Written by: Meg (TheEmperor), Sherri, Julie (MKawaii)
Editing/Notes by: Julie (MKawaii)
Rating: PG (minor foul language)
Classification: Adventure/Humor
Author's Notes: This is the first of what we hope will be several fics to arise from the New Legion RPG. There's a link to the group's messageboard in my profile. Feel free to check it out and see what other storylines we're working on! The concept of the group is to allow a number of writers to contribute to a running story in a sort of RPG format, where participants focus on the perspective of one or two characters and then add to the story in a way that develops their adopted characters. We are currently using a combination of fictional characters from the Patriot, original fictional characters, and real historical figures. That said, here's how this tale was originally broken down while we were working on it:
Please note also, that this story serves as a sort of Prequel to our other in progress Bordon-fics. If you've ever wondered where some of the little references in those stories ("The Torch Forever Burns" and "Waltzing the Erinyes", both of which are posted here on fanficnet) came from, herein lies your answer!!
Plot Summary: It's December of 1777 and the British army has settled down for Winter-Quarters in the city of Philadelphia. While the rebel army freezes at Valley Forge, Captain Bordon and Major John Andre work at maintaining an extensive intelligence network. But in a cosmopolitan city like Philadelphia, how can anyone resist the urge to have a little fun? Andre organizes a theater group. With a serious-to-a-fault Captain Bordon, a prima donna Ban Tarleton and mischievous group of young dragoons factoring into the mix, will the show ever go on?
Captain Robert Bordon shivered as a gust of cold wind rushed over him and quickly drew his thick coat tighter around himself. Winter in Philadelphia was quickly proving to be less than pleasant and as the harsh December weather blew in, he'd quickly begun cursing his earlier decision to take residence in a building so far from that which he spent most of his waking hours in.
Bordon's days were spent at the monotonous tasks of filling out paperwork and filing reports in a small office on the second floor of a house on Leeds Street. It'd formerly been the home of a small time merchant and his family, who'd provided supplies to the rebel army and been evicted shortly after the British captured the city. It was a small, out of the way house, which was exactly why it'd been chosen.
Bordon's superior officer and good friend, Major John Andre, was in charge of a small but carefully constructed intelligence network setup throughout the city and neighboring countryside. With both the British and Rebel armies in winter quarters, the intelligence division was one of the few groups still active. The fighting may have stopped for the time being, but information was always flowing.
His path took him past a small pub, just in time to see a pair of drunkenly singing infantry privates stagger out. Bordon frowned and wondered what sort of man got drunk at 8 o'clock in the morning. He was silently grateful that he had somewhere to go. If there was anything he couldn't stand, it was pointless inactivity. Far better to be waking early and trudging four blocks through two feet of snow if it meant getting something meaningful done.
Rounding the corner onto Leeds Bordon's eye caught a fluttering motion to his left and he stopped suddenly. Someone had nailed a handbill to one of the fence-posts lining the street and it was fluttering wildly in the cold wind. The same wind chose that moment to send another icy gust whipping down the street, catching Bordon's scarf and flinging one end of it up into his eyes. He snatched at it irritably and pulled it away from his face before ripping the handbill down and storming the last few yards to the front door of his destination. Quickly unlocking it he opened the heavy wooden door just enough to squeeze through before quickly shutting it behind him before too much of the warm air inside could escape.
The intelligence office was busy night and day with warm fires burning round the clock, a fact that Bordon was extremely grateful for when he came in from the cold every morning. Peeling his coat and scarf off he hung them on a nearby rack to dry, called a quick greeting to the pair of officers just getting ready to head home after working all night and headed quickly up the stairs to his office. He sat down behind his desk, only then noticing the piece of paper still in his hand. Smoothing the wrinkles from when he'd first snatched it off the fence he turned the paper to the gray morning sunlight shining weakly through his office's single window and read.
Beneath the writing was a picture of the comedy-tragedy masks and in very small print, 'Directed by Major John Andre, with the kindest permission of Gen. Howe'
Bordon froze and read the last line again. Andre?! Wherever did he find the time for such nonsense! Crumpling the handbill into a ball he promptly tossed it into the small waste-bin next to his desk and turned to the mound of documents waiting for his attention. It was going to be a long day...
-------------------
"A woman!" Cornet Tarleton exclaimed. His face had turned a bright scarlet upon hearing Andre's announcement.
"Come now, Ban!" Andre persisted. "This is very unlike you. VERY unlike the man who gave an impromptu eulogy for a still-living relative so that the audience would not be bored during intermission... And that was in England!"
"But at least then I wasn't dressed as a woman!" Tarleton replied quickly.
"You can't always play the dashing hero."
"But I am dashing!" Ban protested.
"You're also the youngest, and you're about the only one among us who could ever pass for a woman without making the play more comical than it already is. Think of it as a challenge... a chance to show off just how well you can act."
Tarleton knew he wasn't going to get out of this. Sometimes being the lowest ranked man in the group had distinct disadvantages. Andre was toying with his weaknesses. He DID like a challenge...
"Show off how well I can act... hmmm...."
"Precisely."
"Very well, being the best actor in this group, I see it as my sacred duty to show all of you how to play the part of a woman correctly!"
The other members of the group rolled their eyes, as one of their favorite phrases came to mind. "That's Ban for you..."
-----------------
Private Anthony Goldstein was having the time of his life. Sure he was freezing his bum off, but he didn't care. He as a member of the dragoons he was doing something important that made his life worthwhile.
His green eyes sparkled merrily as he entered the theatre, hoping to escape the winter wind and warm up for a minute before continuing on his way. The air quickly chilled one to the bone, but his boyish grin still stayed plastered on. Many of his fellow privates thought he lost his mind when they saw him this way, despite the miserable weather, but Anthony didn't care. He was just enjoying the end of his childhood.
"But at least then I wasn't dressed as a woman!"
Anthony froze at the sound of a familiar voice. Did his ears deceive him? Wasn't that Ban Tarleton? The Ban Tarleton that many stories were told about? This was just too much for Anthony, he had to find out.
Giving his better judgement a break, Anthony followed the sounds of the voices. This could be the gossip of the year! If so, Anthony wanted in first.
He followed to the voices to a small room. The door was cracked open a bit, and Anthony peered in. He saw the two figures arguing about something involving acting and women. What the hell?
"Very well, being the best actor in this group, I see it as my sacred duty to show all of you how to play the part of a woman correctly!"
Ban Tarleton, to be sure! That's when Anthony lost it. First it started out as soft giggles. Well, manly giggles. Then he covered his mouth but couldn't hide it. With an audible thump, Anthony fell to the floor laughing. Tears were streaming out of his eyes but he didn't care.
--------------------
It was nearly noon before Bordon heard the tell-tale thump of the frontdoor and cheerfully called greeting to the staff downstairs that signalled Andre'd finally arrived. Bordon's brow furrowed in a deep frown and he turned his eyes to the door as he heard his friends footsteps on the stairs, fixing the Major with a biting glare as his cheerful face appeared in the doorway of Bordon's office.
"Morning, Robert! Anything interesting come in last night?"
"Dont you mean 'afternoon'? You certainly took your time in getting here..." Bordon quickly ruffled through the mound of paperwork and found the one page he was seeking, which he held out to Andre.
"Just this report. Finnegan claims to have overheard some sort of meeting between a couple of merchants down in the waterfront district. Nothing particularly incriminating, but we may want to have someone check it out."
Andre's eyes eagerly skimmed through the handwritten report. "Quite right.. I'll get someone on it. Sorry for slacking off a bit this morning and making you go through all that on your own," Andre pointed to the massive jumble of documents. "I had to take care of something."
Bordon's eyebrow quirked, a ghost of a smile creeping onto his face. "That something wouldnt have to do with a certain handbill I found on my way here this morning, would it?"
Now it was Andre's turn to frown slightly. "Well, you cant expect me to work ALL the time, man! I find the theater to be quite a welcome distraction!"
His wide smile returned, "As a matter of fact, I think you would too! We've got several parts still open! Come now, Bordon, what do you sa..."
"I think you know damn well what I'd say, so don't even try to get me into this!" Bordon's face flickered with a mixture of panic and horror that immediately set Andre into a raving fit of laughter.
"With dramatic reactions like that, one can easily see you were born to be on the stage! But really Robert, you have to get out and have some fun now and then! Day after day you trudge in here with the determined look of a martyr and bury yourself in this dismal office for a solid twelve hours, and then return straight to your quarters across town to rest up for another day of the same!"
Bordon set the stack of papers he'd been going through down roughly on the top of his desk. "Well, my apologies John, but I don't have the same relish for publicly making a fool of myself that you seem to revel in!"
Andre's face twisted into an angry grimace and Bordon instantly knew he'd gone too far.
"Alright then, Captain! Do whatever you damn well please.. and excuse me for interrupting! I'll be in my office getting a little work done and plotting additional ways of 'making a fool of myself' in the near future. Good day!"
Bordon raised his hand quickly and made to apologize to his long-time
friend, but it was too late. Andre stormed out of the office and slammed
the door..
------------------
Coming from a very poor family, Pvt. Henry Edwards had a high tolerance
for alcohol and his hangovers lasted a good ten minutes at the longest.
He splashed some cold water on his unshaven face and felt very much refreshed.
He had to make himself presentable. Making a good impression was always
foremost in his mind.
He took a good look in the dirty mirror hanging over the washbasin.
His black hair, which had always grown in ridiculously tight curls that
liked to stand on end, looked even more comical than usual. Henry ran a
hand through it, but it didn't make for much improvement.
He grabbed an almost empty bottle of cheap wine from the table beside
his bed and took a swig to dull the last of his headache. The clock showed
that it was nearly four in the afternoon. Henry cursed himself silently.
He'd slept almost the entire day.
His best friend, an introverted younger private by the name of James
Riley, was still asleep, stretched languidly across his bed. Riley didn't
have any tolerance for alcohol. The two of them had known each other for
years, growing up together in London before Riley's family moved to Birmingham.
Henry was the only one who hadn't poked fun at James' childhood stuttering
problem, and James was the only one who didn't mind that Henry was indecently
poor. The two had been reunited quite by accent when they bumped into one
another at a local pub shortly after the British occupied the city, and
had been inseparable since.
Henry put on his red and green jacket, straightened the cuffs and collar,
and took another look in the mirror. He loved his uniform. It made him
feel grown up, important. Besides, these red and green ones looked better
than the green and black ones worn by Riley and the rest of the dragoons
in the other legion.
Satisfied with his appearance, Henry walked over to the bed of his
sleeping friend.
"Riley!"
James didn't stir. Henry kicked the bed, it moved about two inches.
"Wake up!"
Riley mumbled something in his sleep.
"Come on, James. You'll never believe what Goldstein just told me..."
James groaned and pulled the bed covers tightly over his head. "Oh
Christ, Henry.. cant it wait a good twelve hours? My head feels like the
inside of a beehive..." His voice came as a pathetic whimper muffled by
the thick blankets.
Edwards was not to be dissuaded however, and another swift kick to
the side of the bed nearly sent Riley sprawling onto the floor. Rubbing
his throbbing temple in an effort to soften the raging headache that accompanied
his hangover, Riley struggled into a sitting position and stared grumpily
at his old friend.
"Alright, alright! Out with it, then! What DID Goldstein tell you that's
so important? If you tell me that he's tipped you off on another pub that
has 'the cheapest drinks in town', I swear I'll ring your neck..."
"Come now, James! Buck up!"
Henry's statement did not have its intended effect.
"Besides, this is far betta than finding a cheaper pub, and few things
are betta than that! Goldstein was wanderin' about this morning, ya know
'ow Goldstein does, when 'e over'eard the most intriguing convasation."
He paused, giving Riley a chance to respond, but his friend didn't
appear to be feeling any better. Henry reached into a pocket of his jacket
and produced a neatly folded piece of paper. He handed it to Riley. The
younger man forced his eyes to focus long enough to unfold it and realize
that it was a handbill.
"It seems that Major Andre and 'is little group of... associates are
gonna to perform some koind of play."
Riley gave his friend a look that said, "A play? Is that all? Since
when were you interested in the theatre?"
"Oi, an' you'll neva believe who 'appens to be playing a girl," Henry
continued, struggling not to interupt his explanation with a bout of laughter.
"Why, none other than your legion's most beloved memba... Banastre Tarleton!"
Henry snatched the handbill away from his friend, refolded it, and
replaced it in his pocket.
"Now, Goldstein's discovered that there's gonna be a re'earsal tonoight
at the Black Swan Theatre. We're all gonna foind out if it's true, if Tarleton's
really playin' a girl. Goldstein's arranged some proime backstage seatin'.
I thought it would unfriendly of me if I didn't invite ya to come along.
If you're going, get dressed, it starts in an 'our."
James Riley was out of bed, dressed and in the theatre before he knew
what hit him. The entire past hour was somewhat of a blur, but somehow
he now stood beside Edwards just inside the backstage door of the Black
Swan.
A number of men in various kinds and degrees of uniform were bustling
about busily, carrying the few small bits of scenery and props absolutely
necessary for the rehearsal which, judging by the level of activity, was
due to begin any moment.
Riley stared about blankly for a few moments, before his gaze came
to rest on the brightly grinning face of Goldstein.
Anthony bonded into the room, a grin plastered to his face.
"Hello boys!" Goldstein smiled. "I hope you guys are ready for a treat
tonight. If I'm wrong, drinks are on me!"
Goldstein overlooked his comrades 'financial troubles.' He never minded
paying for their drinks at the tavern. In his sick twisted way, he actually
liked paying for them. His family had more money than they knew what to
do with.
The three privates had first met quite by accident in one of the city's
many small pubs, and while Edwards was a longtime friend, Goldstein was
a new acquaintance. Goldstein was quite a bit older, and born in the Colonies
as well, making him an object of interest for the two young Britons.
He was extremely friendly and seemed to possess a perpetually cheerful
attitude. Riley found the later trait, manifested by cheeky grins like
the one plastered across Goldstein's features now, to be somewhat creepy
given James' own reserved nature, but he chalked it up to their obvious
differences in upbringing. As a child James'd had little to smile about
while, from what Anthony'd told of his own family, Goldstein'd never had
to worry about much of anything.
One thing the three young men shared though, without a doubt, was their
craving for adventure. It was the reason they'd come together and stood
now, side by side, each in the uniform of a British dragoon.
Someone dimmed the house lamps slightly and Riley startled, taking
a step closer to his two comrades before addressing them, "Well, whatever
we're here for, we'd best find an out of the way place to sit.. Someone's
going to trip over us if we just stand around here and besides.. having
all these officers about is making me nervous! I'm not so sure we're allowed
in here..."
---------------------
Major Andre carefully supervised the placement of the props and the
scenery. Everything had to be perfect. His small troupe of actors, in costume,
had their attentions centered on Tarleton who was demonstrating, for the
benefit of all, the correct way to portray a woman. There were some whisperings
among the other officers that if anyone knew how to play the part of a
woman, it was Ban. He'd certainly had an almost indecent amount of experience
with them.
Tarleton had enough natural grace that he was able to manage the full
skirts of the last-season dress that Andre had managed to talk the wife
of a loyalist into loaning them for the production. His red hair formed
a sharp contrast with the traditional colonial lady's mob cab. This one
was trimmed with pink ribbon to match the dress, which was pink with a
slightly floral pattern.
"Might I have this dance, Lady Tarleton?" Oliver Delancey, the set
painter, asked, tipping his cap.
"How utterly rude!" 'Lady' Tarleton exclaimed, giving Delancey a slap
to the side of the face with one of 'her' lace gloves. "You, a common set
painter, would ask a fine lady such as myself to dance!"
"I wouldn't be so hasty, m'lady," the set painter laughed. "With your
looks, I'll probably be the only dance offer you get tonight."
'Lady' Tarleton turned away. "Kindly remove yourself from my presence,
sir! I won't have you getting paint on my lovely new gown!"
Andre rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated chuckle as he watched
the backstage antics of his cast. Better that they get all the foolishness
out of their systems now than wait and burst into fits of giggles later
when he was trying to direct them through a clean rehearsal.
"Alright you lot, quit harassing Miss Tarleton and get yourselves on
stage! This play opens in a week and General Howe's going to be here, so
I want everything to go smoothly. The sooner we get this rehearsal over
with, the sooner you can all run off to the pub or get on with whatever
other..." Andre eyed Ban, who was absentmindedly swishing his skirts around,
"activities.. you have planned for the night."
With a minimal amount of grumbling, the actors filed out through the
curtain and the stage crew finished getting things ready. Watching after
them, Andre sighed quietly. He'd not spoken to Bordon since their argument
that afternoon. Both men were possessed of an extremely stubborn nature,
a trait that was beneficial when it came to sniffing out small details
for their intelligence work, but proved to be a frequent stumbling block
as far as their friendship was concerned.
Andre snorted and pushed the thought from his mind. Let Bordon stew
a while.. he deserved it! Grabbing his copy of the play's script from a
nearby bench, Andre strode off quickly in the wake of his cast and took
his position at the foot of the stage, ready to begin directing the rehearsal.
---------------------
Henry, Goldstein, and Riley had secreted themselves away in the props
room. It wasn't the most comfortable spot in the world for viewing a performance,
being at most a few feet wide. Still, there was a rather large crack between
two boards that made for the perfect peep-hole. Henry and Goldstein claimed
the two prime viewing spots. Riley was left with a more limited view of
the stage, but it was quite enough for a full view of Ban Tarleton strutting
about in a proper colonial lady's gown.
"You were bloody roight!" Henry exclaimed in a whisper to Goldstein.
"This is the damned funniest thing I've eva seen!"
Goldstein gave Henry a shove, indicating that his turn at the widest
part of the peep-hole was up. Henry didn't move. Goldstein shoved harder.
"In a bloody minute!" Henry snapped. Taking in one last final look
to impress into his memory, Henry stepped away... but this didn't go without
incident. He tripped over the crouching figure of Riley, who he'd quite
forgotten about. Unable to regain his balance in a small room that wasn't
nearly big enough for three men, Henry went thundering into a shelf filled
with a varied assortment of props. The crash was deafening. All the sea
battles ever fought since the invention of cannon seemed positively muted
in comparison.
"Bloody 'ell!" Henry cursed.