"Hey, do you want to get together this Saturday? Me, you, John, and Hercules?" Lafayette asked. It was plainly and widely accepted that his "first" name was needlessly long and complex; thus, the Frenchman was simply known as "Lafayette." Inspired and reminded of French aristocrats' names by such words, Lafayette had taken to changing all his social media usernames and handles to "The Marquis de Lafayette," which drove his half-brother, Alexander Hamilton, to request him to play the part of the historical Marquis de Lafayette at an American Revolution school fair in Alexander's son's "exhibit." I have to – sorry, no – Phillip has to have a better presentation than that Burr kid, Theo, or whatever his name is! Alex had declared; he knew very well that "Theo, or whatever" was a girl named Theodosia.
"Alex? So, are you free?" Lafayette asked again.
"Hmm?" came the response. "Lemme check my schedule," Alex said, purposefully clicking on his smartphone.
He doesn't even work, Lafayette thought. Well, besides for the mountains of essays on his laptop, I guess.
"Sorry, can't make it," Alex said. "Phillip has a soccer game, Burr's gonna be there, so the morning's full, and the deadline for entries in that journal is coming up, so I'll be working all day."
"Mon Dieu, Alexander; you always have wrote like you were running out of time, which you are not."
"I am!" Alex exclaimed. "The deadline –"
"Is in a month and a half. You have plenty of time," Lafayette said, rolling his eyes.
Alexander made an odd, indignant, pouting face. They never understand, he griped, a short fiery man firmly set upon the ground, glare-staring at his much taller, relaxed brother.
"Just take a break, this one time," Lafayette kept trying to persuade Alex. "There's this nice new restaurant opening near here; it's owned by this guy I know. I spent a few years in France, he loves the food, atmosphere, culture, everything, so it's bound to be good – his name is Thomas Jefferson."
Alexander's eyes widened in recognition. "He doesn't look like you, by any chance, does he?" he asked suspiciously.
"Yeah, some people thought he was my brother, rather than you. Why?"
"Dammit!" Alexander exploded. "God, I hate him – he's already pretty close to Burr and really just a Francophile. Ugh, he's so pompous and full of himself, thinking he's so much more cultured than everyone else, just 'cause he's had some escargot and a sip or two of expensive, rare, vintage wine."
Alexander huffed, mind surely turning. Perhaps I'll go – not to rest or have fun, of course, but to collect material for a scathing, ruining review.
"God, Alex!" Lafayette exclaimed, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "I swear, judging and holding random grudges is your supernatural power, or something," he laughed.
"Jefferson is a Republican."
And Lafayette accepted this, knowing that to Alexander Hamilton, it meant everything. As long as no one got him started on the financial situation, he would stay within the realm of small, local disputes, and refrain from sparking a civil war. It runs in the name, I suppose.