My Dearest, [ Alexander Hamilton | Reader ]

• Chapter Six •

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Eight days.

Eight everlasting days, that's how long it took to walk to Concord. It would've taken five days, if British troops had not surrounded them, time and time again.

They had to flee. They were only a rag-tag army, half the men were hardly trained. That included [Your Name], she'd gotten used to holding a gun but, her aim was another story.

It was rather busy in the camp, winter was near. Frost now covered the ground, the air was crisp. She was exhausted. She hadn't even had the chance to meet Alexander.

Truth be told, she didn't believe she'd ever meet Alexander in such conditions. Soldiers wouldn't often discuss of the man, he'd become general Washington's right hand man. He had also stolen British cannons.

[Your Name] sighed sitting near a crackling fire along with a few other soldiers. She watched the smoke curl in the cold air, she was never one to talk. She intently listened to their conversation.

They went on for a while about the war, she quietly stood from her spot dusting herself off. She turned away, she usually took strolls around the camp mid-afternoon.

She was absorbed in her thoughts, not paying attention to her surroundings. She hit a something firm, falling onto the pavement. She immediately look up finding herself looking at a group of man.

It was them, Alexander and his friends. It was if the devil himself and his allies stood in front of her. She stood herself up immediately, dusting herself.

"Sorry,"

Her voice was meek, the men stared without saying a word. She looked into the floor, a tint of pink gracing her features. She took the time to look at herself, she was rather lissome compared to the man that stood in front of her.

Her orbs looked up once more, finding the men smiling. Her small hands placed upon each other, she unconsciously fiddled with them. It was a nervous habit, her mother would always scold her for doing such.

"What's your name, kid?"

A booming voice spoke up, Hercules Mulligan. Her brows furrowed at the word 'kid', she was only a few years younger than the men.

"[Y]-- Jeremiah Young."

They carried on the conversation or rather small-talk, introducing themselves. She, after hesitation, joined the group. They walked to a tent, the smell of alcohol lingering strong.

They poured the alcoholic beverage into cups, handing them out to each other. John had extended his hand, offering a drink to her.

[Your Name] was hesitant, the closest she'd gotten to alcohol was aged wine while dining with suitors. She slowly took the cup, staring at the drink intently. The liquor produced waves every movement she made.

There was a sudden hit at her back causing her to jump, she turned finding John. His warm orbs gave a "give it a try" look, she looked around the tent finding the other men giving the same look.

She gave a sigh of defeat, bringing the beverage up to her lips. The smell was strong, almost repulsive. She inhaled deeply, the alcohol trickling down her throat.

It was a bitter taste, a disgusting bitter taste. She somehow managed to keep the beverage down, her nose still slightly scrunched. She placed the drink down beside her, she most definitely won't be touching that anytime soon.

She watched the rowdy men continue in their drinking, it was almost nothing to them. They placed their arms around each other, swaying each other.

"Hey, Young! Come on up here!"

Mulligan's voice boomed, a sigh escaped from her lips. Knowing the men, it was a command rather than a offer. She slowly stood herself up walking towards the group.
...
The men became rather intoxicated, their rowdiness tiring them. They stayed in the tent, scattered around the floor. [Your Name] eventually gave out, falling asleep near them.

She awoke to find herself in darkness, the dim light from rising sun illuminating the tent slightly. She stood herself up, scanning her surroundings.

The group wasn't going to get up anytime soon, her eyes lingered more, observing everything. She found her cup from the night before, it was still full. She made her way outside the tent, dumping the contents from the cup on the pavement.
...
The moonlight gleamed upon the pavement, cannons were being fired. Gunshots were like thunder. They seemed to be at an advantage perhaps, it'd be the first battle to be won by the colonist.

[Your Name] inhaled deeply, firearm pointed towards a British soldier. She fiddled with the trigger, it firing.

It was something that she'd never get used to, killing. She knew not if these men had wives or children waiting for them to return to their embrace.

After a seemingly endless battle, the British were forced to retreat. She looked around at the others soldiers, the reaction mixed. Some showed signs of disbelief while others had a smile stretched upon their faces.

[Your Name] looked around for her group, they'd already gathered around. They handed each other drinks, clinking the cups together. They always seemed to find a way to celebrate with alcohol.
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[This was slightly rushed and has not been proof-read, don't mind the grammatical errors in this. I apologize for the lack of interaction, once again. Hopefully, this amazing gif I found will be enough. I would consider this a rather mature gif.]