Hey guys! So, there is some minor inappropriate (and suggestive) content at the end of this chapter, but nothing too explicit, so just a heads up. Enjoy!

Note: I do not own Hamilton or any of its people. Just Ida. :(


1776, New York City

A little girl, fairy-like in her proportions, climbed onto a young man's chest. He, being asleep, woke up with a start, and let out a yelp and a curse.

"What the fu—"

"AARGHH, NOOO! BLEEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP! BAD WORD, BAD WORD!" shrieked Ida, waving her arms like the little maniac she was.

"SHUT UP!" roared Laurens angrily. "Just let me sleep in peace! Please!"

She was not compliant. "Nope! I wanna see New York! I wanna plaaay! I wanna kill the bad lobsters and eat 'em with butter! I wann—"

"Okay, okay..." grumbled Laurens groggily, rubbing his sleep-encrusted eyes. Maybe she would be calmer when he woke up...


Half an hour later:

How does a tiny, fairy-like, cricket of a girl, go on and on growing to be more of a nuisance; watch this obnoxious, deluded, loudmouth bothe—

Laurens' train of thought was rudely interrupted by the aforementioned cricket of a girl.

"C'mon! C'mon! We gotta go, gotta get your job done!" cried Ida, laughing.

"Ida, I don't have a job," said Laurens brightly. "I'mma go...somewhere..." he said as an idea occurred to him. "Yeah, I'll be back."

"Soon?" implored Ida, who really, really, wanted to see New York.

"I'll be back before you know I'm gone," he promised.

"Y'sure?"

"Yep."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Can I come?"

He thought for a minute. Why not? "Fine, but you have to stay in my pocket, understand? We don't want you getting lost, right?"

"Right!"

"Promise?"

"I promise, I promise!"

"Alright, then!" he offered her his coat pocket, which she accepted graciously.


"A bar, a tavern, a pub... A bar, a tavern, a pub...A bar, a tavern, a pub..." muttered Laurens to himself. "Where can I find a bar, a tavern, or a pub?"

Something caught his eye. It was a sign that read: FRAUNCES TAVERN - FOOD, DRINK, & ENTERTAINMENT

The i in "entertainment" was slightly squashed and out of place, as if the painter had forgotten to add it in at first. Nevertheless, it intrigued him; what was their entertainment? Laurens, conveniently forgetting about the little girl in his pocket, decided to take a chance and entered the dilapidated old building.

The pungent odor of old alcohol filled his nose and permeated his clothing to his pocket, where a small lump twitched. Ida poked her head out and wrinkled her nose.

"What's that smell?" she asked, a little disgusted.

"Nothing you need to know," replied Laurens, hurriedly pushing her back into his pocket.

A few scantily clad women occupied a corner. One led a man away to a room. Ida tutted disapprovingly and Laurens pushed her back into his pocket once more.

He made his way to the counter and ordered a pint of Sam Adams.

"Would you like entertainment with that?" asked the bartender, a man who looked like he had not discovered the blessing of soap.

Entertainment? "Errmm...Okay?"

The bartender grinned; Laurens gulped. What had he gotten himself into?


Ida let out the tiniest of yelps as the coat pocket that she was occupying hit the ground with a faint thud. What was happening? What was Laurens doing? She began wriggling out of the prison of fabric.

There were a few strange, soft noises (that were, by the way, increasing slowly in volume) and Ida poked her head up finally, just in time to see Laurens roll onto a bed with a woman. What were they doing?

The voices in Ida head came back.

But he said not to leave...

He is being attacked by a scary lady!

But what if he gets mad?

Well, I think he might be willing to overlook that fact if we SAVE HIS LIFE!

But—but—

No! What if he dies?

FINE. The first voice laughed in triumph and the second one shuddered.

What should we do? How should our rescue plan work? asked Ida curiously.

So this is what we'll do... began the second voice in her head.