Corset in Congress (A Hamilton Genderbend)

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Blow Us All Away

Today my little sister turns nine! Happy birthday, Michelangelo! (As in the ninja turtle, he's her favourite. Mine's Raphael, for obvious reasons.) Anyway, I hope you all have a good day, despite this chapter and its sadness.

Phillip's POV

Meet the latest graduate of King's College! I probably shouldn't brag, but dag, I amaze and astonish! The scholars say I got the same virtuosity and brains as my mum. The ladies say that's not where the resemblance stops!  I wink at some cute chicks, who giggle, blush, and turn away.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. I'm awesome.

I'm only nineteen, but my mind is older. Gotta be my own self, like my mother, but bolder! I shoulder her legacy with pride! I used to hear her say that someday I would blow us all away!

I spot another pair of girls and approach them for two reasons. One of them is a very valid reason; I have to find someone. The second is because they are very beautiful. "Ladies," I say, all business-like, "I'm looking for a Mr. George Eacker. Made a speech last week, our Fourth of July speaker. He disparaged my mother's legacy in front of a crowd," I explain, and they both nod knowingly. "I can't have that, I'm making my mother proud."

The first girl, who has brilliantly fluffy hair, full lips, and a stance that says, Mess with me and you die, says, "I saw him just up Broadway a couple of blocks. He was going to see a play." She elongates the last word, dragging a soft hand over my arm. I get her message, and I'd love to, but I can't right now.

"Well, I'll go visit his box," I say quickly, not wanting to hurt any feelings or burn any bridges. 

The shorter one, with silky black hair moves closer, swishing her hips seductively with each step. When she's close enough that I feel her breath on my neck, she grabs the collar of my jacket and growls, "God, you're a fox," in a voice that makes my heart beat faster. Then it comes to me. The perfect solution. 

"And y'all look pretty good in your frocks. How about when I get back we all strip down to our socks?"

"Okay!" they giggle, a little shocked at first, but satisfied nonetheless. The brunette twirls out of my grasp with a teasing smile, pulling a string somewhere inside me that wants to just stay with her, forget about Eacker.

Then I mentally slap myself. Make your mother proud! Stop being such a wimp!

--Blow us all away--

"George!" I shout, ignoring the production of The Wet Indian and all the other people all dressed up to watch it.  Their entertainment can wait. I have a record to set straight.

He doesn't even look at me, just hisses, "Shh!" like the rest of the crowd, which makes me furious.

"GEORGE!" I shout louder, storming across the room so that I am directly blocking his line of sight. 

He stands up, protesting, "Shh! I'm trying to watch the show!"

"You should've watched your mouth before you talked about my mother though!" I retort, putting my hands on my hips in defiance.

"I didn't say anything that wasn't true," Eacker says slowly, visibly relaxed. He doesn't see me as a threat, I realize, and he leans forward to finish his thought. "Your mother is a scoundrel, and so, it seems, are you."

By now, all actors have stopped acting, and all audience members are watching us. Collectively they cringe, wince, and "Ooooooooooh!" -ing at the insult. It wasn't even that good, okay?

Well, it's better than anything I've got. He's treating me like a child!

I cross my arms defencively, putting on an air of disbelief. "It's like that?"