Mr. Dragic, beaming, was utterly captivated by Dutch's theatrical embrace, clutching the unexpected affection like a drowning man to driftwood. After a few more dramatic, utterly unconvincing refusals from Dutch—who seemed to practically wrestle the two thousand dollars back into his own pocket with a sigh of reluctant victory—the grand gesture was complete.
"Oh, Marko, our bond is already too deep for mere words this time." Dutch's voice softened, his eyes brimming with a sincerity so profound it would make a saint blush. He gripped Marko's hands, his thumbs subtly stroking the scientist's clammy palms. "However, I implore you, my friend: from this day forward, I want you to act with us! The Van der Linde Association will always be your unwavering backing, your safest haven, your warmest, truest home!"
Facing such an outpouring of calculated emotion, with his heart's defenses crumbling like a dry biscuit, how could Marko possibly refuse Dutch? He didn't even think. He simply nodded, his eyes wide, and agreed.
"Dutch, my dear friend," Marko stammered, his own hands clamping down on Dutch's, a joyous, almost manic grin stretching his face. "How could I ever bear to refuse such an invitation?"
For Marko, the joy was pure, intoxicating. He hadn't just found a kindred spirit, someone who genuinely understood and validated his ridiculed brilliance. He'd found a family. He just didn't quite know what kind of family yet.
Dutch, listening to Marko's fervent acceptance, practically vibrated with suppressed glee. "Good! Good, good, GOOD! Marko, my boy, this is excellent news! Arthur, get over here, son! Come look at Marko's face—he's one of us now!" Dutch practically beamed, a dazzling, predatory smile that made Arthur subtly roll his eyes before stepping forward.
Hosea, ever the suave diplomat, strolled over, a benevolent smile on his face. He extended a hand to Marko. "Welcome to the fold, Mr. Dragic. I'm Hosea Matthews, one of the... ahem... senior partners in this outfit. We all hope to see this group(gang), this family, flourish beyond imagination."
"Oh, it's a profound pleasure to meet you, Mr. Matthews!" Marko gushed, eagerly pumping Hosea's hand. He'd noticed the kind, gentle demeanor of this man earlier, a calming presence amidst Arthur's sheer brawn and Dutch's overwhelming charisma. Indeed, Mr. Arthur, despite looking like he could fell a redwood with a single punch, had also struck him as remarkably gentle. It was a charming dichotomy.
"Oh, Marko, I knew you'd join us," Arthur drawled, a wry chuckle escaping him as he stepped forward and clapped Marko on the back—a bit harder than strictly necessary, making the scientist gasp slightly. "Because nobody in the Van der Linde Group is quite… normal!" His words were laced with teasing, yet somehow, instead of offense, they bred an immediate sense of belonging, a bizarre camaraderie.
Dutch, watching the trio, chuckled before smoothly reclaiming Marko's attention. "Alright, gentlemen, the addition of a new member to our esteemed ranks is truly exhilarating, Marko. We need to celebrate your arrival with a grand feast, but that will have to wait until we return to our main encampment, out of the public eye. Tonight, however, we attend a Saint Denis high society banquet. It's getting late, so we must begin preparations!"
He clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling.
"Arthur, find John and Charles. Meet us at the Saint Denis clothing store entrance. Marko, you're with Hosea and me. As a newly minted member of the Van der Linde… organization, you'll naturally have an invitation to tonight's soirée. Come on! Gentlemen, we must pick up the pace!"
Dutch, the consummate ringmaster, was already barking orders. Their current bespoke outfits, while fine for daily wear, were hardly suitable for the glittering, deceptive halls of high society. They needed to transform themselves, to appear as the very epitome of refined gentlemen. The ladies, fortunately, were already resplendent, their new gowns designed to be both splendid and dignified, perfect for the evening. And what better venue to subtly promote their burgeoning apparel empire? These absurdly expensive creations were, after all, destined for the very pockets of these high-society fools.
Marko, riding alongside Dutch and Hosea, felt a dizzying sense of novelty. Arthur had already galloped ahead to retrieve Charles and John. For Marko, this entire day was nothing short of a surreal dream. He'd merely been by the lake, peddling his remote automation marvels to a smattering of indifferent onlookers, when a hulking brute, built like a prize bull, had practically shanghaied him.
Then, in a daze, he found himself face-to-face with a leader—a kindred spirit, a true patron! And just as confusedly, he'd joined the gang Now, pinching himself, he was galloping through the streets of Saint Denis with his newfound comrades.
Oh, God, today was a blur of pure, unadulterated magic!
Yet, Marko didn't dislike it. The gang members, rough as they were, exuded something utterly absent from the polished facades of Saint Denis: sincerity! Yes, raw, unvarnished sincerity!
Whether it was his new friend, his new boss, Dutch; or the gang's second-in-command, the ever-so-polite Hosea; or the hulking, surprisingly gentle Arthur; or the young man with the jagged scar across his face; or the brawny figure who seemed to be a walking embodiment of both Indian and African heritage—Marko felt a genuine warmth, a lack of pretense he'd never encountered in the city.
(Gang is such a short word compared to association or conglomerate or organization - keeps the fingers less tired ya know)
The gears of time ground onward, and Saint Denis, cloaked in its veneer of civilization, was rotten at its core with deception, exploitation, and coercion. Its inhabitants, dressed in their finest silks, spouted high-minded words, but beneath the veneer, they felt not like the gentle nobility of true civilization, but like bandits masquerading in police uniforms.
Having endured Saint Denis for so long, Marko had almost convinced himself that humanity's true essence was oppression and deceit. He never imagined that the sincerity he had always heard about but never felt would finally manifest in this ragtag group of men and women.
From the moment he agreed to join, every gang member he met seemed to instinctively categorize him as "one of them." Everything was considered for him, every problem, no matter how small, was solved. They had no ulterior motives, no hidden agenda towards him!
Marko never thought he'd enjoy socializing so much. His future new brothers might mock him, might curse like sailors, but it was all rooted in a genuine affection. Even their insults felt like playful banter, affectionate nudges.
This feeling was simply too wonderful, too intoxicating, making him feel as if he were living inside a beautiful, vibrant dream. This sincerity, raw and potent, intoxicated him, leaving him utterly comfortable, his mind and body finally at peace.
Perhaps, eventually, he would come to understand the simple truth: before Dutch's final, tragic fall, for the members of the Van der Linde Gang, there were only two kinds of people in the world: us and them. And Marco, dear, sweet Marko, was undeniably us.
(In reality, there was indeed a profound sense of romanticism within the Van der Linde Gang, which is why they were so beloved by players. Internally, they were like a pack of overgrown children—they squabbled, yes, but their emotions were genuine, and every last one of them wholeheartedly obeyed Dutch's words. Unfortunately, Dutch, that charming, eloquent bastard, eventually led them all astray.)