forum ✥REVOLUTIONARIES✥ [CLOSED]

Started December 08, 2018 by @KalamariCakes

tune

He peeled off his hat. How genius the King his people would proclaim– right. Genius for painting the coats red like an unmissable target.

Angeline tugged her thin jacket tighter around her shoulders, her sopping hair hanging down in front of her line of vision as she hurried along the dark street. She shivered, wiping the rain from her eyes with a shaking hand and patting her breast pocket to make sure the letter was secure, knowing her what her punishment would be if she returned the the manor with it undelivered.

And there it was, up ahead; the tavern. Sighing in relief, she pushed open the door and slipped inside.

(If one of you guys wants the letter to be for your character then just say so)

Oo, me!! )

André glanced sideways, watching the woman slip inside the tavern. He peered back through the foggy window to watch her.

(That works perfectly, since the family that Angeline works with is very much for Britain. What do you want the letter to say? Any ideas?)

Angeline’s thick skirt dragged on the floor, leaving a trail of water. A droplet trickled down the side of her face and off her chin, even her hair dripped unsteadily. And she was so cold, cold and miserable— though the two weren’t exactly foreign feelings to her.

Stop complaining, she reprimanded herself harshly, You’ve got a job to do and a message to deliver. But the man she was looking for was nowhere to be found, at least not here, where she’d hoped to find him.

Maybe something about the quartering act/orders to be more stern towards patriots or something like that? )

John André decided to follow in, dripping puddles on the wood floor.

(yeah sure)
(I can type up the letter if you want? Or you could? Or we can just imply what was said?)

A man stumbled into her, foggy-eyed. Angeline quickly stepped away and out of his path, tensing up instinctively as he slowly turned his head towards her, clearly drunk and disoriented. Thankfully, he shook his head, mumbled a few words, and staggered towards the door, which allowed her to release a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. It was then when she saw him. John André. Finally.

Quickly making her way towards him, she dipped into a respectful curtsy and slipped the letter from her pocket. "Sir, a message from Mr. Smith."

I'll just imply )

He loooed from thw intoxicated man to the strange woman. Confusiom found its place through his furrowed brows. "Mr. Smith," he echoed. "Elijah Smith?" He asked– His superior, General Smith. He had to ask due to the common occurence of the last name.

Angeline nodded quickly, an unpleasant taste forming in her mouth when she took in the bold red of the man's uniform. The English…. why must so many support them? Why should I pretend I do too?
"Yes, sir," she replied, pushing a lock of sodden hair from her face.

He tore open the envelope, tucked it under his arm while he read the letter. His expression adopted a hard look of displeased focus.

André looked….. displeased, to say the least, which made Angeline nervous. Often, when her master had given her letters to deliver that held unsatisfactory contents, the intended recipients had taken out their anger on her, and she would definitely rather that it didn't happen tonight. She took a tiny step back, preparing herself for the worst.

John slowly folded the letter shut, shut his eyes for a few seconds. Exhaled slowly. "Thank you." He whispered, even though the letter had left him sour.

Angeline's shoulders dipped in relief. He wasn't going to strike her. Still, she kept her guard up, as a lifetime of servitude of a harsh family had taught her to do. "No problem, sir," she replied politely, bowing her head and rubbing at her frozen arm. God, it's so cold… if I had enough money I might even buy a drink to warm me up..

He stuffed the letter into his coat pocket, just kind of standing there as if he didn't know what to do.

Angeline took a hesitant step backwards, unsure how to proceed. Finally, she forced her mouth to work and managed a quiet "Have a nice night, sir," then attempted to manoeuvre towards the door.

"Wait," he spoke abruptly.

Angeline flinched, back straightening instinctively. Apprehensive, she turned around, her skirt dragging on the floor. "Yes, sir?"

"Who are you?" He asked.

“Angeline Winthrop, sir,” she replied respectfully, bowing her head again.

"Are.. You a relative of General Smith?" He guessed.

“No sir, just a servant,” she answered, careful to keep her voice polite despite the aggravating colour of his coat.

"Servant?" He echoed. "You're.. Not a slave," he noticed just by the color of her skin. "Are you indentured?" He seemed.. worried for her.

Angeline blinked, shocked at what seemed to be concern on his features. He was concerned… for her? “Yes sir,” she managed, “I am bound to him.”

There seemed to be something poking at a salted emotional wound behind his eyes. He didn't know her, so some other dilemna had to be pushing him to find redemption. "Is there a way I can help?"

Angeline couldn’t stop her eyes from widening in surprise. “N-No sir,” she stammered out, caught off guard, “Thabk you, but there’s nothing to help. I-I’m more than happy to be serving under him.” This was a lie, but a relatively convincing one, and besides, he was her only source of security and shelter.

John's lips twitched. He rubbed his unkept chin, "Okay,"