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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Arthur was spending the afternoon with Mary Linton. Caleb had personally ensured that Mary received an invitation and a safe, private escort to the mountains. The two of them were sitting together in a secluded corner of the hotel's massive, glass enclosed conservatory, surrounded by blooming winter orchids. They were enjoying a quiet, deeply intimate date after attending the grand spectacle of the wedding.
There was no immediate talk of making anything official, no grand proposals, and no formal declarations of marriage. The scars of their past were still healing, and the transition from outlaw to legitimate enforcer was a journey Arthur was still navigating. Instead, they simply savored the profound feeling of being together in the present moment.
Arthur reached out, his large, calloused hand gently covering Mary's smaller one as it rested on the table. She didn't pull away. She turned her hand over, intertwining her fingers with his.
They sat in comfortable silence, acutely aware of exactly what they meant to each other, and heavily conscious of what their lives might have been like if they had not been separated by Jamie's interference and the rigid expectations of her family.
The scene felt incredibly wistful, soft, and honest. There was a sense of longing, but it was tempered by a profound emotional maturity. They had time now. Thanks to Caleb, Arthur wasn't a wanted man running toward a bullet. He was a free citizen, and they had the rest of their lives to figure it out.
At the same time, in one of the sprawling family suites on the third floor, John was spending his afternoon focusing entirely on the future of his own bloodline.
John was sitting on the thick Persian rug with Abigail and little Jack. The boy was laughing loudly, playing with a set of expensive, hand carved wooden trains that Caleb had gifted him. John was actively helping to create a happier, more stable childhood for Jack, giving the boy experiences that felt entirely normal and joyful, a stark contrast to the life of an outlaw gang, where a child was usually forced to hide in the dirt from Pinkerton agents.
Abigail watched her husband and her son from the sofa, a warm cup of tea resting in her hands. She quietly, deeply hoped that with this new, legitimate life Caleb had provided, Jack might grow into someone like Caleb himself, or perhaps like Pierre. She wanted her son to be a man of stature, education, and stability, rather than repeating the endless, violent cycle of chaos that had defined John's early years.
"Alright, partner," John said, pulling a large, leather bound children's book from a stack on the table. He patted the rug beside him. "Trains go in the station for a minute. Time for some letters."
Jack scrambled over, sitting eagerly beside his father. John, who had only recently become truly literate himself, began teaching both Abigail and Jack how to read and write.
He pointed to the large, bold letters on the page, sounding them out slowly and patiently. The scene felt incredibly caring, deeply hopeful, and firmly grounded in the family's overwhelming desire for a better, brighter future.
After three days of hunting, celebrations, and quiet moments of profound connection, the mountain retreat finally drew to a close. It was time for the Thorne Holding Company to return to the heart of the empire.
Caleb, Mary-Beth, the gang, and the inner circle of capos boarded the private Pullman train for the journey back to Saint Denis.
As the massive steam locomotive began its descent down the mountain passes, the atmosphere aboard the luxurious private car was anything but melancholy. In fact, the mood was incredibly festive. Word of Pierre's proposal had spread rapidly through the group, and Tilly's engagement was being celebrated warmly by absolutely everyone present.
The train car was filled with an abundance of leftover gourmet food, cases of premium drinks, and raucous laughter. Arthur and John were mercilessly, but affectionately, teasing Pierre about his impending doom as a married man, while the women crowded around Tilly, admiring her new diamond ring. The return trip felt like a joyous, natural continuation of the wedding celebration rather than the end of it.
Eventually, the train pulled into the smog choked, bustling station of Saint Denis.
The group disembarked, transferring into the fleet of waiting black-lacquered carriages. Caleb helped Mary-Beth into the plush interior of their personal carriage, settling in beside her as Silvio cracked the whip and they rolled toward the Garden District.
The sun had set, and the city was blazing with the glow of thousands of new electric streetlamps.
As Caleb sat beside his wife, his arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, he looked out the reinforced glass window at the passing buildings and the humming, crackling electric lights of the city.
The sight of the electricity suddenly triggered a massive, visionary realization in Caleb's intelligent mind. It was a thought that could dramatically change his entire business empire if he handled it with the correct blend of funding and corporate protection.
He didn't just want to build bicycles or invest in crude, early automobiles. He wanted to own the energy that powered the future.
He realized that with the tremendous capital of the Thorne syndicate, he could reach out and bring Nikola Tesla down from New York and directly into his own corporate orbit.
Caleb knew the tragic, infuriating history of the brilliant inventor. He knew that Tesla was a man of unparalleled genius with very eccentric nature who had endured an extremely difficult, painful life. He was a man constantly cheated by ruthless businessmen like Thomas Edison, chronically underfunded, and often considered one of the most tragic, misunderstood inventors of his time.
But Caleb didn't want to cheat him. Caleb wanted to unleash him.
If he brought Tesla to Saint Denis, he could give the eccentric genius absolute, free rein to pursue his most radical research, alternating current expansion, wireless power transmission, and advanced robotics, while Caleb completely funded the operations and Pierre secured the patents.
Through Tesla, Caleb could expand his technology empire exponentially, accelerating human progress far faster than the original timeline ever allowed. He could power his new factories with revolutionary efficiency, leaving the coal burning tycoons in the dust.
This realization felt incredibly exciting, deeply ambitious, and ruthlessly visionary. It wasn't just about making money anymore, it was about shaping the very fabric of the 20th century. It showed Caleb's terrifying ability to connect people, massive wealth, and groundbreaking innovation into something much larger than a single business.
He looked away from the window, his blue eyes flashing with the fire of a man who was about to change the world. Mary-Beth noticed the sudden, intense shift in his demeanor. She leaned her head against his shoulder, a knowing smile touching her lips, entirely ready for whatever grand, impossible adventure her husband was about to lead and embark on next.
The heavy, black lacquered carriage rolled to a smooth, elegant halt at the base of the sweeping marble steps of the Garden District estate. The rhythmic, echoing clatter of the thoroughbreds' hooves against the cobblestones faded, replaced by the quiet, familiar hum of the Saint Denis evening.
Silvio stepped down from the driver's bench with practiced efficiency, pulling open the carriage door and offering a respectful nod as Caleb stepped out into the crisp night air.
Caleb turned, offering his hand to Mary-Beth. She took it, stepping down gracefully, her dark eyes reflecting the warm, flickering glow of the gas lamps that illuminated the mansion's pristine exterior. The exhaustion of the journey, the overwhelming emotions of the wedding, and the sheer weight of the last few days were finally beginning to settle into their bones, but it was a deeply satisfying, victorious kind of fatigue.
As they walked up the marble steps and pushed open the heavy oak double doors, the familiar, comforting warmth of their home washed over them.
Waiting for them in the center of the grand foyer, standing as immaculate and perfectly poised as ever, was Antonio. The head butler's face broke into a rare, incredibly warm, and genuine smile as he saw them cross the threshold.
"Welcome home, Don Thorne. Madam Thorne," Antonio greeted them, bowing his head in profound respect. "Please allow me to officially congratulate you both once again on your marriage. The house has felt entirely too quiet without you."
"Thank you, Antonio," Mary-Beth smiled brightly, pulling her shawl a little tighter around her shoulders. "It is wonderful to be back."
"We appreciate it, Antonio," Caleb added, unbuttoning his coat and handing it to a waiting servant. "Is the rest of the family secured?"
"They are, sir. The carriages carrying Mr. Morgan, Mr. Matthews, and the rest of your associates arrived just moments before you did," Antonio confirmed, gesturing gracefully toward the massive double doors of the dining hall. "Knowing that the journey from the mountains would leave you all quite ravenous, I have already made sure a lavish dinner has been prepared for everyone's return. It is waiting for you now."
"You are a godsend, Antonio," Caleb chuckled, leading Mary-Beth toward the dining room.
The scene inside the grand dining hall felt like a perfect, comfortable homecoming after the intense excitement of the wedding and the long travel back from Strawberry.
The massive mahogany table, illuminated by the soft glow of the crystal chandeliers, was laden with an absolute feast. There were towering silver platters of roasted lamb seasoned with rosemary, massive bowls of buttered potatoes, fresh asparagus, and endless decanters of rich, dark red wine.
The core members of the Van der Linde gang were already filtering in, shedding their heavy traveling coats and taking their seats with exhausted but incredibly happy sighs. The room quickly filled with the warm, lively, and relaxed energy of people who had just come through a major, life changing celebration together.
For the first half hour, the dining room was filled with the clinking of silverware and the chaotic, overlapping sounds of laughter and storytelling. Sean was loudly recounting how much he had enjoyed the open bar at the hotel, while Sadie and Karen debated the finer points of the mountain scenery.
Arthur sat quietly, enjoying a thick cut of lamb, occasionally sharing a knowing, contented look with John across the table.
As the plates began to clear and the wine flowed more freely, Caleb sat back in his chair at the head of the table. He looked around at the faces of the people he had saved, the people who had fought for him, bled for him, and ultimately become the foundation of his empire.
He tapped his silver spoon against the edge of his crystal wine glass. The sharp, clear ringing instantly quieted the lively chatter, drawing the attention of the entire room.
"I have a matter I would like to discuss with all of you," Caleb began, his voice calm, carrying the smooth, authoritative cadence of the Don, but laced with a deep, familial warmth. "These last few months have been a whirlwind of war, business, and survival. We have fortified this mansion, and it has served as our sanctuary. I want to make it absolutely clear that every single one of you is welcome to live under this roof for the rest of your natural lives. I do not mind it in the slightest."
Caleb paused, leaning his forearms against the polished mahogany, his blue eyes sweeping over the group.
"However," Caleb continued, outlining an important, highly practical idea he had been considering for weeks. "This estate is heavily guarded. It is a corporate headquarters. It is a fortress. And a fortress is not always the best place to truly live. I have the capital, and I have the real estate. I am offering to arrange and purchase private homes for any of you who desire them, situated just outside this district."
He looked at John and Abigail, and then at Arthur, Sadie, and the others.
"You would have your own deeds, your own front doors, and your own independence," Caleb explained, making his intentions perfectly clear. "They would be close enough that it would be incredibly easy for you to visit Mary-Beth and me, and for us to visit back and forth whenever we wanted. But it would be your own space. A real home."
The entire table went completely, utterly quiet.
The members of the gang simply stared at him, taking in the sheer, staggering magnitude of the offer. To go from living in moldy canvas tents in the mud, constantly terrified of the law, to being offered fully paid for, private real estate in one of the wealthiest cities in America was a transition so profound it momentarily stole their breath.
For a long, heavy moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fireplace.
It was Hosea who finally broke the silence.
The old conman set his wine glass down, a slow, wry, and incredibly sharp smile spreading across his weathered face. He looked at Caleb with a mixture of deep gratitude and his trademark, silver tongued wit.
"Well, Caleb, that is an incredibly generous offer," Hosea began, leaning back in his velvet chair. "But speaking for myself, I am an old man. I have grown quite fond of the luxurious featherbeds in this mansion, and since I am actively managing the ledgers and working for you on a daily basis anyway, I plan to stay exactly where I am."
Hosea then turned his head, his sharp eyes locking onto John and Abigail, who were sitting together with little Jack between them.
"However," Hosea continued, his tone taking on a distinctly teasing, theatrical lilt. "I do suggest that John and Abigail might want to take you up on one of those houses, since they would also want to do it. They are already a family of their own, and quite frankly, they should not have to keep imposing on the Don and his new bride for too long."
Hosea took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes dancing with mischief as he delivered the punchline.
"After all," Hosea noted smoothly, glancing pointedly at Mary-Beth. "The newlyweds are going to need their uninterrupted private time together... every single day."
It took exactly one second for the implication to land.
Arthur let out a sudden, booming laugh, nearly choking on his wine. Sean slammed his hand on the table, howling with raucous, unapologetic laughter, while Javier and Bill joined in, chuckling loudly at the old man's brilliant execution.
The only person at the table who wasn't laughing was little Jack, who looked around at the roaring adults with wide, innocent eyes, completely confused by what was so funny about private time.
Mary-Beth, meanwhile, turned a brilliant, magnificent shade of scarlet. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she ducked her head for a fraction of a second before looking back up. She shot Hosea a gentle, playfully mortified glare.
"Oh Hosea Matthews!" Mary-Beth scolded gently, though a shy, uncontrollable smile broke through her embarrassment. "Honestly, you are terrible."
The moment felt incredibly affectionate, warm, and wonderfully playful rather than awkward. It was the exact kind of lighthearted banter that defined their family dynamic, completely stripping away the heavy corporate tension that usually surrounded Caleb's business deals.
As the laughter finally began to die down, Abigail Marston reached out, her hand gently squeezing John's arm. Her eyes were shining with a profound, quiet emotion as she looked down the table at Caleb.
"If... if it is truly alright, Caleb," Abigail said, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of her gratitude. She looked at her son, and then back to the Don. "I would like that very much. More than anything."
She sat up a little straighter, making sure her loyalty was explicitly clear. "We would still come and visit every single day. You couldn't keep us away if you tried. But having our own place... a real house with a real roof for Jack... it would mean the world to us."
Caleb's expression softened into a look of absolute, unwavering support. He nodded his head.
"It is done, Abigail," Caleb agreed smoothly. "I already have a property in mind. It is a beautiful, multi-story brownstone building just a few streets over. I will have Pierre draft the paperwork tomorrow and assign the entire building directly under John's name."
John Marston's jaw dropped slightly. "Under my name? Caleb, I..."
"You will own the building, John," Caleb stated, refusing to let the man argue. "You and Abigail can live on the primary floor, and you can rent the other floors out to the public. It will give you a steady, legitimate income of your own. You will be a landlord, John. A respectable citizen of Saint Denis."
John stared at Caleb, completely overwhelmed. He swallowed hard, the magnitude of the gift settling over him. He was no longer just a hired gun, he was being given the foundation for a permanent, legal legacy.
"Thank you, Caleb," John said sincerely, his voice thick with emotion. "I... I accept. Thank you."
The moment felt like a massive, deeply meaningful step toward giving the Marston family the stable, respectable life they had been denied for so long.
With the ice broken, the other members of the gang began to make their own choices regarding their futures.
Miss Grimshaw, straightening her posture, immediately declared that she would continue staying at the mansion, someone had to keep Antonio's cleaning staff terrified and up to standard, she reasoned.
Reverend Swanson, having finally found peace and sobriety in the luxurious safety of the estate, gratefully requested to stay as well. Kieran, still holding a deep, lingering fear of the outside world, chose the safety of the mansion's heavy guard rotation, and Uncle and Bill happily decided to stay, unwilling to separate themselves from Caleb's legendary liquor cellars.
However, Javier, Karen, Sean, Sadie, Molly, and Tilly all expressed a strong desire to have their own houses. They wanted a taste of true independence, eager to explore the city and build their own lives while remaining firmly under the protective umbrella of the syndicate. Hearing the division, Karen leaned forward, a mischievous, highly humorous grin crossing her face. She looked directly at John.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 2,772 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 283,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 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, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -