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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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John picked up the small velvet box. He held it tightly in his scarred hand, the heavy weight of the platinum and the diamond feeling like the most significant, important thing he had ever carried in his life. The days of him running away from his responsibility, finally over. He looked at Caleb, a silent, overwhelming ocean of gratitude passing between them. "Come on, John," Caleb smiled, clapping the younger man on the shoulder as they turned toward the exit. "Let's go find you a restaurant. You have a proposal to plan."
John swallowed hard, fighting past the tight, overwhelming lump of emotion forming in his throat. He looked at Caleb, a silent, profound ocean of gratitude passing between them.
John, hearing the calm, encouraging words from his brother, nodded his head slowly. He slipped the velvet box securely into the inner pocket of his denim vest, patting it twice to make absolutely sure it was safe.
He looked Caleb dead in the eye and thanked Caleb in a low, incredibly sincere voice.
"Thank you, Caleb," John rasped, the words thick and heavy. "I mean it. For everything. I... I owe you my life for this."
Caleb just offered a warm, completely unburdened smile. He reached out and patted him firmly on the back, the solid thud echoing in the quiet, lavish jewelry store.
"No problem at all, brother," Caleb said easily, brushing off the massive financial and emotional debt John felt. "You don't owe me a thing. We're family. Now, let's keep moving. We've got a lot of ground to cover before the sun goes down."
With the most important purchase of John's life safely secured, the two of them then took their leave of the jewelry store. Monsieur Rousseau practically bowed them all the way out to the cobblestone sidewalk, thanking the Don profusely until the heavy mahogany doors finally swung shut.
Stepping out into the bright, humid afternoon air of Saint Denis, Caleb and John walked past the heavily armed perimeter guards and got directly into the waiting black lacquered carriage. Silvio secured the door from the outside, giving them complete privacy.
As soon as they settled into the plush leather seats facing one another, Caleb reached down to his hip. He unbuckled the leather flap of his rugged Vaquero satchel and dug his hand inside. He rummaged around for a brief second before he took out a neatly folded piece of thick, premium cream-colored paper.
He leaned forward and then gave it to John, holding it out between them.
"Take a look at this," Caleb instructed, saying to him that this was the highly curated, exclusive list of proper and fancy restaurants that Antonio had meticulously compiled earlier that morning. "I told Antonio what we were looking for. These are the absolute best establishments in the city that could be perfect for you to have the right kind of intimate, romantic dinner to pop the question, or to hold the massive engagement party there for all of us afterward. Or both, if that's what you prefer."
John received it with a cautious hand, almost as if he expected the paper to bite him. He unfolded the thick parchment and read the content of the paper.
Antonio's handwriting was, of course, a masterpiece of elegant, sweeping calligraphy. There were exactly seven names of restaurants written down on the list, complete with their street addresses and a brief note on their culinary specialties.
John's eyes scanned the unfamiliar, mostly French names, Le Pavillon d'Or, La Grande Verrière, L'Oasis de Lemoyne, and a few others that he couldn't even begin to figure out how to pronounce.
However, near the bottom of the list, one name stood out clearly. The Bastille Saloon was included, with a small note from Antonio indicating it was the only exception to the traditional fine dining establishments, since it was technically a high end tavern rather than a dedicated restaurant, but it possessed the private rooms and the sheer volume of premium liquor the Van der Linde gang might appreciate.
Seeing the sheer length of the list, John cleared his throat, his brow furrowing into a deep, irritated scowl. The classic, impatient outlaw in him was already rearing its head. He didn't want to deal with high society logistics. He just wanted to put the ring on her finger.
John looked up from the parchment, tapping the paper against his knee. He then says, a heavy dose of reluctance in his gravelly voice, "Caleb... should we really go check all of these out? I mean, look at this list. There's seven damn places here. It would take until the absolute end of the day before we finished checking all of it. Can't we just pick one that sounds good and be done with it?"
Caleb didn't look amused. He leaned back against the velvet cushions, crossing his arms over his chest, and just responded to him by saying that it was exactly what he should do.
"Yes, John. We are going to check them," Caleb stated firmly, his tone shifting into the uncompromising cadence of an older brother making sure a job was done right. He locked eyes with the scarred outlaw. "Do you want to make this the most beautiful, memorable experience for Abigail, or not? Because if you just want to rush through it, you might as well take her to the muddy saloon back in Valentine and propose over a bowl of stale peanuts."
John winced at the harsh, but entirely accurate, reality check. He knew Caleb was right. Abigail had suffered through years of cheap whiskey, running from the law, and living in squalor. She deserved a night of absolute, unadulterated perfection.
John let out a long, heavy sigh, running a calloused hand through his dark hair.
"Yeah. Yeah, alright. Of course I would like to make it a memorable experience for her," John admitted, his rough pride deflating. He slumped slightly in his seat, staring at the list with a look of pure dread. "I want her to feel like a queen. But doing all this... walking into all these fancy places, dealing with these snooty waiters... it's just a bit of a pain in the ass, is all."
Caleb let out a booming, genuine laugh. The absolute honesty of the complaint was hilarious. He reached across the cabin and slapped John hard on the shoulder, shaking him slightly to break the lingering tension.
"Don't think too much of it, John," Caleb grinned, a fierce, reassuring light in his blue eyes. "You aren't going in there as a beggar. You are walking in there with me. Nobody is going to look down their nose at you. Just go with the flow, taste the food, look at the lights, and picture Abigail sitting across the table from you. When you find the right place, your gut will tell you."
With the pep talk concluded and John's resolve thoroughly hardened, Caleb turned his attention to the front of the carriage. He knocked sharply on the wooden partition behind his head.
"Take us to La Grande Verrière first!" Caleb commanded, his voice carrying easily through the wood.
"Yes, Don McLaughlin!" the driver called back immediately.
The driver flicked the heavy leather reins, and the horses surged forward, heading straight into the bustling, chaotic direction of the city's upscale dining district. The carriage rolled out smoothly onto the cobblestones, the iron wheels clattering rhythmically against the street.
And so began Caleb and John's long, exhausting, but highly entertaining journey in finding the absolute perfect restaurant from the meticulous list that Antonio had provided.
There were around seven locations on the list, including the first one they were currently speeding toward, and also the Bastille. It was a culinary gauntlet that would have broken a lesser man, but with the Don of Saint Denis leading the charge, the entire experience was entirely different than what John had expected.
Their first stop was La Grande Verrière, a spectacular, towering glass and iron conservatory that had been converted into one of the most exclusive French dining establishments in the state. The carriage pulled up to the valet, and the moment Caleb stepped out, the entire atmosphere of the street shifted. The imposing mafia guards securing the perimeter made it instantly clear that royalty had arrived.
When they walked through the grand glass doors, the owner of the restaurant, a tall, incredibly nervous man in a tuxedo, practically sprinted across the dining room floor to greet them.
Because Caleb was the Don, of course, the standard rules of commerce and reservations completely ceased to exist. In there, the owner didn't just offer to show them a menu. He practically begged them to sit at the absolute best table in the house, overlooking a beautiful indoor botanical garden.
He allowed Caleb and John to have a taste of some of their finest, most expensive foods completely for free, desperate to secure the favor of the underworld king.
Within minutes, waiters in crisp white gloves were bringing out silver platters. There were delicate, butter poached lobsters, rich duck confit, and intricately arranged plates of caviar. And of course, premium, vintage drinks were given as well.
Crystal glasses of champagne and aged Bordeaux wine were poured without a single mention of a bill.
John sat at the table, completely overwhelmed by the choices and the sheer, aggressive luxury of the experience.
He poked at a tiny, perfectly seared scallop with his silver fork, looking at Caleb with a look of pure, unadulterated bewilderment.
"Caleb, I don't even know what half this stuff is," John whispered fiercely, leaning across the table so the hovering waiters wouldn't hear him. "If I bring Abigail here, she's gonna think I'm playing a joke on her. It's too quiet. Everyone's whispering like they're in a damn church."
Caleb took a slow sip of his red wine, his sharp eyes taking in the stiff, highly pretentious atmosphere of the glass conservatory. He nodded his head slowly.
"You're right," Caleb agreed, setting his glass down. "The food is excellent, but the atmosphere is too stiff. It feels like a museum, not a celebration. Abigail would feel like she has to hold her breath the entire night."
He stood up, tossing his linen napkin onto the table. "Come on. On to the next one."
The owner looked absolutely devastated as they left, but Caleb simply offered him a polite nod and promised they would consider it for a future business luncheon.
They climbed back into the carriage, and the journey continued. Over the next three hours, they ran the absolute gauntlet of Saint Denis high society.
They visited Le Pavillon d'Or, a massive, incredibly loud restaurant with gold-leaf ceilings and a live string quartet. They were fed massive cuts of prime rib and roasted pheasant, washing it down with heavy stout beers.
John liked the food much better there, but the sheer volume of the music and the crowded, packed tables made it impossible to have a quiet, intimate conversation.
"I couldn't even hear myself think in there, let alone ask a woman to marry me," John grumbled as they climbed back into the carriage for the third time, his stomach already beginning to feel heavy from the massive amounts of free, rich food he was being forced to sample.
They checked out L'Auberge de la Rose, a place entirely dedicated to romance, with thousands of red roses decorating the walls and a weeping violinist playing in the corner. It was so overly dramatic and sickly sweet that both John and Caleb practically ran out the front door after five minutes, sharing a loud laugh on the sidewalk.
Abigail, a woman who knew how to skin a buck and shoot a rifle, would have absolutely hated the sheer, suffocating theatricality of the roses.
By the time the late afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the brick buildings of the city, they finally arrived at the Bastille Saloon.
It was the exception on the list for a reason. Walking through the swinging wooden doors, the atmosphere was instantly familiar. It was loud, it was smoky, and it smelled of spilled whiskey, cheap perfume, and cigar smoke. It was a high end tavern, undoubtedly the nicest one in the city, with velvet lined poker tables and a massive, polished mahogany bar, but it was still, at its core, a saloon.
The owner, a burly man with a thick mustache, recognized Caleb instantly and rushed over with two massive glasses of his finest, top shelf bourbon. They stood near the brass rail of the bar, sipping the incredibly smooth liquor as John looked around the room.
There were men playing high stakes poker in the corner, laughing loudly and slamming cards down on the table. A woman in a feathered dress was playing a lively, raucous tune on the upright piano.
"It's comfortable," John muttered, taking a long drink of the bourbon. "It feels like the places we used to go. The drinks are good, and nobody is looking down their nose at you."
"It is comfortable," Caleb agreed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. He turned to look at John, raising a challenging eyebrow. "But is it special, John? Is this where you want to pull a three hundred dollar platinum diamond ring out of your pocket? Next to a poker game and a spilled spittoon?"
John looked at the poker table, then looked down at his glass. He sighed, shaking his head. Caleb had a way of cutting straight through the bullshit.
"No," John admitted, setting the heavy glass down on the mahogany bar. "No, it ain't. She deserves better than a saloon. Even a fancy one. She's had enough saloons to last a lifetime."
"Then let's keep moving," Caleb smiled, clapping him on the back. "We have two more places on Antonio's list. We aren't quitting until we find the perfect spot."
The sun was officially beginning to set as the carriage rolled toward the western edge of the commercial district. The gas lamps lining the cobblestone avenues were flickering to life, casting a warm, brilliant, orange glow over the city. The humid heat of the afternoon was finally breaking, giving way to a cool, refreshing evening breeze blowing in off the Lannahechee River.
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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: 2,822 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 284,392 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 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, 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: -