So you know how in the Lightning Thief Percy's talking about the fireworks and he mentions how George Washington was a son of Athena? Well, I have this obsession with Hamilton ( I blame the internet), so the other day I'm just like "What if I made a story about historical demigods?" Yeah... So I'ma give it a try.1773, New York City
Alexander stepped off the boat eagerly, taking in the simplicity of the large city. So large, so elegant, so grandeur, yet so simple. But it was better than Nevis. He didn't mean to insult his old home-if he could call it that- but something about New York, it just gave him hope.
Hope. It burned passionately in his heart, inspiring him. The same feeling he had when he got that job helping his late mother's landlord, maybe-just maybe- he could get something better. Achieve something better than what his 'father' left him with.
Alexander only carried a bag. Several letters were stuffed inside, a long since rotten apple, the left-over money from the villagers on Nevis, and a quill.
Another symbol of hope for Alex. The very same quill he wrote the letter to his father with. Although the sick bastard had left him and his mother by themselves to die in poverty, keeping in touch had benefited him in unimaginable ways.
He laughed at the irony of it. The same man who sent him into poverty was the same one who gave him the opportunity to be in this place, far away from the hell-hole in the Caribbean.
In New York, his dreams could be accomplished, he could be a new man, have a new life, get married, have children, be happy for once. But he knew that would take work, but Alexander had the drive, he had the focus, he would-
"Hey," a voice called out. "Watch where you're going, lick-finger!"
Alexander blushed, then looked around to see that a scrawny and partically grouchy figure was staring at him. He shirt was wet and the man angrily swung his now empty bucket.
"Great, now I'm late for work an' I have to go back to the well. Dammit!"
"S-s-sorry sir," Alexander stammered, then hurried away. They aren't exactly as nice as I imagined. But it was my fault, Alexander thought. Now, for the actual reason I'm here. To get into a good college. Princeton, that's a good college no?
That, of course was not his real reason, but he lied to himself, and made it his.
But, in order to make his lies true, he'd need help for that, and in the large city, it'd be hard.
That was, if he had not made arrangements with the friend of his friend. And so, he scanned the bilboards, the signs each and every inch of the avenue looking for his place.
Finally, he rounded his way onto 5th Avenue.
Alexander walked down the avenue looking for a tailor's parlor. But the damn people in this town seemed to block every exit. Alex was simply moving with the crowd at this point until finally, he rounded a corner. He stopped for a second just to catch his breath. Then he saw it.
Taylor's Tailor Parlor
It was written so neatly. Each letter curved in such an elegant way, things like this never existed on Nevis. He walked in.
The parlor smelled so fresh. Like new clothes. Which Alex assumed it would smell like, after all, it was a clothing store. But it was so ... clean.
Suddenly a man with knight cap poked his head through the doorframe. "Oy, we got a customer!" The guy walked out revealing a very broad shouldered man with hands that looked like they could easily squish you to a pulp. He had an intimidating glare that made Alexander want to shit himself right then, but he kept control of his bladder. ]
"Uhh," Alexander stuttered.
"Hercules Mulligan at your service, I'm a tailor's apprentice but my master's out of town, can I help you?"
"You're...Him," Alexander muttered.
"Who's him? Why's anybody lookin' for me, eh?"
"I'm Alexander Hamilton," he grinned, new confidence overtaking him.
"Alexander? Nice to meet you! We're gonna be roomies, yeah?" He grinned.
"Oh, yes," Alexander nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Mulligan."
He bit back any remarks he might've thought tomade, silently thinking to himself that, naturally, all New Yorkers were in fact- weird.
I can confirm Alexander's last statement, as I'm a New Yorker... And I'm very weird. No proof has been documented on the internet, but my classmates will tell you.
Can I just say that I freaking hate my locker? I mean I'm pretty good with it, but for some reason on Thursdays it always acts up, and I miss like hal of science class because of it. Stupid locker.
