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Description
so I'm playing the game and following the tracks mentioned in the roleplay. So I start at the saloon since that's where Curtis was, and I found the man in the beginning xD I literally just put him there in the roleplay because I was watching too much Hell on Wheels before that, but here he is right where I wrote him. The best thing is that he keeps getting pushed around by people on foot and on horseback alike.

(Since most of you don't know what I'm talking about, here's my first entry of the aforementioned roleplay. Keep in mind it didn't start out as an RDR roleplay so some elements are different)

"It is only through Him that you will get to heaven! It is through His grace and forgiveness that you will find redemption! Accept Him into your heart! Repent your sins and find eternal peace!" The voice carried through the streets as horses and buggies walked lazily on. A lone man stood at the corner near the saloon, trying to help the men and women find the err in their ways.

Unfortunately for him, not many were willing. Most scoffed as they passed, or ignored him completely. Others clipped his shoulder or stepped on his feet. It may not have been completely because of the message, but more-so of the annoyance in his approach.

He cleared his throat to continue, when a tired voice cut him short. "Oh give up old man," it spoke.

A tall, stocky man pushed off the wall of the saloon, dropping the butt of a cigarette to the ground and grinding it with his heel. His blue eyes flicked back over to the evangelist, shaded by the brim of his hat. "No one cares," he finished bitterly.

The evangelist frowned. "That's the problem!" He exclaimed, closing the bible he held in his hand and turning toward the younger. "These people need God! They've fallen astray from their purpose!" The younger chuckled. "None of these people ever had a purpose, mister," he stated, and the man shook his head. "Oh, everyone has a purpose!" he countered, and the younger quirked a brow. "What, like your purpose is to stand on the corners of streets shouting the Word of God to a brick wall?" He retorted, outstretching a gloved hand to the aforementioned wall.

There was a beat before anyone said anything. The evangelist knew the younger was right, but he had too much faith in humanity to give up. "Have you found peace in Him?"

The man scoffed, waiving the older off. His black boots thudded against the dirt as they transitioned to wooden floorboards as he stepped back inside the saloon, taking a seat at the counter.

The bartender walked up, uncorking a bottle. "The usual?" He asked, and the man nodded. "Add gin this time," he said gruffly, and there was a nod as the glass was filled halfway with one alcohol, and then brimmed with the rest. "Rough day; Curtis?" He asked. "Nnn," was his beginning response as he knocked the alcohol back. "'Rough' is an understatement," he said after swallowing and setting the glass back down. It was filled again, as the bartender chuckled.

The bartender was a younger lad. He couldn't have been older than twenty-years, which was rather unusual. Most bartenders were middle-aged - or at least looked it from all of the inevitable bullshit they had to deal with on a daily basis.

This man, though, looked like he belonged in a university somewhere. He dressed well and kept clean, and despite the almost nightly fights, he always managed to look fresh and revived, with a personality to suit. It was almost inhuman.

For this reason, though, Curtis always enjoyed spending time at the saloon. He always had someone to talk to who wouldn't judge him or try to put a bullet through his skull simply because he existed - let alone what he did with that existence.

The saloon doors violently swung open as he was about to down his next shot. "You gotta get out here," a man said frantically to him, his boots storming over the floorboards, causing the saloon to slow and quiet down as their attention was brought to him. "What- why, Eli?" He asked, and before he could finish his sentence, the plump man was pointing and stammering, "Thunder's been stolen."

Curtis leapt from his seat then, throwing a couple coins on the counter as his own boots stomped the floor, his pace swift and strides long. He reached the door in no time, seeing that his horse was, indeed, gone. "Fuckin' hell!" He cursed, shoving past Eli and untying one of the nearby horses. Someone spoke out in protest, but he ignored them as he swung effortlessly into the seat and raced after Eli who had mounted another horse at the same time.

"Who the hell steals your horse? Don't they know who you are?" Eli called back, and Curtis spurred the horse even faster to match the other man's pace. "That's what I was hopin' you'd tell me! Did you see who it was?" Eli shook his head, causing Curtis to curse again, though barely audible over the thundering of hooves.

Eli looked around. "Well how hard could it be? I mean, you're the only one in a ten-mile radius who owns a golden horse! It shouldn't be hard to spot," he tried reasoning, when Curtis laughed. "You try findin' a golden horse in a desert, Eli, and tell me how well that works out for you!" He called sarcastically. Eli shrugged slightly. "Got a point there," he said to himself.

About a mile out of town, the men slowed the horses to a walk. Both had a good layer of lather on their necks and were wheezing and snorting with each breath. Ironically, the riders were equally out of breath. "Well," Curtis breathed, "they're not here."

Eli looked at the large wall in front of them that lead up to the ledge of a plateau. "Nope," he agreed, and he could hear Curtis curse yet again. "Well now what?" the man asked, and Curtis looked at the sky.

The sun had sunk toward the horizon and the temperature started dropping. Mosquitoes buzzed around their ears, and Curtis sighed. "Let's rest," he said, dismounting and leading his borrowed horse away from the road.

Eli followed and tied his horse next to the other on the juniper tree, taking a seat against its trunk as he watched the older form a fire pit with stones and dry wood. "I'm sorry," he said, pressing his back into the tree. Curtis glanced over at him briefly as he broke a stick in half. "Why?" He asked, though he could see the guilt in the kid's face. "We couldn't get Thunder back tonight."

Curtis scoffed. "Don't worry 'bout that," he said, "I'll get 'im back soon. Or I'll kill the bastard that took him. Or both. Preferably both." Eli laughed then, and relaxed. "So we gonna camp here then?" He asked, and Curtis nodded. "Might as well," he stated,, laying down next to the pit which was now engulfed in flames. "It'll be dark soon anyway." He listened to the crackling of the flames as he stared into the ever-deepening sky.

I don't plan to be posting the roleplay here, but I was laughing too hard not to share this, and of course it only makes sense when you know the story, so there you go!

Description
so I'm playing the game and following the tracks mentioned in the roleplay. So I start at the saloon since that's where Curtis was, and I found the man in the beginning xD I literally just put him there in the roleplay because I was watching too much Hell on Wheels before that, but here he is right where I wrote him. The best thing is that he keeps getting pushed around by people on foot and on horseback alike.

(Since most of you don't know what I'm talking about, here's my first entry of the aforementioned roleplay. Keep in mind it didn't start out as an RDR roleplay so some elements are different)

"It is only through Him that you will get to heaven! It is through His grace and forgiveness that you will find redemption! Accept Him into your heart! Repent your sins and find eternal peace!" The voice carried through the streets as horses and buggies walked lazily on. A lone man stood at the corner near the saloon, trying to help the men and women find the err in their ways.

Unfortunately for him, not many were willing. Most scoffed as they passed, or ignored him completely. Others clipped his shoulder or stepped on his feet. It may not have been completely because of the message, but more-so of the annoyance in his approach.

He cleared his throat to continue, when a tired voice cut him short. "Oh give up old man," it spoke.

A tall, stocky man pushed off the wall of the saloon, dropping the butt of a cigarette to the ground and grinding it with his heel. His blue eyes flicked back over to the evangelist, shaded by the brim of his hat. "No one cares," he finished bitterly.

The evangelist frowned. "That's the problem!" He exclaimed, closing the bible he held in his hand and turning toward the younger. "These people need God! They've fallen astray from their purpose!" The younger chuckled. "None of these people ever had a purpose, mister," he stated, and the man shook his head. "Oh, everyone has a purpose!" he countered, and the younger quirked a brow. "What, like your purpose is to stand on the corners of streets shouting the Word of God to a brick wall?" He retorted, outstretching a gloved hand to the aforementioned wall.

There was a beat before anyone said anything. The evangelist knew the younger was right, but he had too much faith in humanity to give up. "Have you found peace in Him?"

The man scoffed, waiving the older off. His black boots thudded against the dirt as they transitioned to wooden floorboards as he stepped back inside the saloon, taking a seat at the counter.

The bartender walked up, uncorking a bottle. "The usual?" He asked, and the man nodded. "Add gin this time," he said gruffly, and there was a nod as the glass was filled halfway with one alcohol, and then brimmed with the rest. "Rough day; Curtis?" He asked. "Nnn," was his beginning response as he knocked the alcohol back. "'Rough' is an understatement," he said after swallowing and setting the glass back down. It was filled again, as the bartender chuckled.

The bartender was a younger lad. He couldn't have been older than twenty-years, which was rather unusual. Most bartenders were middle-aged - or at least looked it from all of the inevitable bullshit they had to deal with on a daily basis.

This man, though, looked like he belonged in a university somewhere. He dressed well and kept clean, and despite the almost nightly fights, he always managed to look fresh and revived, with a personality to suit. It was almost inhuman.

For this reason, though, Curtis always enjoyed spending time at the saloon. He always had someone to talk to who wouldn't judge him or try to put a bullet through his skull simply because he existed - let alone what he did with that existence.

The saloon doors violently swung open as he was about to down his next shot. "You gotta get out here," a man said frantically to him, his boots storming over the floorboards, causing the saloon to slow and quiet down as their attention was brought to him. "What- why, Eli?" He asked, and before he could finish his sentence, the plump man was pointing and stammering, "Thunder's been stolen."

Curtis leapt from his seat then, throwing a couple coins on the counter as his own boots stomped the floor, his pace swift and strides long. He reached the door in no time, seeing that his horse was, indeed, gone. "Fuckin' hell!" He cursed, shoving past Eli and untying one of the nearby horses. Someone spoke out in protest, but he ignored them as he swung effortlessly into the seat and raced after Eli who had mounted another horse at the same time.

"Who the hell steals your horse? Don't they know who you are?" Eli called back, and Curtis spurred the horse even faster to match the other man's pace. "That's what I was hopin' you'd tell me! Did you see who it was?" Eli shook his head, causing Curtis to curse again, though barely audible over the thundering of hooves.

Eli looked around. "Well how hard could it be? I mean, you're the only one in a ten-mile radius who owns a golden horse! It shouldn't be hard to spot," he tried reasoning, when Curtis laughed. "You try findin' a golden horse in a desert, Eli, and tell me how well that works out for you!" He called sarcastically. Eli shrugged slightly. "Got a point there," he said to himself.

About a mile out of town, the men slowed the horses to a walk. Both had a good layer of lather on their necks and were wheezing and snorting with each breath. Ironically, the riders were equally out of breath. "Well," Curtis breathed, "they're not here."

Eli looked at the large wall in front of them that lead up to the ledge of a plateau. "Nope," he agreed, and he could hear Curtis curse yet again. "Well now what?" the man asked, and Curtis looked at the sky.

The sun had sunk toward the horizon and the temperature started dropping. Mosquitoes buzzed around their ears, and Curtis sighed. "Let's rest," he said, dismounting and leading his borrowed horse away from the road.

Eli followed and tied his horse next to the other on the juniper tree, taking a seat against its trunk as he watched the older form a fire pit with stones and dry wood. "I'm sorry," he said, pressing his back into the tree. Curtis glanced over at him briefly as he broke a stick in half. "Why?" He asked, though he could see the guilt in the kid's face. "We couldn't get Thunder back tonight."

Curtis scoffed. "Don't worry 'bout that," he said, "I'll get 'im back soon. Or I'll kill the bastard that took him. Or both. Preferably both." Eli laughed then, and relaxed. "So we gonna camp here then?" He asked, and Curtis nodded. "Might as well," he stated,, laying down next to the pit which was now engulfed in flames. "It'll be dark soon anyway." He listened to the crackling of the flames as he stared into the ever-deepening sky.

I don't plan to be posting the roleplay here, but I was laughing too hard not to share this, and of course it only makes sense when you know the story, so there you go!