*Hi, sorry for the slow updating. Life's been weird, and I've got mock exams to prepare for. The next few updates will also probably be a bit slow, sorry. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!
Maria Cosway was an Italian-English painter, musician, and educator who founded two girls' schools. She had a brief romantic relationship with widowed Thomas Jefferson while he was in Paris.
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"What the fuck," the negress cries out. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?"
"I suppose that telling you to mind your language shall not have any effect," Jefferson mutters dryly.
"Boston," she exclaims. "Boston! How the fuck are we in Boston? Cars aren't that fast!"
Were this any other woman, Jefferson would be sure she had caught hysteria. Now, he is not entirely sure.
"It's not that far," Layden answers, and though there is unsurety colouring his voice, 'tis practically nothing compared to his hesitant smile. Somehow, Patsy again found herself in his arms, and he's thankful she is somehow not hurt. "Once, I had travelled from Europe to the West Indies in only a few moments."
"The West Indies?"
"The Caribbean, miss." Cassandra doesn't answer, her attention trapped by the wrecked shell of their carriage. Smoke emanates from it, and that surely should not be happening. Jefferson takes out a handkerchief, wipes away the blood from his nose, then offers it to George, who looks as if he had been involved in a brawl.
"I... how did we..." She trails off. After a moment, she shakes her head. "Where's the community we just drove through? Which way are they? How did we get this far?"
"I'm telling you, we travelled through time," Solomon stresses. "We are no longer in Virginia- rather, we're now near Boston."
"I- just- can you stop bullshitting me for one second? Where are we?"
"Near Boston." He calms his temper when she sits down on the floor, looking at her hands. With a sigh, he squats next to her. "Listen, Cassandra, I know you don't believe me, but you were there when we drove into that... fog, right?"
She nods after a long pause. Jefferson notices Angelica trying to reinsert herself into the wrecked carriage, and he quickly tries to stop her from stepping all over the shattered glass. She is as vocal as her father when she does not get what she wants, but he did not hesitate to listen into the conversation.
(Old habits die hard.)
"Well, that... fog was what I had gone through when I crashed into the white house. T'was the exact same one, except that I was..." Jefferson thought that he had trailed off, but he had not. "...Indisposed."
"...What?"
"I was... okay, you are frank, so I shall be frank as well. I was shot in the side and hysterical, but from what I remember, 'tis all the same." He's taken aback with how little emotion that was said, but Layden does not seem to be a particularly emotional person. "What I mean to say is that- clearly, we are no longer in Virginia, or in that neighborhood. I have a clue as to where we are, as me and Hamilton have travelled this road several times, but I don't know when."
"You don't know when."
"I don't."
"Jesus fucking Christ," She breathes out, and Jefferson again finds himself wincing at her vulgarity. He can only hope that Angelica heard none of it, though that hope is not warranted. Cassandra's head is not the only one that is reeling. Angelica is easy to lift, and he is glad to know that her stockings prevented her from gaining more scrapes.
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Shattered Realities- Historical Hamilton
FanfictionThe fifth of July has been a chaotic day for America. When Irene Laizaitė comes crashing through the White House from the sky, many people had questions- and Cassandra Carter's job is to find answers, no matter how bizarre they are. Jefferson was in...
