#annstrxng

@honorhearted​ continued from X 

Anna’s skin has taken on a ghastly, ghoulish grey-white pallor. Maple orbs are tainted, turning a terrible shade of bloodshot crimson with ceaseless exhaustion. It was impossible to do little more than squint up at Ben when he speaks. “Caleb?” Her parched tongue graces heavily cracked lips. The cogs and wheels of her mind spin on axis while she desperately strives to fish recollection out of the fog-clouded corridors of her mind. There’s no abating of the not-so subtle throbbing in her head.

Alarm surges through her and her gaze snaps left and then right. “Was ... was he the one who found me?” The truth was, Anna only vaguely remembers feeling lightheaded and crumpling to the ground outside of the Sutler’s cart. But anything after that felt like a blurred mystery. Especially, the strong set of hands which brought her to the medical tent. What if what she had was catching? “Is he okay?” Would Ben be okay visiting her here, now? She must have picked something up while rendering assistance either at the cart or in her efforts to help the camp followers since neither he or Caleb were showing symptoms. “You.... you shouldn’t .... shouldn’t be here.” Anna softly warns. Infirmaries are no place to find officers. Especially not Washington’s head of intelligence. 

Shadows of wakefulness trace haplessly upon her countenance. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She felt the intense need to rouse. “I have… have far too much… work to do to be laying around.” Anna’s used to pushing through everything. However, Ben’s sturdy hands barricade the way. Were Anna feeling better, she might have shirked him off with a stiff warning but she is too zapped of strength to do much fighting.

A series of shivers rumble like earthquakes through her, jarring all of her bones fiercely in spite of her straining efforts to hold herself still. Her body is at war with itself, searing to the touch but frigid as the late winter ice in every other respect. “Has it always been so cold?” She questions. Her fingers claw at the stiff blanket she’d been afforded, clumsily attempting to cover up herself up.

Even the briefest of charitable sweeps from Ben’s fingertips is considered merciful and sweet, a sensation to be savored when all else worsens the ache. Her eyes flit closed, long-lashes crashing with the swells of her cheekbones. Discomfiture is evident in the way she holds herself half upright and half reclined. Nausea twists through her insides the way water does through a well rung cloth.

Eyes peel open again at his request and she gives a firm nod. “You know me, Ben. I’m ... I’m a fighter. It’s going to take a lot more than this to ... to keep me down.”  The gentle squeezing of her hand brings a comfort that no endless stream of eloquent words could adequately express. Try as she might, her return gesture is weaker.

Orbs of maple bolt upwards, leveling swiftly upon the other. Cheeks burn, boldly boasting a crimson. “I ...” Is all she could manage to choke out in a flustered panic. Her voice hitches, words of adamant protest catching in the back of her throat. Pressure tightens her fingers, curling them in the fabric of her skirts as she lets her gaze run wild through the tavern. 

At a loss, Anna bridges the gap between them not wishing to be overheard over the soft mumblings of other conversations. “I’m not sure of what you speak.” The lie falls flat, collapsing like a barn built of rotted wood. The rushing thrum of her heart half betrays her. “I am a married woman in the eyes of the law.” Yet, she did house considerable feelings for Edmund. She’d been harboring them in the shadowy ports of her heart for months now. She hadn’t meant to plant the seeds of affection and let them take root when she told Abraham she’d fix his mistake by watching the officer. Still, that is exactly what they had done. 

The Major is a good and decent man. One she was learning to love despite the apparent differences in politics. “What good would it do should I stop denying?” Eager eyes search the other for an answer. Arguments of logic warred against her dreamer’s heart. “With the war, he will probably take his leave.” 

Major Edmund Hewlett:

Listen to the song here X

Simcoe: Mrs. Strong, are you alright?

NO! SIMCOE CLEARLY SHE IS NOT. Her husband just got arrested and sentenced to the Jersey and she has to take care of Strong Manor, the Tavern, and do all the laundry for soldiers she detests. She’s just having a wonderful week which, you’re about to make better -- not. 

Simcoe: *chipperly* Great. Cause I’m doing fantastic. “I bought Captain Joyce’s commission in the wake of his death”