The ballroom is crowded, but John finds that, strangely, he doesn't mind it. Usually he would've. In South Carolina at his father's estate, he would've minded a lot. Parties of any kind always seemed so frivolous to him. A waste of time when he could be studying or drawing. But now, his friends – and that alone was a strange feeling to him, a welcome one, - made it tolerable. More than tolerable.
"John!" A voice breaks through his thoughts. He turns towards it just as its source slings his large arm around his shoulders, shaking him slightly. Hercules. "John man, where's your head at?" He points toward a gaggle of women a few feet away from them. "The women are that way!"
He gives Hercules a strained smile. He hadn't exactly come to General Washington's ball looking for a wife. But his friends seemed determined to find him one, for whatever reason. Especially Alexander. He tended to latch onto anything that interested him with an unnerving vigor. That thing just so happened to be John getting a wife, at the moment. The amount of times he'd tried to introduce him to potential suitresses was innumerable. He pretends it doesn't grate on his nerves.
"I think I'd rather stay here," John waggles the drink in his hand, "where the liquor is."
Hercules makes a face at him, one that scrunches up his nose and makes his right eye squint. John huffs a laugh. "Man, just talk to 'em. Can't hurt."
John gives Hercules a bored look. "Not worried about it hurting. I've been talking all night." It'd only been an hour, but it felt like all night to him.
Hercules scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Look, imma go talk to that pretty little thing in the yellow dress." His head turns towards her, and John's follows. She is, in fact, pretty. Beautiful, even. He had seen Lafayette speaking with her earlier…though he could be thinking of another woman. Lafayette was nothing if not thorough.
John sips his drink languidly, giving Hercules a sidelong look. "Alright."
Hercules groans, pushing John in front him towards the girl in the yellow dress. He doesn't spill his drink all over himself, but he does give Hercules a glare. Hercules just grins at him. Idiot.
"Just follow me, man. You're too stiff! Imma show you how it's done!"
Hercules saunters off, dragging John by his arm. He struggles not to roll his eyes. John already knew how Hercules 'did' it, and it wasn't exactly complicated. When they reach the women, John wrenches his arm out of Hercules' grip, trying his best to keep some kind of decorum. Hercules is already upon the yellow dressed girl. Up close, he recognizes her as one of Philip Schuyler's daughters. The youngest, if her darting eyes and nervous disposition were anything to go off of. He feels a pang of pity run through him for her. He puts a hand on Hercules 'arm, stopping his musings. John gives the girl a smile.
"Forgive my friend, my lady. He's a bit excitable, as I'm sure you've gathered." She laughs nervously, relief shining in her eyes. She holds out her hand, and he takes it. "My name is John Laurens." He presses a deft kiss to her hand. She blushes slightly. Was this her first ball, he wondered, or was she always this anxious?
She curtsies, and her name tumbles out of her mouth. "Um, Margarita. Margarita Schuyler. Thank you for your service, Mr. Laurens." Margarita turns towards Hercules, face still belying her previous nervousness. "And yours as well, Mr. Mulligan."
Hercules only grins and winks at her, giving John a devious look. Again, the struggle not to roll his eyes is monumental. He let's go of Margarita's hand, and Hercules replaces it right after. "If you don't mind, Margarita," His voice is quieter now. Placating. "I'd love to dance with you."
The blush that has been a constant on the girl's cheeks fires up into a full-blown blaze. She nods wordlessly at first, and then finds her bearings. "Yes! I—I mean, yes, Mr. Mulligan. I'd be honored."
Hercules' smile somehow grows wider, and he leads her by the arm to the ballroom's center, where the General is having a dance with his wife. Margarita's movements are clumsy at first, but Hercules whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh and from then on, she's a bit more relaxed. John allows himself a smile at the display. He turns away from it, only to be met suddenly with Alexander's grinning visage. He barely keeps himself from jumping.
"John! I feel like you've been avoiding me, dear boy." Alexander puts an arm around his shoulders, patting his chest. "Enjoying yourself?" The question underneath isn't voiced, but rings loud and clear in John's ears: "have you found a girl you like yet?"
John smiles at him somewhat relieved, because it's Alex, but mostly aggrieved, because it's Alex. "Well enough. And you?"
Alexander's face falls for a moment, but he quickly recovers. He wanted more of an answer. Gossip. A pity, for him.
John watches as a dreamy, fulfilled smile light's Alexander's face. "Well. Very well. John, you won't believe it – well, it's not that unbelievable, but still, this? This is a true act of Providence!" He holds John's shoulders excitedly. John doesn't think he's ever seen him this excited, which is saying a lot.
John laughs fondly at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. "So? What is it now?"
Alexander grins at him. Lot of grinning going on tonight, John thinks. "Who, my dear Laurens, is what you should be asking." He sighs. A little happy sound. "Eliza. Her name's Elizabeth. One of Schuyler's daughters. You know, the second eldest." John had not known. "God, John, she's beautiful. A sight, just like her sister!" John raises an eyebrow at him. He seems to realize how strange that sounded, so he backpedals. "But I digress! The point is I – I think she's the one, John." His eyes are filled with trepidation. Hope. "Really."
John stares at Alexander, taken aback. Alexander had never come off as the type to marry. Philander and flirt, most definitely, but marry? Whenever someone brought it up (someone being General Washington,) he'd always argue that it'd be a waste of time, something that would distract him from his work and aspirations. It was something they shared in common. Bonded over, even. But the Schuyler's were a prolific family. Everyone in New York knew who they were, and everyone knew that if you married into that family, you were guaranteed status. Wealth. Power. All the things dear Alexander was starved for. And while John had never needed to worry about money, what with his father's wealth, Alexander had. He has always been acutely aware of how far his brilliance could get him, and it wasn't far. Not without prestige. Not without the finances.
John sighs through his nose. He should've known the moment Alexander had started pestering him about finding a wife that something had changed.
Nevertheless, John gives him a smile, and it's a genuine one. Whatever number of reasons he had for marrying this girl, he at least seemed smitten with her. He puts a hand on Alexander's shoulder, patting it genially. "Should I be worried about a wedding, yet?"
Alexander laughs, shaking his head. "No, no not yet. We did just meet! But…" Alexander looks towards the girl. Eliza. The baby blue of her dress is easy to spot across the way, like her younger sister's yellow. His face is calm – no, content. Something Alexander seldom is. "I have a good feeling. A great one."
John nods at him. "I'm glad for it." And he means it. Alexander smiles, something like relief present in his eyes. Had he…had he been looking for his approval? Why, he can't fathom, but it makes John's mood lighten a little.
"Oh!" Alexander pipes up again, looking at John avidly. "Would you like to meet – what am I saying, of course you would! Eliza mentioned wanting to meet the lot of you, anyways." Before he can answer, Alexander has already taken off towards her, and John follows behind.
"You've told her about us already?"
"Of course! How could I not? And besides…" John can't see Alexander's face from his place behind him, but he can hear the smirk in his voice. John feels dread creep up his spine. That smirk either meant something awful or something amazing was about to fall out of his mouth. If such a thing were based on a coin toss, the odds would be a good 80/20 respectively. 70/30, on a good day.
"Her sister seems a bit lonely, if you, uh, catch my meaning."
John shakes his head, sighing. Not awful, just…not preferred. "Lex…"
Alexander suddenly turns to face John, eyes steely. A challenge. John gives him a similar look. "I know you're annoyed by my pestering, John." John opens his mouth to (weakly) protest, but Alex interrupts him with a finger pointed in his face. "Don't think I haven't noticed! I notice everything about you. I've changed my prospects recently –" John snorts at this, "But with very good reason! And ignoring all the societal rigmarole, I wouldn't be doing this for you if I didn't think you'd be happier. Less…dour." He takes John's hand, holding it between his own. Alexander gives him a placating smile. It rankles him. "That's all I want for you, really. To be happy, and safe, and –" He cuts himself off. "You know what I mean. You always do."
John has to keep himself from groaning in frustration. Happy. That's what all three of them had said to him, at some point. What everyone said to him. That they only wanted him happy. But he wasn't sure what that meant himself. It didn't seem to matter. What would they think if happiness to him meant being alone? If it meant his essays, his work? The law? If it meant the war?
His breath hitches. The war. At the thought of it, he finds himself numbing, the feelings of discontent that had been rising up in him washed out and drowned in a sea of gunfire. Where once he was always stoic and sure, these people – his friends – had changed him. Shattered him. But the war made its home in the spaces they could not fill. Cannon fire was a symphony. The sound of a sword losing itself of its sheath a sonnet unlike any he'd heard in his short life. The unbearable cold of mid-December, winds howling and water sloshing in his boots, freezing his limbs. There was no sweeter song. The only one he wanted to dance to.
Alexander would think him mad, for finding solace in something so barbaric. Or maybe he wouldn't. He'd rather not take the chance of finding out.
John voices none of this. Instead, he smiles, but it fails to reach his eyes. He extracts his hand from between Alexander's. "I know, Alex. But you don't need to worry about me." They stare at each other for a moment, fire and ice, until John melts and finds his eyes darting towards Eliza. She happens to look towards him, then. She smiles, and her eyes turn to Alexander. Her face is instantly marred with a fierce blush. Alexander looks at her, and his countenance becomes conflicted. He struggles to decide where his eyes should be fixed. On John or Eliza. He's still frustrated, but it is smothered with impunity. He turns away sharply, a winning smile on his face and arms outstretched towards the girl, and she almost falls into him when they meet, laughing all the way. He follows after, legs stiff and feeble all at once.
The two are already chatting when he comes upon them, but Eliza soon turns her gaze towards John. Alexander does the same, but his eyes lack her softness. She curtsies, much more confident than her little sister. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Laurens." Her voice is melodious. It reminds him of bells. "Alexander spoke of you, and he seemed eager for us to converse." She looks up at him, a polite smile on her carefully painted lips. He returns one of his own. He can see why Alexander is enamored by her. He takes her hand, kissing it.
"The pleasure is mine, Eliza. And please, call me John." He gives her a playful smile. "Alexander said nothing disparaging, I hope?"
Eliza giggles, shaking her head. "Not at all! In fact, he spoke quite well of you. I came away thinking you were near perfect!" John smirks at Alexander, and the man has the decency to look sheepish. She giggles at that too, and he decides he likes Elizabeth Schuyler.
Recovering from his chagrin, Alexander takes Eliza's hand in his, giving her a saccharide smile. But John can see the scheme dancing behind his eyes. "Eliza, where might we find your sister? John saw her earlier and wished to speak, but he lost sight of her."
John reflexively fixes Alexander with a fierce glare. Alexander only grins, the fool.
"Truly?" Eliza answers, voice raised an octave from excitement. Her smile matches Alexander's, and he finds himself wilting under her enthusiasm. "You should've said as much, John!" Eliza gestures towards the terrace. Vaguely, he can make out a feminine figure in a pink gown. "She should be on the balcony. She mentioned wanting some air."
Alexander is beaming at him. John feels the overwhelming urge to punch him well up. "Perfect! Shall we lead you to her, John?"
He knows Alexander can see her from here, and that John is not an invalid, so the question must have only been posed to grate on his nerves further. As a result, John's answer is snappy. Apathetic. "That won't be necessary, Alexander." He gives a stiff bow to Eliza, pointedly turning away from them before Alex can open his fool mouth again. He hears Alexander laugh behind him, and he bristles. He hates how easy it is for him to get under his skin.
You could always strangle him, his mind provides unhelpfully. Funny, how that thought had occurred to him for all of his fellow soldiers at least once. Alexander was certainly in the lead in that regard, though. He sighs, throwing back the rest of his drink. The liquid burns pleasantly on the way down. The glass is set aside on some table where a few stuffy looking socialites are gaffing. They look offended by the action, but he struggles to muster up any sort of remorse for it.
John's steps slow as he approaches the balcony, his eyes instantly attracted to the night sky. A full moon shines it, surrounded by a smattering of stars. The same ones that he and Lafayette had tried to make their own constellations out of, when they were on march. Both too tired to sleep. A smirk plays on his lips at the thought. John had seen animals; birds, foxes, turtles. But Lafayette had seen women's faces…and only women's faces. The contrast had made them both laugh.
"You must be Mr. Laurens."
He startles, turning towards the voice. Eliza's sister. Her gaze is cordial, but also somewhat aloof. Something tells him she looks at most people this way. She, like her sisters, is beautiful; a mop of long black curls cascade down her back, complementing the warm chestnut hue of her skin. The pink of her dress only accentuates her beauty further, and she reminds him distinctly of a rose. Yes, she was lovely, but it's the maturity – the confidence she carries herself with – that is new, and he finds himself drawing closer. He bows to her, looking her square in the eyes when he rises again.
"Yes, I am. Alexander told you about me, I assume?"
She nods, a small smile dancing on her lips. It is coy and feline. Pretty like her. "Yes. He spoke quite highly of you." She looks him up and down, cocoa colored eyes surprisingly sharp. Scrutinizing. For the first time tonight, John is the one who finds himself turning red. "I wonder if it's all true. Or does Alexander embellish the accomplishments of all his friends?" She is still smiling so he assumes she's joking, but frankly, he's not too sure.
His voice is subdued when he answers her. He's nervous, for some reason. "Alexander isn't one for embellishment, really. He's too honest for that. It's refreshing…most of the time. Sometimes a quiet Alex is the best kind." Her smile turns into an amused smirk, one he returns. She – She. John doesn't know her name. Had Alexander and Eliza really not said it once? He must be making a strange face because she raises an eyebrow at him. Embarrassed, he clears his throat. His voice cracks a little anyways. "I'm afraid I still don't know your name."
She cocks her head to the side. Her face is both curious and suspicious. "Alexander didn't tell you? Or Eliza?"
John sighs, exasperated. "They neglected to tell me that very pertinent information, yes." John's surprised they didn't, since they both seemed to want to play matchmaker.
The woman grins a little, then laughs. It's a rich, chocolatey sound. Beautiful. He finds himself laughing a bit, too. It feels good.
She holds out her hand, long fingered and elegant. He takes it and kisses it. His lips linger. When she speaks now her voice is softer, less contrary. "Angelica. Angelica Schuyler. But you already knew that, didn't you?"
Angelica. He repeats the name in his head like a mantra, and decides he loves it. He thinks of fiery messengers. Of the flowers that share her name, little white bundles swaying in the wind an ocean away. He holds the hand of one now, but she does not sway in the wind. She is rooted in place, sure and steady and responsible. She is unlike him, in this way.
He smiles at her shyly. "Angelica. A lovely name. John. That – That's my first name." He gives him her name in return which…which she would know because Alexander…mentioned him.
For a short, sweet moment, he contemplates hurling himself off the balcony. In the same moment, he decides against it. Traumatizing a woman he's just met seems awfully unfair to her, no matter how much of an embarrassment he was.
She smiles, sensing his mortification no doubt. Her smile is amused, but tempered by a bit of sympathy. "I know, John," And somehow his name doesn't sound so common when she says it, "Nonetheless, it's a pleasure to meet you. Formally."
He laughs, letting his awkwardness slough off his shoulders. "Indeed." He turns towards the banister, grasping the railing with both hands. The stars have his eyes on them, but not his attention. "…Why stay out here?" He's trying to make conversation. Which was more than most people got out of him. It seemed Angelica was not most people.
She doesn't answer right away, but when she does her voice is quiet. A little sad. "I needed time to think. On my own. About…about my responsibilities."
That…was more than he thought he was going to get. He looks at her, and finds her eyes are already on him. The blush creeps up to his ears. "Forgive me for interrupting you, then. I…" His tongue darts out over his lips nervously. "I hadn't intended to come out here. But then Alexander…" He trails off. "I needed time, too."
Angelica nods like she understands, and he figures she does, at least a little. "No, it's fine. I understand. It's all just…" She looks out at the field surrounding the Washington estate. Her eyes are distant, and he feels cold. "It's overwhelming, sometimes."
"Yeah." It's all he can manage. He's distracted. John isn't sure what he's feeling right now, but it's kind of like when he first met Alexander. Except magnified a thousand-fold. And a lot pinker. "It is."
Silence. Then, Angelica is looking at him again. He looks to her, like he's been starved of her gaze. Her voice is hesitant when she speaks. "What do you see?"
His eyes dart away, then back to her. His brow furrows. "Where?"
She moves towards him, a smile on her full lips. She gestures towards the sky. "In the stars."
John let's out a startled laugh, giving her a boyish grin. "A lot of things. Well. Animals, mostly."
She giggles, and his chest warms. "What kind?"
He looks to the sky again, scanning the sky for his favorite made up constellation. When he finds it, he points to it. "The, um, the turtle. It's kinda wonky, though."
And it was. The turtle's shell kind of dips in the middle, and its head…well, it didn't really have much of one. But it did have a star for its eye, and stubby little legs. Angelica laughs, pointing at it over his hand. "That one? Right there?"
He grins at her, a laugh bubbling up out of his chest. "Yeah, that's the one." He lowers his hand, and she does the same. "What do you see?"
She looks contemplative for a moment, then gestures towards something higher up than his turtle. "There. I can make out Orion, I think."
"Orion?" John suddenly feels inept. He's familiar with constellation names, but he's not sure what to look for. She tilts his head up with her hand, and his grip on the railing unconsciously tightens.
Her voice is soft, a little mirthful. "Right there. His belt," She points to three stars sitting right next to each other, "And his bow." A crescent of stars, and then he can make out the rest. An archer.
"I didn't know."
"Certain constellations come out during the winter months," She explains, hand still under his chin, "Orion is one of them. But I like trying to find them all. It's a game I used to play with my sisters." She laughs wistfully. "We still do, sometimes."
She removes her hand, and John feels the cold seep into his limbs again. He looks at her look at the stars, at Orion, and the chill mixes with the heat in his chest. It burns, like frostbite. He can't think of anything to say, or his mind won't allow him to, so they lapse into a comfortable quiet.
Angelica is the one to break it, and he wonders if she can't stand long silences, like…well, like all three of them, really. "Alexander sent you after me?"
Brow furrowing, his eyes look down to the grove of tree's below them. Magnolia's wilt on some of the branches. "…Yes. He said…He said that you needed someone to speak to." Not quite true, but saying she "seemed lonely" sounded discourteous to him.
She hums distractedly, running a finger back and forth across the railing. "Did he now?" The motion stops abruptly, and she turns to face him. John does the same. Her eyes are steely and eager, like someone's just challenged her to a duel. "Would you like to dance with me, John?"
He blinks at her owlishly. She'd sounded confident enough when she asked, but the longer he goes without speaking, the more unsure she looks. Expecting rejection, which he finds strange, as he thinks he'd be hard pressed to reject her anything, ever.
He holds out his hand, and she takes it, eyes crinkling with mirth as a smile lights her face. "Of course. I'd be honored."
He leads her onto the ballroom floor, hand grasped in the others with a vice-like grip. Their shared nervousness bleeding through. Idly, he spots Lafayette out of the corner of his eye. He's got Margarita in his arms now, and Hercules…is nowhere in sight. He raises an eyebrow at him, and Lafayette meets his gaze, only giving him a salacious grin and a thumbs up. He rolls his eyes, putting a hand on Angelica's waist, the fine fabric of her bodice soft against his fingers. He looks down at her, smiling a bit shyly. She returns it, eyes glancing at the pair briefly.
"Friend of yours?" She sounds both amused and highly suspicious. Understandably so.
John nods his head, sighing a little. "I'm afraid so. The Marquis de Lafayette."
He expects her to express some surprise, what with Lafayette's status and popularity amongst the people. But Angelica only huffs a laugh, something protective and sharp flashing in her eyes. "Is that right?"
Her reaction makes him grin. "He's not as bad as he seems. But feel free to reign him in, if need be."
She laughs, this time lacking any derisiveness. "Will do."
They shuffle awkwardly for a moment, and he gives her an apologetic look. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice, so I'll just say sorry to your toes in advance."
She smiles, stealing a glance down at their feet. "Then I'll have to do the same." She taps the tip of his boots with the tip of her heel in apology. He chuckles.
The music from the previous song was fading out by the time they reached center floor, so the ensemble soon begins a new one. It's much more upbeat and airier than the one before, but Angelica doesn't seem to mind. He lets her lead him through a series of steps and, though her steps aren't fully confident, she remains graceful and bubbly. He follows after her, much less sure of himself, but that slips away as the clapping of those around them gives him something to follow. They bump into each other on occasion, and they do indeed step on the other's feet, but they are both grinning. Both laughing, and any anxiousness has been forgotten. John grabs her by the hand and spins her around, making her gown flare out like a delicate bloom around her feet, She grins up at him, and his heart is set alight. Burning to ashes in his chest, and he is the only one privy to it.
When the music stops, they are both panting with exertion, but the grins have not left their faces. She leans against his chest, laughing breathlessly, and he wraps an arm around her waist. Partially to steady her, but mostly because he wants to.
"Congratulations," And he can feel her voice vibrating through him, "You only stepped on my feet three times."
John chuckles, and he finally understands what people mean when they speak of butterflies in their stomach. His throat tickles. It kind of hurts. "Forgive me."
She shakes her head, mercifully pulling away from him. He expects the feeling in his chest to lessen, but it only gets worse. "It's alright. I had fun, despite my aching toes." She looks up at him sweetly. "Did you?"
He nods, smiling at her. "I did. It's the only fun I've had all night, so, thank you."
Something unreadable flashes across her face when he says that, but it's gone just as quickly, replaced with a subdued smile. "No, thank you, John. I…" Angelica looks away for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. "I know I asked you to dance a bit suddenly. I just wanted to get my mind off of something for a while. And you helped me do that. I appreciate it." That cat's smile returns to her lips. "Helps that you're easy on the eyes, too."
The blush floods back onto his face, but he's not keen on being caught off guard. So he returns the favor by placing a chaste kiss to her face, right under her eye. When a light blush rises up on her cheeks, he struggles to keep a smirk off his lips.
But her face does not share the same joviality. Instead, her face slowly falls, eyes wide and a bit wet. "John, I…I'm sorry, this is…" She backs away from him, hands clenched into fists at her sides. He reaches for her, but stops himself. Instead, he poses a question.
"…Who were you thinking about?"
She looks at him sharply. Her hands are no longer clenched, but her eyes are steely. "What?"
"You said you were thinking about your responsibilities before," He sighs, attempting to gather his thoughts. They run away from him. "But we both know you were thinking about something else. Someone else." It was a small clue; hardly anything to go off of, but her change in demeanor after she had brought up Alexander was enough for him to be suspicious.
Her eyes widen a fraction, and then she's in his face, pointing a finger into his chest. Her eyes are fiery, a promise of retribution if he denies her. "Don't you dare. Promise me, Laurens. Not a word." He bristles at the sudden coldness in her voice. Each word is punctuated with a jab to his chest. "Not. One."
He looks down at her, face kept carefully blank. This is the first time he's seen Angelica like this. Reveling in the fire that she keeps hidden under meticulously kept wraps and feline smiles. It is captivating. She is captivating. He forces himself to focus. John can keep a secret, be discreet and reserved to the point of austerity. It always bothered his friends, how they could never quite reason out what he was thinking. He keeps many things to himself. He can keep this too. "I won't." She doesn't budge. "I promise you."
Their eyes stay locked together for a moment, fire and ice, until he melts again and backs away. Angelica does the same, curtseying. It is stiff and formal, and he mourns the short bout of joy they'd shared before. "Thank you for entertaining me, Mr. Laurens."
He bows to her cordially. And that's all it is. Cordial. "I only gave you what you deserved." She stills, and then turns away, disappearing into the mounds of lace and petticoats surrounding them. He gets the urge to follow her, but he knows it's a futile thing. It would amount to nothing. The urge to move grows stronger, so he does, but not after her. Instead, it's towards that balcony and the wilted magnolia's, their scent still faint on the wind, a subtle, dying thing. The pain in his throat, once a tickle, is now almost unbearable. John swallows against it, but it only seems to encourage whatever's caught in it up his esophagus. He coughs and sputters, hand futilely covering his mouth in an attempt to quiet his hacking. It doesn't work. When he's finally able to breathe without coughing up his lungs, he lowers his hand from his mouth.
His eyes are glued to his palm.
The flower buds had fallen from his mouth in wet, sticky clumps. They are little white bundles, delicate starbursts. He recognizes them from his sketchbook, their name now painfully relevant, bouncing around in his skull and making it pound. He's in awe for a moment; simultaneously fascinated and horrified, and their scent is surprisingly cloying. Sweet and suffocating, just like her.
Angelica.