#generallafayette

Poisoned?

Sucking a breath through his teeth, Ben glanced over his shoulder before looking back toward the ashen, sickly general. “Have you taken a purgative?” he demanded. When Lafayette didn’t respond quickly enough for his liking, he took the man by his lapels and pressed, “How long ago did this happen?”

Ben was no physician -- hell, he only knew the basics from his recreational readings -- but what he did know was that they needed to empty Lafayette’s stomach before the poison took root. 

Had she been born into a less well documented age, the poets no doubt would have had their way and made her another Pénélope or Euridice because in their limited world love and graciousness somehow shown on the face.  

If only it could be so simple or easy. Instead even as a fresh-faced girl of thirteen she had only her eyes, dark and doe-eyed like Héra. Eyes that were now fixed on a tall gangly looking boy of fifteen with bright red hair. Her world up until now had been that of a princess in the beginning of a fairy story, which is to say it was very small even isolated. But she had dreamt of the world and no doubt the hunger for more of it shown in those remarkable eyes of hers. There were things even a boy may have experienced that she as a mere girl cold not. 

“My father has spoken highly of you, Monsieur.” More accurately he had spoken admirably of his fortune. But such was the world her father belonged too- where everything had it’s price. “I am so very sorry about your mother and father. Are you very alone in Paris?”

Send 🌿 to meet my muse under the m.istletoe.

It was cold. So cold, in fact, that most of the o.fficers were all huddled together in one single room, regardless of how they found the others' temperament. Ben personally preferred to be by himself most nights; and if he couldn't have his solitude, then sitting in silence alongside Caleb or a worthy confidant was a decent contender. But sometimes, survival came first, so grudgingly, Ben tried to read s.cripture while the group of men spoke (rather loudly) and caroused.

Just as he was halfway through P.roverbs, one of the men entreated, "T.allmadge. M.arquis. Can you come help me with something, please?"

Ben narrowed his eyes at the man in the doorway, noting the way he was clearly trying to hide a smile. Something was amiss...

"I think you're plenty capable of tending to yourself at this point and time," he replied, returning his attention to his verses. Though once the group around him began to quite literally pull and prod, he gave a snarl and leapt to his feet, convinced to leave only to get some damned respite from the heckling. Sullen and displeased, he turned and grudgingly followed L.afayette into the next room. Though as soon as he did, the o.fficer who'd requested their help started giggling like a s.choolboy, then pointed up towards the rafters overhead.

Thoroughly unamused, Ben followed his gaze and stiffened at the sight of m.istletoe strategically placed overhead. "Hilarious," he snidely said. Arsehole.

To L.afayette, he added, "Forgive me, M.arquis, but I'm sure you can understand why I'm not going to uphold tradition in this case. Surely, you don't miss your wife enough to succumb to a pale imitation." To the giggling o.fficer, Ben snidely added, "Maybe if you put half as much dedication into the Cause as you do your games, we'd be well on our way to victory by now."

That, at the very least, seemed to shut his mouth. Ben wouldn't call himself a miserable old p.rat devoid of all joy, but he certainly had better things to do than amuse a bunch of greenheads.

Send 🌿 to meet my muse under the mistletoe / @general-lafayette

Ben was exhausted. This wasn't unusual -- what was unusual, however, was actually staying behind after a meeting to drink with the other aide-de-camps. Being so driven often caused him to avoid social endeavors, and those during the holiday were no exception.

By this point, Lafayette was the only one who'd remained behind, and Ben stayed rooted to his chair, idly pushing a half-drained bottle of rum back and forth between his hands. "Do you miss it?" he asked. "Home, I mean. It must be lonely being here during Christmas, unable to be with your family... At least my father is a mere boat ride away, should I choose to go visit."

A darkness overshadowed his eyes when he realized this would be one of his first Christmases without Samuel -- with just his father and himself. It was no wonder he chose to drink alone, he bitterly thought.

Tipping his head back, Ben swallowed the remainder of his rum before catching sight of the ceiling. It looked like there was...mistletoe? Seriously?

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