as they say, with great power comes great responsibility. Rhodes will need you to manage it well from now on! Don't you dare disappoint Dutch. Not for a second." Arthur gave a gentle squeeze to Sunny's shoulder, his eyes twinkling.

Sunny felt his whole body go weak with emotion, his eyes red, glistening with tears of boundless gratitude. He wished, at that moment, he could bash his head against the ground in humble devotion. "Mr. Morgan," he choked out, his voice thick with tears, "I will definitely, absolutely, never disappoint Mr. Van der Linde! You saved our family! Our entire family will forever follow Mr. Van der Linde!"

"Hahaha, oh, Mr. Quell," Arthur chuckled, a theatrical shake of his head, his hand still on Sunny's shoulder. "Dutch wouldn't like you being so… subservient. Dutch always says everyone is born equal, so you don't have to be so… hmm, anyway, live well, Mr. Quell, live well and prosper, and make others' lives happier and happier. That's what Dutch truly wants to see." Arthur gave him one last, firm pat.

Damn it, John thought, watching from a short distance, his jaw practically on the ground. Arthur's learned Dutch's tricks too! 'Live well and prosper?' 'Make others' lives happier and happier?'

Oh, God, listen to his words! They were as sickeningly sweet and heartwarming as Grandma Jack's fireplace on a cold winter's night! Sunny, completely overwhelmed, felt tears stream down his face, genuine, heartfelt tears. Mr. Van der Linde was already hanging high in his heart, a literal, shining deity!

Arthur patted Sunny's shoulder once more, shook his head with a faint, amused smile, then waved a dismissive hand. "Alright, Mr. Quell, you go on back. Be careful on your way. John and I will stay here and… look around."

"Yes, Mr. Morgan!" Sunny, profoundly moved and still trembling with disbelief, practically vaulted onto his horse and rode unsteadily down the street towards Rhodes, his new domain.

John, standing nearby, stared at Arthur Morgan with an expression that was a bizarre mix of horror and utter incredulity. "Shit! Morgan!" he blurted out, shaking his head. "I feel like I don't even know you anymore! Why in God's name is your way of speaking completely different from before? Shit! I still can't believe such… such touching words can come out of your damned, cynical mouth!"

John looked at Arthur as if he'd sprouted a second head, utterly, completely disoriented. Were those words that the legendary 'King of Western Curses' could utter? Damn it, he thought, remembering Arthur's previous saccharine platitudes, it was so sickeningly sweet it gave him goosebumps!

Arthur glanced sideways at John, a look of profound disdain crossing his face. He slowly, deliberately turned and mounted his horse, then, with a drawl dripping with condescension, he finally said, "Yes, Marston. I've certainly learned a lot from Dutch lately. But with half your brain gnawed off by wolves, you probably wouldn't understand why."

"Oh, shit!" John grunted, a strange sense of relief washing over him. "That's more like it Morgan." He shook his head, finally feeling like the world was back on its correct, cynical axis, then swung himself onto his horse.

"Oh, Marston," Arthur added, sighing deeply, his voice tinged with a theatrical helplessness, "I think what I said about you last time was wrong. The wolves gnawing off half your brain didn't actually make you smarter. I'm sorry, I misunderstood you last time. Your intelligence, my friend, hasn't changed at all."