#|| Littera Scripta Manet: Replies

[sharpestshot]

Klosed starter for @bloodofvirtue​

Javíer moves his hair from his face, panting softly in his steps as he and his mother circle each other like vultures. The young knight fixes his posture alongside his stance, twirling his sword in his hand.

“There’s still a chance for you to resign, mother.” He says with a smug little grin. “As for me...I could do this all day.” 

[leejungchans]

tags.

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[littlewritingrabbit]

littera scripta manet and (historical) lams for the prompts please? :^)

Littera Scripta Manet - Part 2

Here’s part 1

This one is supposed to take place not too long after this fic, as Hamilton and Laurens are writing the report from part 1 :)

John Laurens bent over the report on the new encampment, scanning his last sentence before adding another. Despite the fire in the grate, a chill seemed settled in the house, and he was already missing the last warm days of fall that were behind them.

“Goodnight Laurens!” called Meade, having finished his own paperwork. Laurens called a goodnight after him as he climbed the stairs. The room was almost empty now, and fittingly so, for it was ungodly late.

The Marquis de Lafayette looked over at Laurens, and then at Hamilton. “So,” he said, eyeing his own letter, “Are we three racing for the last good bed again tonight?”

There were not enough beds for the number of aides, so it was required that two share a bed. It had only been two nights since their arrival, but it was already clear that any man who finished his paperwork first had his pick of the beds for the night, and the last two to finish were obliged to share. So far, Laurens had been required to share with Lafayette once (which was unfortunate, as Lafayette had a habit of draping his long limbs anywhere he saw fit), and had had a bed to himself once.

“Consider it a challenge, my friend,” Laurens replied with a smile, hoping that Lafayette’s letter would be long-winded (which might slow him down slightly) and in English (which would slow him down considerably).

Unfortunately, it was only minutes later that the Marquis was applying his signature to the bottom of the page with a flourish and grinning at his friends. “I win!” he declared.

“Oh unfair!” Laurens protested in mock-exasperation, “You had no required length for that letter!”

“It is fair indeed,” Lafayette countered, “I’ve been at it all afternoon!”

“Congratulations, Marquis,” Hamilton smiled, “Though Laurens is a sore loser, I should say you have won.”

“Thank you,” Lafayette put the cork back in the ink bottle and folded up the letter. “Do try to sleep at some point, mes amis,” he said, leaving the letter for a courier to pick up in the morning and heading for the stairs. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” said Hamilton and Laurens, in chorus, before resuming their respective letters. It was quiet for a moment, save for the crackling of logs in the fireplace.

“I feel the need to say,” said Laurens, “I’m not simply staying awake for the sake of proving myself at the moment. Just so that it’s clear.”

Hamilton chuckled and reached for a fresh sheet of paper. “Thank goodness,” he said, “I would’ve dragged you upstairs myself if you were.” He scrawled a note on the paper, probably for a messenger or some such, and then stretched his arms over his head. “Well,” he said, “That concludes my business for the evening. How betrayed do you think the Marquis would be if I shared the bed with him so you could have some peace?”

“A kind offer, but I think our dear Marquis has earned the right to a good bed,” said Laurens. “And besides, he sticks his arms and legs out like a starfish. You’d have no peace all night.”

“True,” Hamilton conceded. “Then I shall help you with your report rather than be woken as soon as you come to bed.” He scooted his chair closer, so as to look over Laurens’ shoulder at the report. “Will you need to include numbers for the artillery as well?” Laurens nodded. “Good Lord,” said Hamilton. “You’ll need tea. Keep writing and I’ll be back.”

He left for the kitchen, his coat swishing around the corner behind him. Laurens took a moment to run a hand over his eyes before continuing to write.

It wasn’t that he wanted to share a bed with Hamilton specifically, he thought, it was just that, between Hamilton and Lafayette, Hamilton was clearly the best option, as he didn’t push one clear off the bed. He was simply more… hospitable, Laurens thought the word ought to be. He curled up with his back to whomever he was sleeping beside, or, on occasion, threw an arm over them for warmth’s sake, and that was nice of him, and that was all. Anyways, Laurens simply felt comfortable around Hamilton, whether that was because Hamilton had been so supportive when he hadn’t thought himself fit for the position of an aide-de-camp, or their similar ideals of liberty and independence that they wished for after the war, or even their shared appreciation for classical literature. They hadn’t known each other long, but Laurens figured that if kindred spirits were real, they must certainly be a pair of them.

Hamilton returned with the tea and poured two mugs, before shooing Laurens out of his chair and taking his place. “I’ll start on the artillery,” he said, “You enjoy your tea. We can swap paragraphs until we’ve defeated this monstrous report.”

“That’s very kind,” said Laurens, “But are you sure I’m not keeping you from your rest?”

Hamilton shook his head, already immersed in writing. “I’m in good company,” he said, “I couldn’t mind staying up with you even if I tried.” Before Laurens could wonder what that meant, Hamilton was gesturing for another piece of paper, and he was passing it over.

“I do wish I had more exciting paperwork to share with you,” said Laurens, blowing the steam from the top of his tea and taking a drink. He felt it warming his insides all the way through his chest.

“I completely understand,” said Hamilton. “I know we’ve both got more important things to say than the number of cannons in such-and-such a regiment, and, if you must know, I’m aching for the opportunity to say them. I want to write about economics, and trading, and government and abolition and…” he frowned at the report, crossed out a word, and replaced it. “My apologies,” he said, “It’s rather late for this.”

“Not at all,” said Laurens, “It’s good to hear that I am not alone in wanting the opportunity to write about the great issues of our time, and that however small my voice, I should like the world to hear what I have to say.”

“Of course,” said Hamilton, “That first requires us to finish this report so that people might listen to us. I shall let you have a turn next,” he said, offering the chair to Laurens.

“Thank you,” said Laurens. “Wouldn’t that be nice though - the collected writings of Laurens and Hamilton, essayists extraordinaire! What a glorious thought!”

“It is glorious,” Hamilton agreed, “But only if it happens, which it shan’t unless we get writing.”

“An unfortunate and fair point,” Laurens agreed. He started on the next paragraph amid yawns.

“As it is,” Hamilton said, so softly it seemed as if he might be talking to himself, “Writing well is well enough the only way a man can leave his mark on the world. We may never immortalize ourselves, of course, or even the stories of our lives, but in words there is the hope that they will carry on long after we are gone. I think there is rather something glorious about that.”

Laurens smiled. “I wonder who will read this,” he gestured to the report, careful not to smudge the ink.

“The General, tomorrow,” Hamilton replied with a laugh, “And then it’ll likely sit in a trunk until the end of time. Shall I take the next paragraph?”

Laurens yawned, “Yes, thank you. We’ve nearly finished, thank God.”

They traded back and forth two more times until the report was finished, and then left it on the General’s desk on their way up the stairs. They climbed into the shared bed and pulled up the covers. “You comfortable, essayist extraordinaire?” Hamilton whispered.

“Certainly,” Laurens whispered back. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight John,” said Hamilton, sounding exhausted and over-familiar. Laurens smiled, pulled the covers up higher, and closed his eyes for a well-deserved rest.

[sharpestshot]

Klosed starter for @bloodyxroyal​

The tark kamps aren’t exactly a welcome place for him to be in, considering he always manages to get himself into trouble on the odd chance he manages to stumble on the grounds. So he’s decided to be quiet this time around. Hiding in wait near the general’s tent for his father to draw close. As soon as he hears Baraka come close enough, Javíer emerges from the shadows.

“Hey, dad!”

[sharpestshot]

Klosed starter for @fiery-assassin​

His first trip to his grandfather’s homeland. A special assignment given to him by the dragon queen to see to her granddaughter remained protected while being escorted to her palace in Outworld. Javíer was madly curious as he waited for the princess. Green eyes wandering aimlessly, finally landing on a vase decorated with a Celtic knot. Before he can stop himself, his hand reaches out to touch it...

[sharpestshot]

Klosed starter for @iiblade​

Javíer watched from the trees as the fight went on. A blonde muscular man seemed to be locked in kombat with three other fighters surrounding him. Usually he would feel the need to interfere at an earlier time, but the young man seemed more than capable on his own. The knight above him couldn’t help but watch.

The fight went on undisturbed for the time, until one who was down for the count came up from behind the Earthrealmer, meaning to take him by surprise. The stranger turned to react, but before he could manage, a single shot rang out from behind the ruffian. As he falls to the ground, there stands Javíer, loading the shotgun his father gifted him some time ago.

“However is it, whenever there’s trouble in times of peace, an Earthrealmer is always the source of it?” He puts the weapon away and pulls away his mask to show his smile to the agent. “You’re unharmed?”

[sharpestshot]

@wasomixtarkatan​ Continued from here

“Don’t try and sound too excited, my friend. I have a little something for us.”

 Javíer nudges him with his elbow. Always so serious, Jabari, always going throughout his days with a grimace that could go against his father’s. Today the young knight in training has a little something he could make even Jabari get a gleam in his eye.

“Talk of bandits close by with even greater talks of treasure with it. I believe we should take advantage of the opportunity at hand. Just think of the story it’ll make later.”

[sharpestshot]

@kahncm​ Continued from here

“Another day, another night, and another chance to fight again.”

He takes his spot next to her at his aunt’s request, a cross of his legs as he leans up, glancing up towards the sky. That shining look of wonder shining in his bright green eyes. There were times when his father believed that look would fade, but yet his boy seems to grow livelier by the years. The knight in training finally looks back to the kanhum after a long sigh.

“Nothing terribly on my mind, I’m afraid. Just thinking about the future, I suppose.” He sits up more, his legs uncross, and he meets the dark eyes of his aunt. “Do you think there’s a chance, now that we live in a more peaceful time, there’s a chance we may have our realm back?”

[sharpestshot]

@outworldlostblood continued from here

A firm hold on his arrow as he pulls it free with a quick yank, immediately applying pressure soon as it was free. Gloved hands covered in the Black Dragon’s blood. Once the bleeding slows, he’ll be able to stitch it back up. His own blood drips down from his face as his expression tightens, focused on his task. The adrenaline that runs through his veins is the only thing that keeps him from noticing how much it burns.

“Don’t look too deeply into this. I’m only helping you so your father doesn’t kill me and mine.” He keeps one hand pressed to her wound while the other hurries through a satchel, producing a needle and thread. It’ll hurt, sure, but it’ll hurt a lot less than an arrow.

“Never speak of this and I won’t either.”

[littlewritingrabbit]

littera scripta manet

My apologies for the angst, but how about some post-war Laurens nostalgia perhaps?

Littera Scripta Manet - Part 1

They met for lunch in the hot August sun, as they did every year. The breeze blew sluggish and non-committal through the streets of Philadelphia, rustling the quills being sold in the marketplace, making the ivy leaves bat like eyelashes over red brick walls, and putting a flutter in the pages of the menu Peter Stephen du Ponceau was reading. Across the table from him, Alexander Hamilton was finishing a lengthy tale of the intrigues of his latest court case, with much hand-gesturing and adjectives, as he was liable to do.

“-and so I told the sorry fellow that he was acquitted, and he shook my hand so profusely I thought it might very well detach, and I believe he’s moved to the country to start anew as of this week.” He took a sip of wine from a crystal glass, swirling the drink around a few times before setting it down once more. “You’re reading the menu upside-down, you know.”

“I am?” du Ponceau squinted at the menu in surprise. “Indeed I am,” he agreed upon closer inspection, shaking his head. “And here I was, all excited to try out all these unpronounceable exotic dishes!”

“Ah, it’s alright,” Hamilton waved any embarrassment away, as well as a fly that had settled on the table. “It’s a day to be distracted, I’m afraid,” he said softly.

“Indeed it is,” said du Ponceau. They met for lunch under this same hot sun every year, a sort of memorial for a particular death that had occurred so long ago now. And yes, perhaps they could have held such a vigil alone, or even with family, but it felt somewhat comforting to remember Laurens in the company of someone who had known him as well as they had. “You know,” said du Ponceau, “I came across a box of old letters a few days ago. Translations for the Baron, army correspondence, I’m certain you remember the like,” he shifted to retrieve his bookbag, “But I thought I might bring it today if you’d like to see it.”

Du Ponceau, while he frequently forgot his keys and his hair-ribbons and the location of his books, was proficient at remembering stories, especially those of their time in the War of Independence. It was a proficiency that Hamilton did not always exercise of his own accord.

Hamilton nodded, and du Ponceau offered him a look at the papers.

“Gracious,” said du Ponceau, “I do believe I remember writing this one. I had been drinking with Walker and North the night before, and woke up with such a dull headache that I was in no mood to write!” Indeed, the handwriting sloped carelessly off to one side. Hamilton smiled in spite of himself.

“Do you recall writing this one?” he asked.

“Was that the one that the Baron had drafted with so many swear-words that we were up half the night censoring the damn thing?” du Ponceau offered.

“I believe it was!” laughed Hamilton.

“Do you still have the prank-letter to General Lee?” du Ponceau inquired. “That particular piece acquired legendary status at Headquarters even before I arrived.”

“I do,” said Hamilton, “It’s in the attic somewhere, I believe. How about this one?” He slid a letter closer to his side of the table, intrigued by familiar handwriting.

“That was from before I arrived as well,” said du Ponceau. “It looks to be… perhaps a report on a new encampment after the army moved?”

“It is indeed,” Hamilton muttered, suddenly pensive. He had recognized the writing with a start - the ‘d’s curving back across words, the ‘c’s dipping into the line spacing - and it was all too familiar to see on this day especially. “I wrote it with Laurens,” he said.

Du Ponceau fell silent out of what seemed like courtesy, but Hamilton didn’t particularly mind, as it left the memories a little room to exist in peace and quiet. They were memories of cold hands and hot tea and talking long past the rise of the moon into the sky. He remembered feeling altogether too comfortable with Laurens around, even before they knew each other well, and to be perfectly honest, he missed the feeling.

“It’s odd,” du Ponceau muttered, his eyes still on the paper, “How our words get left behind even when we are gone.”

“He deserved more than troop movements and army business,” Hamilton shook his head, “We should have the pompously grand speeches he made when he was drunk, and the witty replies he made to Meade and Tilghman-”

“And the fast paced tirades on natural sciences that none of us could understand?” du Ponceau suggested.

“Yes absolutely, we ought to have those as well,” said Hamilton.

“Well,” said du Ponceau, “We have those, you know. In our memories, that is. I suppose we ought to count ourselves lucky to have something the rest of the world has not.”

“All the same,” said Hamilton, “I hope he’ll be remembered for more glorious deeds than the writings of an aide-de-camp.” He took another sip of wine, and then gave the waiter a small wave. “So,” he said, and du Ponceau supposed the brief moment with his guard down was over, “Which of these exotic, unreadable dishes do you wish to try out today?”

[leejungchans]

Hi, I just wanted to say that I love your short fanfic Scaredy Cat. Your writing is really good and I love the humour in the story! It's just great overall and honestly that's alot coming from me cause I'm someone that's very picky with what fanfics I read. I thought I should let you know how much I enjoyed Scaredy Cat since you said you appreciate feedback and I'd like to motivate you to keep writing because you're really good at it.

hi!!!! aaaaaa it makes me so so happy to hear that you loved scaredy cat 🥺 and thank you so much for your kind words 🥺🥺 i’m always trying to improve my writing and it genuinely makes me happy that people like it and i hope i can keep getting better at it ;-; and yesssss i always appreciate feedback so this genuinely means the world to me!!!!!! again thank you so so much 💕💕 ;;;;;;;;

also thank you for the request!!! i decided to answer here instead of separately so i can reply to ur request with the written fic!! hehe coincidentally i’m working on a piece that’s a shorter extension of scaredy cat for my upcoming series littera scripta manet!! 👀