#soleildiddle

“Hear ye! Hear ye! My name is Samuel Seabury, and I present “Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of the Continental Congress!” I look over the crowd, seeing a man on a pedestal. He holds a document in front of him, but behind the paper, he looks haughty and stuck up.

“I don’t like this guy already.” I mutter, to which Laurens, Lafayette and Mulligan agree with nods. Burr purses his lips.

“Heed not the rabble who scream revolution!” He sings, reading closely from the document, “They have not your interests at heart.”

I raise an eyebrow. Well, if he didn’t want to heed us, he’s too late. We’re already here. Doesn’t he know the revolution is eminent?

Worse yet, the majority of the crowd around me seem to agree with him.

Should I stay down here and stay quiet? Or-

“Oh my god, tear this dude apart.” Mulligan facepalms in exasperation.

I beam, and take that as a sign to head on up. I nudge my way through the crowd, hearing Aaron Burr call out for me, then scolding Mulligan. “Why would you encourage that dolt?”

“It’s not my fault!” Mulligan’s voice is faint as I get nearer to the pedestal.

The fool on the top continues his reading, “Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution! Don’t let them lead you astray!”

I roll my eyes, getting to the front of the crowd. I look up at the man, who does not pay heed to me as he sings, “This Congress does not speak for me!”

I huff at his ignorance, and attempt to push myself up onto the top of the pedestal. I struggle a little, but manage to climb up, grinning triumphantly. I hear Burr faintly brush me off with a sigh, “Let him be.”

I walk over to the man, who looks over at me for the first time. His face looks disgusted by me, and perhaps a little angry.

I rest my head on his arm, reading over his papers. He seems uncomfortable, but whether that’s from me reading his work or me mushing my face into his arm is beyond me. Perhaps both. Despite his obvious discomfort, he continues singing, which I admired, although not for his words. “They’re playing a dangerous game…”

I glance over the writings. Foolish musings over his loyalist ideals and the king and the rebellion. What an idiot.

“I pray the king shows you his mercy.” He flusteredly ushers me away, and I frown a little. He leans a bit closer to my face, looking at me like I was the scum of the earth. He turns up his nose, and sings loudly, “For shame!”

“For shame~!” He repeats, looking down on me. I’m quick to snap. My body acts on its own will; my eyes narrow, my hand shoves the paper into his face, and my mouth spouts lyrics matching his written on the page.

“Yo!” I shout above him, singing fast to match his pace, but adding in my own words, “He’d have you all unravel at the sound of screams, but the revolution is coming!”

I see my friends nudge their way through the crowd towards me. I step a few paces forward, going closer to the crowd, who look a little confused. I glance over my shoulder at Mr. Seabury, who looks at me angrily, repeating his previous half-witted statements.

“The have-nots are gonna win this!” I sing in time with him, stepping another step forward as I cup a hand around my mouth as if telling the people a secret. (As if it’s any secret we’re going to win.) The farmer himself gets angrier and tries to sing louder.

I send a side smile to the crowd. I turn an angle on my heel, pacing from one side of the platform to the other, rolling my eyes at the man and continuing to sing over him, pretending to try and not laugh, “It’s hard to listen to you with a straight face!”

I hear a few in the crowd laugh, mostly my friends. Others in the crowd are still confused, and Seabury looks annoyed, although flustered. He sweats a little, but we continue our little duet.

He raises his voice, “Chaos and bloodshed-”

“-Already haunt us!” I interrupt him, narrowing my eyes again as I pace, “Honestly, you shouldn’t even talk!”

“And what about Boston?” I talk fast, pointing out to both him and the crowd, “Look at the cost, and all that we’ve lost and you talk about-”

“Congress!” We shout together, with wildly different connotations and meanings behind the word.

“-Does not speak for me!” He continues angrily.

I peer out into the crowd, with a huge grin. I place one hand on my hip, and use the other for a dramatic sweep back at Seabury, “My dog speaks more eloquently than thee!”

Many people in the crowd laugh, and those who aren’t, are grinning. Even Burr himself seems to hide the smallest of smiles behind his hand.

“They’re playing a dangerous game…” He looks at me with a sheen of sweat on his face, repeating his previous comments. Are those words all he has on the paper? Geez, what a numbskull.

Speaking of numbskull, his skull seems to have no hair on top, nor any brain underneath it. I chuckle a little, singing, “But strangely, your mange is the same!”

The crowd laughs harder, and the man blushes deeply, fuming.

I bend down to get closer to the crowd, to tell them my next clever refutation to Seabury, when suddenly, with a hard boot to the rump, I’m kicked off the pedestal.

I cringe a little and close my eyes, expecting to hit the ground, when suddenly a tangle of arms catch me. My friends look at me with worry. Laurens tries to ask if I’m alright, but he’s interrupted by Seabury, which makes me frown.

The idiot himself looks down on me with a sneer, “I pray the king shows you his mercy!” Honestly, right now, he sounds more like he wants the king to kill me. I chuckle a little.

I grin, brushing off their concern and continuing my comebacks. I feign an innocent look, while asking rhetorically, “Is he in Jersey?”

“For shame!” He looks positively red in the face, as everyone laughs. Lafayette laughs the hardest, while Laurens grins, and Mulligan smirks a little.

“For the Revolution!” I shout back in response, heaving my fist high into the air.

“There’s the Alexander we know and love.” Hercules cheers with a laugh, while they raise me higher on their arms.

“For shame...” Seabury tries one last time before being drowned out by cheers of everyone, “For the revolution!” Everyone grins and laughs and keeps chanting with their fists in the air, so much that their cries of rebellion sounds like a triumphant song of itself.

I smile, and my friends grin back, supporting me both physically and in word. I grin over top of the raised fists, roaring in rebellion. And I lead an army of determined protests, “FOR THE REVOLUTION!” I cheer the loudest, looking back one more time at Seabury. He glares at me, climbing off the pedestal with a slight pout.

I grin even wider, if it’s possible, and mentally check off a impromptu goal: