forum Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]

Started December 04, 2018 by @KalamariCakes

tune

“Your hair..” he muttered, flushing lightly, “It looks nice when down.”

"I'll have to acquiesce– you give scalp massages that are too good to decline." He admitted with a small laugh.

George faltered, uncertainty dimming the glimmer in his eyes for a split second, before he cleared his throat awkwardly and slipped the ribbon from Bailey’s hair and around his wrist.

He kept his eyes forward, nudged his horse to go a little faster, "you're quiet now,"

“This is all… very confusing for me..” he murmured in response, twining a lock of Bailey’s hair around his finger.

"I'd think so." Bailey replied understandingly.

“A few minutes ago…. well, I’ve always been taught that love like this is… unnatural. And I’ve sleaus believed that about myself. But now…. it’s as if… well, if I believe that about myself, then it means that I also believe it about you. And I don’t hate you or think you’re unnatural…” He tried to explain his thoughts, praying that they made sense.

Bailey listened with unbiased silence. He didn't have room to speak for either side—just last year he would've beat a sodomer into the wet dirt—now look where he was.

“Does that— does that make sense?” he asked tentatively, running his fingers through Bailey’s hair.

"Yes," he murmured quietly.

"So it might…. it might take some time for me to come to terms with this…" he finished, falling silent again.

"Fair enough," Bailey responded lightly.

"Is— Is that okay?" George bit his lip.

Bailey turned over his shoulder, "Good 'nuff for me,"

He relaxed significantly after that. "I'm glad."

Bailey smiled a little, and they came onto a cobble street as the city formed around them from the woodland. Noise from pedestrians and clops of horsehooves filled the frigid air.

George removed his hands from Bailey's hair, fear suddenly drenching him from head to toe. He shook out his hair, sending tiny crystalline flakes flying out into the frozen air.

He sped up a little, making his way to the tavern on the corner of Greene street.

George turned his head to watch the street fly by, the wind blowing back his messy chestnut hair.

He came to an eventual stop, slipping off the horse to help George off, then to tie the horse to the wood post. The streets were lined with frequent horse stalls for people to dock up their rides where the creatures wouldn't freeze or go hungry.

George waited for the other man, his eyes clouded with confusion.

"Off we go," he breathed, heading toward the door.

He followed after, still trapped in a conflicted daze.

The tavern welcomed them with warm air smelling of whiskey and mead. Bailey ran his fingers through his hair—he'd been here many times before. He frequented this tavern particularly, George's coming in at a close second.

"Commander Bailey! Excellent to see you!" The emphatic Quaker—who owned the tavern—called out. As most Quakers did, he wore a nonconscpicuous grey coat with dull black shoes; no flashy buckles.

"Not a commander anymore, Mr. Hawsworth. Just living the life," he dipped his head curteously.

"Am I distracting?" she asked innocently.

"Very." He teased.

"Is that a good thing?"

"Sometimes," he smirked.

"Mmm?" Jane hummed. "Sometimes?"