`` Prologue 00
A Hamilton rp/ask blog centering in yours truly, Alexander Hamilton. Who noticed his life has never been quite his own, possibly not even "true" if such things exist. He is supposed to continuously thrive, however, he defied his fate and threw away his shot during his duel with Burr after seeing Burr's unyielding determination to shoot him. Comforted by the idea of his final rest.
The universe has other ideas for him.
SYPNOSIS:
( AKA. Hamilton goes on Loops/dimensional hops and he can answer questions from audiences beyond his world by a quill a book and an ink that travels with him through interdimensional satchel. Ah and 2 divine entities is out for his ass)
Mod;.. @marketablekai (if someone randomly posted in my acc and it wasn't it's probably my partner @twistedhymn ..)
Tags;
#lore entry — for lore stuff!
#yours truly answers — for asks!!
#charles lee — specific rp with a Charles Lee from @silenced-symphonies @ask-general-charles-lee
#the laurens lee countdown — first dimensional hop !
#Laurens letters — Amnesiac John Laurens writes to Hamilton.. with @ask-johnlaurens
— more to be added ˊ⸔
Alexander Hamilton had never been someone who is particularly obedient. Nor is he someone who follows everything without a question or doubt.
Despite his efforts to appear as a regular follower of the laws of the universe, receiving anything the universe has granted him, he had never been truly accepting of the answers others had given him.
No. He needs to ask questions, he needs to solve the mystery which is of existence, he needs to uncover what is told to be left forgotten. After all, he is someone who initially bears no name. Or at the very least, holds no importance to this world.
It is only natural that even when he had risen to be one of the tops, he notices still of those whose value would be left discarded without a question or doubt by others.
Peasants, nobodies, commoners.
The backgrounds of his world.
His journey is only a success because people witnessed it. People were under his command. People listened to him. They cheered for him. Cried for him. Spoke of his name.
.....
But why are those people's faces all the same?
British troops and young rebels that are to volunteer to fight under Washington's commands, they all look the same.
Now, his comrades might beg to differ, but they are not as observant as Alexander is.
They do not know how to feel overlooked, to be amongst those who bear no names or titles. They hold the least of importance for those who are born as elites.
He bears no hatred against his friends, truly. Despite how much they've come to disagreements, they hold the utmost importance for him. As much as his family.
Despite this, they would never understand him. They do not observe each of the people under their command like he does. They will never memorize each of his fellow men's faces. So when he came facing the same faces even outside of his own soldiers, he found himself pausing in his tracks and double checking.
Only for their face to suddenly blur in his mind. Like a smudge of ink, suddenly those he knows not the name of have their faces gone. Unrecognizable. It's not like their face is blacked out like when he crossed a terribly written word within his letters, but it is unable to stay within his mind.
That bishop, if he recalls correctly, holds the name "Samuel Seabury." He remembers his face vividly, or at the very least how he'd describe it. That would be the last he'd seen of Samuel Seabury. But not the last of where he'd see his face. As the person holding said face was the doctor that was supplied during Laurens' and Lse's duel, which he signed as Laurens' second.
—
Then came times when he had intended to speak in another manner. Yet the words that come out of his voice are not his own.
It must not be something big. Something mundane by itself is enough.
During the time burr had become the new senator, he had been speculative regarding his intentions, especially since Burr had taken over Alexander's father in law's seat. But he is happy for his friend and intended for it to simply be a banter between them.
"Burr? Since when are you a Democratic-Republican?" Why is my tone like so? I swore I voiced it out in a sympathetically joyous manner.
"Since being one put me on the up and up again!"
"No one knows who you are or what you do." There it is again, I sound so demeaning.
"They don't need to know me, they don't like you!" Ouch. True.
"Excuse me?"
"While, Wall Street thinks you're great- You'll always be adored by the things you create. But upstate, people think you're crooked! And Schuyler's seat was up for grabs, so I took it." Burr exclaimed, sounding cheery, which unnerved Hamilton. That came out of nowhere.
He was about to brush it off with a shrug and express a congratulations but instead—
"I've always considered you a friend." Now that's not me, one hundred percent.
"I don't see why that has to end?" I agree with Burr. It would be incredibly childish if I think otherwise.
"You changed parties to run against my father-in-law..." NO. ALEXANDER HAMILTON, WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING LIKE YOU'RE SO FULL OF YOURSELF?
"I changed parties to seize the opportunity I saw! I swear, your pride will be the death of us all! Beware: it goeth before the fall—"
—
And much more times had he gotten himself through weird occurrences. Seeing those who are supposed to die return, the ground being momentarily replaced by wooden floor boards, and the sky turning dark without the beautiful transition of the sunset within the atmosphere.
It was strange, it was unnatural, and it was Hamilton's downfall.
He remembered the moment vividly. Burr and him engaged in a petty duel that Hamilton had no interest in doing. Yet his body had its own mind regarding said decision and continuously provoked Burr within his letter, resulting in the man proposing a duel to end their dispute.
Hamilton knew Burr quite well to know how much he hated conflicts. Back when they both assisted Lee and Laurens in a duel as their seconds, Burr had been the one insisting to end the duel and reach for a peace. Though Hamilton foolishly chose to disagree with a snark to Lee's name.
He didn't expect for Burr to eye him with such hatred during the preparation of the duel, however. Such a fueled gaze threw him off course and he intended to agree to a peace instead of commencing the duel. The world once again refused his decision and forced them to carry on.
Hamilton drew first position, it seemed his faith was clear. It was for him to win and continue on. Just like how he felt when he survived that hurricane. It was a miracle, yet currently for him, it was a curse.
He wishes not for his dear friend to be of harm.
His muscles however strained, it's clear of its intention. To aim directly at Burr's head. He knows he won't miss, he has what his fellow peers dubbed as a "marksman ability."
His eyes continuously darted to his hand. He had gotten good at picking up clues to when the world intended to guide him with its mysterious way. Alexander figured if he were to defy it, it would mean certain death for himself, and Alexander wants to live.
Does he?
He always told himself, he would do whatever he could to live. To build a legacy, a comfortable life for his wife and children and those he considers family. To tell the word of his comrades' crusade, the blood they shed for each other and the sweat they shared in each other's reckless pursuit and victory. Even his measly and far too heated for normal cabinet debates with Jefferson and Madison, for their ideas are sometimes admittedly brilliant. Washington's care to which he fiercely rejected in fervor of his pride. His cherished moments with Eliza and Angelica, his late son— so many of those memories might die along with him.
However, as he glanced at Burr with a solemn expression, seeing him stare back with a cold glare — Alexander knows that Burr won't throw away his shot. Quite ironic, isn't it?
For his legacy, he entrusts them onto the people he spent his time with. Foes or friends, in love or hate. Two sides of the same coins.
His legacy is with them, as long as he had made a change in the world, then that would be enough.
He can envision the other side, if there is one, then it would be a bright warm light greeting him. His Laurens leads the soldier's chorus on the other side, his son is on the other side, his mother is on the other side — Washington watching over them on the other side. (For he taught Alexander how to say goodbye—)
"It's my time to wait for you on the other side Burr. Send my regards to Eliza and my family — Jefferson, Madison even yourself." He murmured under his own breath. For once, tensing his hand and refusing the pull that supposedly has been the one to shape him and guided him to the right path all these years.
He slowly turned his body around, heaving a shaky breath and a wide teary smile. "Raise a glass to freedom.." he managed to creak out, mimicking the hand raising gesture that resulted in his pistol aiming at the sky—
"WAIT!"
.....
Hamilton woke up in a bright place. But not one he hoped for.
A migraine formed once more in his head, vision a blurred splotchy white and figured that multiplied to dozens and dozens. Before slowly focusing once more, revealing the room he was in.
A journal book, a quill and a pot of ink set on a desk with a lantern along with a satchel set on the seat of the chair.
Is this some sort of joke?
He approached the furniture with a frown and a caution proving others he had been through war before.
Flipping the book open, a text emerged from a seemingly empty piece of paper.
“ Alexander Hamilton, you truly shouldn't have done that. Your story has yet to end, dearest child. As for punishment of your disobedience shall your journey be endless rings of loop, yet now with the freedom of your own decisions. Consequences of such actions would be nonexistence as you can proceed through the next by simply dying. As for these, your story will surely be known as you will be witnessed upon by people beyond the former comprehension of your knowledge of the universe.fesr not and just write for them. As you always do to others. ”
— fin. —
