Hosea Returns

"Sh*t! Arthur, sh*t! You've been a complete pariah lately!" Dutch roared, his face reddening, his Little Mustache practically vibrating with indignation. He jabbed a furious finger at Arthur. "Damn it, can't you learn to speak like a gentleman? F*ck! I can't even imagine how Mary could tolerate your damned mouth, your constant crude remarks!"

Just like in the game, external setbacks and grand coups didn't seem to harm Dutch in the slightest, his composure remaining intact. But Arthur's cutting sarcasm, his personal barbs, always managed to pierce his thick skin, making him visibly lose his temper.

"Come on! Come on! I won't say anything, Dutch, alright?" Arthur conceded, his hands waving repeatedly in a theatrical gesture of apology, though a mischievous glint danced in his eyes. He offered a wide, insincere grin. "Oh, sh*t! I feel like your mood swings have been a bit extreme lately, Dutch. I thought only women had extreme mood swings every month…" The words that tumbled from his damned mouth, casual and laced with subtle mockery, didn't sound apologetic at all. In fact, they only served to inflame Dutch further, making his face darken with even more intense anger.

"Oh, sh*t! Get out! Arthur, get out! Now!" Dutch flew into a full-blown rage, his arm shooting out, his finger pointed accusingly at Arthur, his entire body trembling with barely suppressed fury. "Mr. JD, I don't want to see this damned thing in the room today! Get him out!"

"Alright, Dutch, alright!" Arthur capitulated, raising his hands in mock surrender. He couldn't withstand the sheer force of Dutch's fury, not when it was directed at him personally. He quickly stood up from the plush sofa, his shoulders slumping slightly, and shuffled reluctantly towards the door, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

At this moment, as he retreated, he somewhat missed that damned savage, Marston.

At least when he cursed Marston, when he poked fun at him, Marston wouldn't react so violently, wouldn't fly into such a righteous rage.

Damn it, Arthur thought, a pang of injustice, he clearly wasn't being sarcastic this time! Marston wouldn't have such a strong reaction to these particular words, this type of teasing.

Arthur walked out of the room, his shoulders still a little dejected, the sting of Dutch's anger lingering. Just as he was about to head towards the main entrance of the mansion, hoping to escape the lingering tension, he saw two familiar, welcome figures approaching.

"Arthur!" Hosea called out, his voice warm and cheerful. He raised his hand high, waving enthusiastically, a genuine smile spreading across his face, happily greeting Arthur as he approached.

Oh, Arthur thought, a sudden warmth spreading through him, it had been a long time since he'd seen the gang members, truly seen his family; he really missed them.

"Hey, Hosea!" The dejected Arthur immediately brightened up, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure upon seeing Hosea and John. His earlier gloom dissipated instantly.

He quickly walked forward, his stride quickening, looking at Hosea directly and happily saying, his voice filled with curiosity, "Hahaha, Hosea, why are you back? Is the construction on Guarma Island complete already?"

"Of course, son." Hosea nodded, a proud gleam in his eyes. He laid a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder. "The weapons started full production yesterday when we left, a well-oiled machine. Now Mr. Randy is in charge of the arms factory, overseeing everything, and I think it's time for me to come back and help Dutch. He clearly needs a steady hand. Oh, Arthur, it's hard to imagine how much our gang's scale and influence have changed recently. We've only been away for half a month, and you've actually occupied Saint Denis! This is too crazy!" Hosea shook his head, a mixture of awe and profound concern on his face.

"I think I need to talk to Dutch," Hosea continued, his voice dropping slightly, a serious note entering his tone. He glanced around, lowering his voice further, and leaned closer to Arthur, speaking softly into his ear, his hand tightening subtly on Arthur's shoulder. "At least he should give me a heads-up next time he decides on something this crazy, something with such high stakes. This is Saint Denis, after all. Although our gang hasn't had any problems these past few days, who can be sure what will happen if the people in the East, the true powers, find out about this? The repercussions could be catastrophic."

Hosea paused, then spoke again, his voice grave, almost a solemn vow. "By the way, Arthur. I hid fifty thousand dollars, a substantial sum, in a cave on Guarma Island, son. John knows precisely where this place is, should you ever need it." He squeezed Arthur's shoulder, a silent message passing between them.

"Listen, Arthur," Hosea whispered, his eyes filled with a determination that Arthur could not possibly refuse, a deep-seated resolve that spoke of profound love and foresight. "If, if those people in the East, the true, ruthless powers, don't want to see us as we are now, this formidable force, and come after us with everything they have, I hope you can take everyone, all of our family, away from here, whether it's to Mexico or Canada, wherever safety lies… Dutch, I will stand with Dutch, by his side until the very end, to face whatever comes. I think that's the last thing we, the old guard, can do for you all." He finished, his gaze firm, conveying the immense weight of his words.

His face, usually kind and jovial, was now full of a somber kindness, and his eyes, though gentle, were filled with a steely determination that Arthur found utterly impossible to refuse, a quiet plea that cut straight to his heart.

In fact, Hosea had harbored this protective idea for a long time. He had found that Dutch had been becoming increasingly insane, increasingly reckless, recently.

If this growing madness had occurred in the old West, in their wilder days, it wouldn't have mattered much. They would have just added another, perhaps larger, bounty to their wanted posters, another legend to their names. But now, it was profoundly different. Their position was too high, their footprint too large, their influence too vast. If Dutch's madness, or rather, his audacious, revolutionary plan, went even slightly wrong, if it faltered even a little, they might not be able to withstand the inevitable backlash, the crushing weight of the establishment. The entire gang, their family, could be targeted by the entire United States, leading to a relentless military encirclement, a fight they could not win.

He didn't want the entire Van der Linde Gang to have no way out, no escape, no last resort. So he had seized this opportunity, during the Guarma expedition, to secretly hide fifty thousand dollars in a remote cave on Guarma Island, intending it to be the Van der Linde Gang's last, desperate retreat, their final chance at survival.

It wasn't a colossal sum of money, not enough to wage a war, but it was certainly enough to live on, to restart their lives, and crucially, it wouldn't attract unwanted, dangerous attention from the powerful, grasping forces of the East.

By standing defiantly at the peak of prominence with Dutch, by remaining by his side, Hosea could naturally attract all the attention, all the wrath, allowing these younger children, their extended family, to escape unnoticed, to live on.

Whether they bought a ranch later to continue living together, building a new, peaceful life, or whether they disbanded by sharing the money, each going their own way, at least they would have a fallback, a safety net.

It could truly be said that Hosea, with his quiet wisdom and foresight, had already meticulously thought of a complete retreat for all of them, a path to survival beyond Dutch's increasingly perilous gambles.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly as Hosea spoke, his words hitting him with the force of a physical blow. He looked at the unwavering determination on Hosea's face, his expression one of profound disbelief, puzzled by the sheer gravity of the moment, and said, his voice a strained whisper, "Oh, sh*t! Hosea, are you… are you serious? About all of this?"

"Of course, son. Listen," Hosea urged, his voice firm, his eyes fixed on Arthur's, conveying the undeniable truth. He squeezed Arthur's shoulder again. "I don't know why Dutch suddenly decided to move on Saint Denis, to take such an unimaginable risk, but this is a completely different situation from Guarma Island! Guarma was a distant land; this is America's heartland! Damn it, I just heard that Dutch forcibly occupied Mr. Cornwall's tar factory and mine! This is unimaginably crazy! It's a declaration of war on the established order!"

Hosea's voice grew grim, his eyes sweeping over the bustling port, now a symbol of Dutch's conquest. "No one likes to be treated like that, Arthur. Those Eastern capitalists, the real powers, won't tolerate a common bandit trying to rob them, trying to strip them of their capital, their very existence! They will react with brutal force!"

"Listen, son," Hosea continued, his voice softening, filled with paternal concern, "I know you've all been blinded by Dutch's continuous successful plans lately, his winning streak, but Dutch's actions this time are truly too insane, too reckless. However, I won't condemn him for it, not entirely, because it's thanks to his audacious plans that we can live such a good life now, a life we never dreamed of. I owe him that much."

He looked Arthur squarely in the eye, his expression unwavering. "But I also don't want all of you, my children, to suffer negative, devastating consequences because of our actions, because of his increasingly dangerous gambles. So this, my boy, is the fallback I've painstakingly prepared for you, a path to escape. It's for your future."

Hosea patted Arthur's shoulder again, a final, firm squeeze, then turned abruptly and walked purposefully towards the villa, his silhouette disappearing into the mansion. "Alright, Arthur, you and John go explore the city. Take it all in. I think I should go find Dutch now, before he does anything else irreversible."

Arthur was left alone, standing amidst the bustling activity of the port, frowning deeply, his brow furrowed in a profound, troubled contemplation. He muttered to himself, his voice low, almost inaudible, as he watched Hosea's retreating back, grappling with the heavy weight of his old friend's words.

"Alright, Hosea, this old guy never misses an opportunity to be a killjoy, does he?" Arthur muttered, a faint, rueful smile touching his lips. He then turned to John, his eyes glinting with a mischievous resolve. "Marston, I think I need to give you a task!"

Arthur led John away from the bustling port, the two of them walking side-by-side, their heads close, secretly talking, their voices low and conspiratorial, as they began their exploration of the transformed city.

Meanwhile, back in the villa, Dutch, pacing restlessly in the main room, had already spotted Hosea walking into the grand hall, his arrival announced by a servant.

"Oh, old friend, you're finally back!" Dutch exclaimed, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure. He strode forward, his arms outstretched in a wide, welcoming gesture, a rare display of open affection. "Quick, Hosea, try this cigar. Damn it, these Saint Denis elites are truly extravagant. Can you imagine, Hosea? The tobacco leaves of this cigar were actually picked by a young girl's mouth, a true delicacy, and when lit, it even has a sweet aroma, a hint of paradise!"

Dutch was clearly overjoyed to see Hosea enter the room and repeatedly waved him back to the sofa, urging him to sit, to relax, to partake in the spoils of their victory.

His old friend, he knew, had been extremely busy lately, traveling far and wide, even busier than his own work here in Saint Denis, overseeing the Guarma operations.

Dutch settled back, a knowing glint in his eye, and he could almost physically imagine what Hosea would say next, the familiar lecture about his recklessness.

It would definitely be, "Oh, Dutch, I think your plan is absolutely insane…" He anticipated the words with a mixture of amusement and genuine affection.