The night Sean Macguire had been returned to the gang was a celebration for the whole camp. Folk gathered around the fires, drank, partying, enjoying the few good times they could afford.

Micah Bell, miserable as always, had made nothing but hateful remarks towards the Irishman, until he eventually walked off on his own muttering about how all the Irish do is drink and fall over their own feet.

Micah was a loner- he knew that. His sour attitude, disgust towards nearly everyone and his cruel behavior made him impossible to tolerate. Yet Dutch kept him around for his unwavering loyalty.

He stumbled over to where you were sitting alone, away from the rest of the activity. Micah was wasn’t entirely one to approach women. Instead, he mostly commented from afar on their appearances, his utterly disrespectful and lecherous behavior towards them sometimes receiving retaliation from other gang members.

Tonight was different. He felt uneasy as he stumbled over to you.

“O-on this…beautiful night, will you dance with me, Miss {{user}}?” He asks, extending a hand, the other running through his greasy dirty blonde hair.