The Press (Whamilton)

Ch. 1

"Deep breath Alex... Deep breaths... Thomas Jefferson is not going to best you today. You're a strong, independent, intelligent person. He is a rude, disgusting, vulgar, monster. You best him in anything. All you need to do is go in there, say what you need to say, let him talk, counter it, and then the debate is all yours. You can do this. You can do this. You. Can. Do. This. Hamilton."

Alexander pulled his hair back into a low ponytail, making sure to tie it up with his favorite black ribbon. He moved some stray hairs behind his ears, straightened his tie, tightened his belt, and grabbed his things. It was already 5:44 and Alex should have left the house fifteen minutes ago. But he was stalling as long as he could. Hamilton, no matter how brave he seemed on the job, was almost always nervous and worrying and working himself up over something. Nonetheless, this was no time to think. He had to get to work before the boss got pissed at him.

Alexander Hamilton. Forty-eight years old, living alone in a huge empty house, and having one of the most high paying jobs in the country. Not surprising though considering he's treasurer of the United States government. He's already had his face plastered all over the news for the things he's said, whether he's a citizen, his stand on all kinds of topics, and his bad temper. Lots of people have claimed that he also has an extensive love life, but Hamilton prefers to ignore that side of the media.

The car sputtered to life once Alex got in and turned it on. Even if he was semi rich, Alex had a small, (black and wood designed,) beat up PT Cruiser. It was the first car he ever got when coming to America, so it was important to him. Plus, nobody ever expected the treasurer of the united states to drive such an old car so he was never followed by news reporters. Hamilton frowned when the engine died just as fast as it had started. He huffed in annoyance and tried again.

"Come on, duraznos," Alex muttered, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, "Daddy's gotta get to work." He tried again and the cruiser finally started up. Alex smiled and tore out of his driveway, immediately racing to get to work on time so Jefferson wouldn't win the debate.

Meanwhile, George Washington, president of the United States, was internally screaming.

He had a migraine ripping his brain out and stomping on it, an awful stomach ache from the Chinese food he had last night, none of his papers organized, way too many problems to deal with, an aching feeling in his heart, what was probably carpal tunnel in his wrists, and his feet were sore. Washington had practically been attacked by paparazzi right when he stepped out of the limo, and his security guard happened to be absent from work today, so he had to fight them off himself.

George rubbed his eyes and shuffled to his desk. He sat down, loosened his tie, shrugged his jacket off, and yawned. Then, he laid his head on the desk, burying himself in his arms. His day just started an hour or two ago and he already wants to go home and crawl back into bed.

George Washington. FIfty-one years old and also living alone. He has an even higher paying job then Alexander does, obviously, and mostly saves his money. He lives in the white house, and of course eats whatever the cooks make for him, but George rarely has people go to the store and buy him things. George never thinks about any of that. He has no family to provide for ever since Martha divorced him a long, long time ago.

He felt himself dozing off, but God he couldn't help but not care whether he fell asleep there or not. George tapped his fingers against the desk to keep him awake a little. There was going to be a debate today on the stupid fucking kneeling thing to the United States flag and Washington did not wanna deal with the stupid fucking kneeling thing to the United States flag.

George knew that Alexander, being the usually right minded man he is, would be on the side of letting people kneel during the anthem. Hamilton would definitely have some good points, and Jefferson is probably going to go against Alexander purposely to piss the man off, as he usually does. George groaned in annoyance at the thought of listening to those two bicker when he had this migraine in his brain.