MEETINGS •~
A lams one-shot -
SUMMARY - John Laurens isn't sure what he expects when he volunteers for the revolutionary army, but is it definitely not this.
When John volunteered for the revolutionary army, he expected order. Military. Something his father could be proud of, and see as worthy. What lay in front of him was definitely not that. The camp was a decent enough size, tents littered about the grounds, surrounded by trees. The men, however, were not as plentiful. There were groups of soldiers (if you could call them that), scattered around, talking beside fires or laughing drunkenly to their fellow men. They didn't look like much.
Farmers with guns, as his father so eloquently put.
Henry Laurens believed in the revolution, he was no loyalist, but only because it was in his interest. The less control the British had, the more money he would make, or so he said. John’s father just didn't like General Washington.
“He is one of the weakest Generals I've ever seen! Hell, the last war he made himself out to be a fool. Lost every battle he was in. Son, you will rise above that incompetent man.” There was no room for disagreement, so John nodded.
At the time, John had disregarded his fathers words, but seeing the camp at the state it was in… he'd just have to wait. Two soldiers came up to his horse, and looked up at John, their faces serious. “What business do you have here, sir?” The man who spoke looked up at him, a tall man with dark brown hair, and a rather large forehead. “I’m here to volunteer. John Laurens.” A spark of recognition went through the man’s eyes and he nodded respectfully to John. “Of course sir. The General is expecting you.”
After dismounting his horse, John was lead to a tent that was considerably larger than the others, and was lit by candlelight. Voices could be heard from inside the tent, one of them rising in volume as he came closer.
“…no that is not effective, Meade! If we simply rely on the Congress, we will not win the war- they are incompetent! The men here are starving while they host lavish-!”
The man’s rant was silenced by a deep voice (”quiet, Hamilton”) as John’s escort asked for entry. John picked at the skin on his hands nervously before stepping inside. There were about five desks lined up on the far side of the tent, candles and stacks of paper on their desks. One of them was standing (probably the Hamilton man) but John couldn't make out his face from the angle he was standing at.
“Welcome, Mr. Laurens.” That was definitely the general. He stood to be at least a foot taller than John, his face set in a serious expression and his large presence filling the room. John nodded respectfully and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir. I hope I can be of service for the cause, and I am willing to exercise my abilities in any way that is needed.” The general nodded, stepping toward him and giving him a firm handshake. “I have corresponded with your father, Mr. Laurens, and I have come the the conclusion you will be most useful as an aide-de-camp. Are you familiar with any foreign languages, sir?” John nodded, putting his hands behind his back, standing straight. “Yes, sir. I am fluent in French and German, sir.”
Washington’s lip twitched at that, and John figured this would be the closest thing to a smile he would ever get from the General. “That is excellent. Hamilton and Lafayette will introduce you to the schedule that every aide must follow. There is to be much work, Mr. Laurens, I hope you will exceed my expectations.”
John’s eyes narrowed at this, but he nodded respectfully anyways, and responded, “Of course, sir. I will work until the task at hand is carried out.” The General nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned to the other aids who were having a quiet conversation amongst themselves. “Gentlemen, this is John Laurens, he will be joining the aide-de-camps. This will bring us insight to the Congress, as his father is one of the men in it. I expect you all to be working efficiently. Hamilton, you will be tenting with Laurens, and I expect you to demonstrate the correct behavior and practices. Goodnight men.” With that, the General turned on his heel and walked out of the tent.
John’s eyes instantly went to Hamilton and now, without his back turned, he could see him well. He was a short, lean man with fiery red hair that had the appearance of being unkept, but upon closer inspection, was just curly. His eyes were dark blue, so blue, in fact, that they appeared violet in the candle light. His cheekbones were high and slightly flushed, scattered with freckles. He was pretty in a way that was almost girlish, but the set of his jaw showed he was determined, and that he could hold his own. He was looking at John with an unreadable expression, but before John could figure out what it was, a figure stood up and walked over to him.
“Since the General was ever so impolite as to not introduce us, I will take it upon myself. I am Richard Meade, pleased to meet you.” The man was a bit shorter than John, and had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes John couldn't help but smile at. “I’m sure its in poor fashion to call your General impolite, sir.” John’s eyes sparkled as he jested with this silly man, and shook his hand firmly. Meade’s eyes lit up and he laughed good-naturedly, looking back to the other aids. “I like this one!”
“I am sure he doesn't like you, Kidder.” Another man piped up from one of the desks. The man had a sharp, cunning face with golden hair falling down his shoulders. Pretty. John internally scolded himself, picking at his hands. He had to leave all of that in Geneva. The man shot John a grin and nodded respectfully to him. “Tech Tilghman. Pay no mind to Meade, he is exceedingly idiotic.” Meade shouted a retort back to the man and John was shocked at how informal this all was. It was very unfamiliar.
“All of you are uncivilized.” A dissatisfied voice came from one of the desks, where an older man sat, glasses on and translating. He payed John no attention, instead just giving him a quick nod. Meade sighed and looked at John, his expression no less mischievous. “Do not mind Fitzgerald, he is sour his hair is greying.” John’s eyes widened and he stiffed a laugh, coughing into his fist instead. The older man payed no mind, just grumbled and continued his work.
“I take it you are Henry Laurens’s son?” A sharp voice cut through the conversation, and John’s attention was brought back to the pretty ginger man once again. Meade raided his eyebrows and slid away back to his desk, leaving him and Hamilton to get acquainted. “Yes, I would prefer to simply be known as John Laurens.” John replies curtly, giving the man a cold look. He had been referred to as his father’s son far too many times in one evening, and this was pushing it. Hamilton raised his eyebrows, and gave him a calculating look.
“Yes, of course, but it is your father who got you here, correct?” Hamilton fixed John with a dry, uninterested look, which enraged John more. “I have volunteered for this position, to help my country, same as you. How I got here is none of your concern, sir.” John grit his teeth and glared down at the man who was seemingly unaffected.
“You are in no ways the same as me, sir. I have fought for my position, you have not.”
“I am willing to fight.”
Hamilton looked up at him, his eyes searching John’s face. He must've gotten what he wanted, because he looked away for a brief moment, and then gestured to the desk beside him. “I should hope so. I will show you what you must do.” John sat, thankful the man had found it in him to be polite, and accepted the papers he was handed. “This is… is all of this from France?” John asked, shocked at the amount of papers on his and Hamiltons desk.
Hamiltons lips quirked up, a strange fire in his eyes. “Is this too much work for you, Mr. Laurens?” He quipped, his mouth curling teasingly. John’s cheeks flushed and he huffed, taking the papers with a sharp look at Hamilton. “No, I am just surprised at the amount of correspondence. Mr. Laurens sounds like you are addressing my father.” Laurens grumbled, his lips turning down. Hamilton let out a chuckle and eyed John mischievously. “I shall address you as Laurens then.” Alexander gave John a teasing smile, and his eyes returned to his work. “This is only a small bit of what we get each day, Laurens. You will be surprised further to-morrow.” John raided his eyebrows, and reached for his quill to begin the translations.
Hamilton interrupted him. “Perhaps… perhaps our first conversation did not go very well. Let us start new. I am Alexander Hamilton, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Hamilton stuck his freckled hand out, an inviting look in his eyes. John smiled slightly and grasped his hand, shaking it. “John Laurens, pleased to meet you.”
Hamilton hummed, looking at John with those pretty eyes. “I have a feeling we will work well together, Mr. Laurens.”
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