After a final, lingering, and utterly victorious farewell to the two insufferable, yet undeniably useful, ladies of the Jones Family, Dutch, radiating an almost visible aura of triumph, led the Van der Linde Gang off the train. Their grand arrival into Saint Denis was less an entrance and more a declaration of newly acquired finery.
Ms. Dorothea and her meticulously assembled entourage, who had been pacing the train station platform for what felt like geological ages, finally spotted Dutch. They surged forward, a whirlwind of silks, genuine anticipation, and enough social climbing ambition to make a mountaineer blush.
"Arthur, my dear! It has been too long!" Ms. Dorothea practically pounced, her voice dripping with effusive, affectionate eagerness. She bypassed Dutch entirely for a moment, seizing Ms. O'Shea hand with a beaming smile, then spun to face Dutch, her eyes sparkling.
"Come here quickly, darling! The carriage is positively champing at the bit! The Lemieux Family is hosting a positively scandalous party tonight, so you'll all be gracing my humble abode with your presence!"
This, of course, was precisely why Dutch had orchestrated Ms. O'Shea's diplomatic presence – a charming, utterly essential buffer. Otherwise, a man and a woman seen together too frequently in Saint Denis would inevitably ignite a wildfire of salacious rumors, risking not just Ms. Dorothea's crucial goodwill but also stirring entirely unnecessary suspicion from her family.
Just as Ms. Dorothea finished her grand, rather breathless pronouncement, Ms. Alice, her demure but equally eager companion, glided forward. She extended an embossed invitation, her smile broad enough to swallow a small rodent.
"Mr. Arthur, this is your golden ticket to the banquet. You must come; my father has been positively dying to meet you!"
As she spoke, her gaze, momentarily mesmerized, unconsciously flickered towards Arthur, lingering perhaps a beat too long. Then, as if realizing she was playing with fire, she swiftly averted her eyes, glancing sharply at Mary's subtly darkening face, before withdrawing her gaze with an almost audible gulp.
"Oh ho ho, of course, Ms. Alice," Dutch purred, a master of deflection, a slight quirk of his lips acknowledging Alice's momentary lapse. "Your invitation is a honor, and Ms. Dorothea's hospitality is quite simply overwhelming! Oh, but I shan't bore you with idle chatter. Ladies," he said, sweeping an arm out in a theatrical flourish to encompass his impeccably dressed gang members, "our magnificent clothing store is poised for its grand opening, and the exquisite garments our ladies are wearing are the very styles we will be unveiling. I've personally set aside a complete set of all these styles for each of you, and I am utterly convinced you will adore them. Because, my dear ladies,"
Dutch concluded with a confident chuckle, a knowing glint in his eye, "I am profoundly confident that no woman, not even the most stoic, will be able to resist the undeniable allure of our clothing!"
One must, after all, always return favors, and then some; otherwise, respect becomes as fleeting as a politician's promise. As Dutch delivered his charming monologue, the three ladies, who had been utterly captivated by his charisma, finally, finally began to notice the actual women of the Van der Linde Gang, standing somewhat unobtrusively behind him.
Or, more accurately, their clothes.
As their attention shifted from Dutch's mesmerizing face to the actual fabric, a collective gasp ripped through the air, followed by an explosion of ecstatic exclamations.
"Oh my goodness, these clothes are so unbelievably beautiful!" one woman shrieked, her hand flying to her mouth in a gesture of pure shock. "Oh, God, look at the style of this garment, look at this impossibly elegant design! I can scarcely imagine how utterly divine these clothes will look when worn!"
"Oh oh oh oh... the style of these clothes is so breathtakingly novel!" another practically wailed, her eyes wide as saucers. "Look at the simple, yet refreshingly bold, design of this outfit, look at the sheer, unbridled confidence radiating from the lady wearing it! Oh, my goodness, I absolutely, adore this style!"
"Wow, this skirt is so beautiful!" cried the third, practically bouncing on her toes. "The hem looks so effortlessly flowing and elegantly daring. Oh my, I must wear this skirt to the banquet tonight! I am utterly convinced I'll be the most eye-catching, most beautiful girl in the entire room!"
Dorothea, Ann, Alice, and even their assorted entourages, stared at the clothing styles worn by the women of the Van der Linde Gang with expressions of pure, unadulterated astonishment. These clothing styles were truly revolutionary, two of them possessing a shockingly modern feel, looking fresh, sharp, and undeniably cutting-edge. They practically delivered a dimensionality reduction strike to the current, bulky, and ridiculously complicated state of women's fashion.
For a time, the three women utterly swarmed the girls of the Van der Linde Gang, a torrent of excited chatter, compliments, and frantic questions. A veritable maelstrom of enthusiastic feminine babbling – even Dutch, a hardened desperado who'd faced down armies, found himself genuinely, deeply intimidated. He actually took a subtle step back, a rare gesture of unease.
He turned, raising an eyebrow at Hosea and the others. "Alright, Hosea, let them talk for now. John, Charles, move our precious cargo of clothes to those awaiting carriages. Arthur," his expression hardened, becoming intensely serious, his gaze pinning Arthur in place, "I need you to go to the central lake in Saint Denis. Look for a professor who is controlling a peculiar little boat by the lake. If you find him, make friends with him. Make him an offer he can't refuse. Tell him I can provide him with all the relevant investment he could possibly dream of!"
Dutch looked at Arthur with a gravitas that brooked no argument, providing his detailed, strategically vital instructions. Professor Marko Dragic, the peculiar genius by the lake in Saint Denis, was no ordinary individual. While he didn't exist in reality, his prototype was none other than Nikola Tesla, who, in 1898, famously demonstrated radio-controlled boats in Madison Square – a detail that aligned perfectly with the game's unfolding plot.
Though this professor wasn't a household name like Tesla, and his exact capabilities were murky, both his robot mission and the wireless remote-controlled boat perfectly aligned with Dutch's burgeoning needs. The ability to remote control a small boat hinted at the ability to remote control toy airplanes, and the ability to remote control toy airplanes meant the ability to carry bombs.
Even if actual toy airplanes weren't immediately available, this professor's electrical wizardry could surely develop controllable toy cars, a much simpler endeavor than an aircraft, yet still perfectly capable of delivering explosive packages. Of course, these are merely the most insignificant uses; the actual applications, Dutch knew, were vastly greater and ripe for deep exploration. At the very least, for Dutch, this Marko Dragic could become a pivotal asset in his grand scheme to develop an entirely new generation of firearms!
Mechanized production of existing firearms was merely a logistical puzzle; the true challenge lay in researching and developing genuinely new technologies. Therefore, whether it was the obscure Wright Brothers or this eccentric professor, Dutch would lavish them with extra attention. Researchers, he firmly believed, were the most valuable asset of all.
"A professor who plays with small boats?" Arthur muttered, a slight frown of confusion creasing his brow, but he nodded, agreeing to Dutch's bizarre request. He then led his horse down from the train car.
"Arthur, I'll come with you!" Mary, seeing Arthur preparing to ride away on his horse, quickly waved her hand, a wide smile lighting her face.
"Alright," Arthur grinned, genuinely happy, his own smile echoing hers. "But you'll have to ride on the same horse as me." He then led the horse in front of Mary, gently encircled her waist with his arms, and with a practiced motion, lifted her onto the saddle in front of him.
The two had only just reconciled a couple of days prior and were now reveling in the intoxicating bliss of their reunion's honeymoon phase. It was a sweetness so profound it made Ms. O'Shea incredibly, almost painfully, envious when she saw it. She actually sighed wistfully, desperately wishing Dutch could lavish such open affection on her too. Unfortunately, Dutch was far too consumed by his daylight schemes, leaving their displays of affection relegated to brief, stolen moments in the dead of night.
Arthur rode his horse, with Mary nestled comfortably before him, towards the serene, yet strategically significant, lake in Saint Denis. Meanwhile, Dutch and the gaggle of ladies, with Ms. Dorothea leading the charge, finally concluded their effusive exclamations. Then, as if on cue, they suddenly began ushering everyone into the waiting carriages, eager to reach the opulent accommodation Ms. Dorothea had prepared.
"Oh, Mr. Arthur, I am truly, truly sorry for making you wait for such a long time, I humbly apologize!" Ms. Dorothea walked out from the ecstatic throng of women, her face a mask of profound regret, wringing her hands slightly as she apologized profusely to Dutch.
Dutch waved a dismissive hand, a confident chuckle rumbling in his chest. "It's quite alright, Ms. Dorothea. I'm too happy that you like the clothes I designed to be bothered by anything else. But we really do need to settle down quickly, after all, I haven't even given the exclusive clothes I prepared for the three ladies yet, ha ha ha ha..."
"Hahaha, Mr. Arthur, you truly are a gentleman and possessing the most delightful sense of humor!" Ms. Dorothea was genuinely amused by Dutch's perfectly timed wit, her laughter echoing through the station. "I can't imagine how charming you must be to ladies normally!"
Without further delay, both parties boarded the grand carriages belonging to the three ladies, Ms. Dorothea among them, and set off towards the luxurious residence they had secured for the infamous, yet increasingly fashionable, Van der Linde Gang.