#constitutional convention are not intentional and exist solely because i'm a fuckign dumbass who doesn't know how to research

[swan-archive]

Are there any monster aus in which Hamilton and Madison form an inseparable duo?

aw, anon, i’m sorry—Mads is a difficult one for me, so i haven’t had him as a major player in any of the monster aus so far.

can i offer you some Ham and Mads being friends as a consolation prize?

–

“You ought to be more careful,” James scolds. “You know as well as I how hot it’s been in here these past few weeks. You’re lucky all you did was swoon, with that fur of yours.”

Hamilton shoots him a baleful glare, slightly tempered by the glassiness of his eyes, and tugs on his collar, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. He doesn’t argue, uncharacteristically—his usual gift of words appears to have deserted him for the moment. Thank God. James pushes the saucer of water across the table at him.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.”

Hamilton wrinkles his nose at James. Not puppy, don’t need, he says, with a gruff urff noise and flattened ears. Ah, and there’s that contrary streak. James hates to be so crass, but he doesn’t want to be the one to have to explain to Mrs. Hamilton and her three pups why her husband is dead of heat stroke, so he curls his lip at the man and lets out a low growl that makes several men at the neighboring tables look around in alarm.

Drink. Now.

Hamilton jumps, with an undignified, puppyish squeak. He twitches his ears like he has something more to say, but James folds his arms and presses his lips together in an obvious we’re not discussing this any further move. More out of surprise than anything Hamilton bends forward and laps at the water, careful not to splash any down the front of his shirt. James tuts—finally—but still looks away politely. Can’t imagine Hamilton would welcome another wolf’s staring eyes on him while he stoops to this, not on top of the badly-hidden glances and the not-quite-barbs of the other delegates. He feels for bitten weres, really he does. They’ve a hard lot. He would have asked for a tankard, just out of courtesy, but Hamilton’s face is still more muzzle than anything, and that’s just what James needs to top off this day, to get Hamilton’s snout stuck in a mug and be forced to extricate him.

“What on earth were you thinking?” James asks, fighting to keep his tone something approaching mild, while Hamilton’s too busy with his water to retaliate. “Three and a half hours. Half the delegates in the room were ready to riot by the time you passed out.” And another quarter of them had nodded off and were only awakened by the sound of Hamilton hitting the floor, although James knows better than to admit this. Or to admit that he himself had spent the last several minutes of the speech idly regarding Hamilton’s striking ears, which are bigger than any he’s ever seen on a werewolf before.

Hamilton snorts indignantly into his dish, and then launches into a spluttering fit, having gotten quite a bit of water up his nose. James waits him out.

“H-had—idea,” Hamilton finally says, still rather breathless. He coughs, licks a few stray drops of water off his jowls. “Can’t debate—unless—different p-phh-phhositions—”

“Yes, granted, but don’t you think you went a bit far? You can’t have honestly thought the other delegates would be receptive to the concept of a monarchy, of all things.”

“Elected—”

“For God’s sake don’t start in on it again, I was listening, I understood you the first time.” James pauses. “Although I might’ve been one of the few who did. Full moon is in three days.”

“C’n still talk,” Hamilton grunts.

“Indeed. I can’t wait to hear you pronounce ‘emoluments’ tomorrow.”

Hamilton growls. Mean. You, soon, not talk— he stammers out in disjointed wolf-words, before finally switching back to halting English. “Just wuh-wait. Three days. You’re—like mne, then. Couple of dumb dogs. See how you f-fuh-fucking like it.” He grimaces, dissatisfied with his own lack of eloquence in both languages.

Yes, but the difference is that I don’t try to verbally sketch out a new form of government on my wolf days, James thinks about saying, but catches himself. He’s not going to let himself be drawn into a circular argument with Hamilton, who would sit himself down and talk the ear off a stone if given half the chance; his head is already starting to ache with the stuffy heat of the tavern as it is. He kneads his forehead and sighs. Full moon week’s always hell on his constitution, leaves him sore and wavery and out of sorts. He should be in his rooms, resting up for the next bout with the other delegates, not wasting his energy on—

“Hhrff.” James looks up. Hamilton has bowed his head and is glancing up at him out of the corners of his eyes. “S-sorry. Didn’t—it’s hard. Not to talk. Need to say—and can’t. I get fuh, ffhhrrr—”

“Frustrated.”

“Hah. Yeah. Can’t talk, and it’s so damned hot, and Lansing and Yates—” Hamilton makes a little sound that, if Lansing and Yates were within earshot and understood wolf-speak, would certainly leave them both calling for pistols at dawn. “So. I get nasty. Not, uh, gentlemmranly. Unkind. Sorry. You’re not a dumb dog.” Hamilton lowers his ears to punctuate this, the very picture of a contrite and humble wolf. Sorry, no threat. Me, bad, wrong.

James blinks at him, and feels suddenly very ashamed of himself. What is he doing? Hamilton’s not his enemy. He’s better than snapping and snarling at another wolf, just because he’s in a mood. He lowers his own head in apology.

“It’s… no, I’m sorry,” James replies. “It was thoughtless of me to say those things about your voice. You’ve as much right to speak as any man here. Or any wolf.” He dares to shoot Hamilton a shy, sardonic smile. “And I shouldn’t have nagged you about the heat. Anyone could’ve swooned in that room. Who knows, maybe it’ll be me fainting on the convention floor in a few days. I’m a little surprised I haven’t already.”

“Drink wuh-water,” Hamilton says, with a mocking frisk of his tail, but there’s no rancor in his tone. “Anyhow. At least you understood.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You understood. Didn’t you?” Hamilton widens his eyes with a conspiratorial air. “The sphhheech.”

“I—yes—?”

Hamilton scoffs impatiently. “Didn’t I say. Can’t deb-b-bate unless you’ve got, phhh—”

“Positions.”

Hamilton gives him a look, as if to say okay, the first time you finished my sentence it was cute, but you’re pushing it now. Nods once. “Phh, Phhaterson’s mmnodel. Not, w-won’t hold uphh, not for long. Can’t just ammrrend and hope.”

“I agree.”

“And you have a phhlan.”

“I support Mr. Randolph’s plan,” James corrects him. Careful, careful, mustn’t overplay his hand. Hamilton rolls his eyes.

“F-fine. Randolph’s,” he says, with a little yip at the end. Liar, yours, we know, why hide? “It’s beh-better than Phaterson’s. Stronger. Could last.”

“I would certainly like to think so.”

“B-but, out of ffh. Favor. Mmnake, relevant again. Give you another chance.” Hamilton pulls an exaggerated thoughtful face. “If only—another angle. A crazy one. To discredit Phhaterson, and rattle everyone, and leave room for…”

He gestures at James, bobs his head respectfully.

“…Oh. Oh.”

“At last,” Hamilton says, with an ironic twitch of his ears.

“I—yes. Yes, it would look pretty reasonable if the alternative were something that mad.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I’ll have to start planning now, I—full moon’s in three days, I’ll need to have made a strong enough case by then for our allies to pick up the thread while we’re indisposed.”

“I can helph,” Hamilton says. “Edit, or give suggestions, if you need. Or wwrrite. Just ask.”

“You really did this on my behalf? People aren’t going to forget you advocated for a monarchy here. Your reputation could be ruined.”

“Of course I did. And it’s all just hyphh, hy—Christ—theoretical, in the end. Can’t tar and ffheather mne for theorizing. Buh-besides, it’s all confidential. Delegates can’t rat mne out. Not honorable. So.” That doesn’t sound terribly convincing to James, but Hamilton’s not done. “And, you’re—you’re—” He fumbles for a second. “You’re—colleague. On mny side. I should helphh, if I can.”

An innocuous statement, but James can hear what Hamilton’s left unsaid, can read the words in his expression and posture. Friend. Pack. James feels an unaccountable warmth in his chest at that. “Thank you, Ham—Alexander. I appreciate it. I really do.”

Hamilton waves a paw airily. “You have good ideas. Anyone can see. Just need themmrr to listen, right?”

“I suppose.” He hasn’t the ears to perk, but he favors Hamilton with a real smile, and Hamilton grins back.

“Mmny ideas—good too, though,” Hamilton adds immediately. “Phh. Phlayed up, a little, so you’d look b-better. Could tone down the rest, for later, when I have—when I can talk phrowrrr—ugh, cor-rect-ly—again.”

“…The rest of it?”

Hamilton cocks his head at James. “Not done. That was only half! It’s just, this heat…”

“Half,” James repeats, with distant horror.

“Although mmn, mmnaybe it’s good—time to revise. Some things I thought of earlier that I fuh-forgot to add. Oh, you think—” Hamilton wags his tail excitedly, looking for all the world like a dog given a stick to fetch. “—you think they’ll let mne finish it tomrr, tommowwrr—”  

James groans and puts his head in his hands. “Just drink your water, Alexander.”