ocular misc cuts 1
Jan. 26th, 2016 01:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticityso originally there was going to be this scene where washington wants ham to transcribe his letters, but none of them want ham to leave the tent, so washington brings his desk and a bunch of his papers to ham's tent. and... i just cut it. becuase i wasn't really sure what to do here. this eventually turned into what is the talk with the apple, i think.
Only the dull thud of something being placed down disturbed him from his writing reverie, where he writing in great detail about his illness to Angelica.
He looked up from his table and studied the large desk that has been placed in his tent. He frowned. Laurens would have nowhere to sleep other than with him. It was not that that was so terrible, but the man's small desk suited him fine, and ---
Laurens appeared and placed a chair behind the desk.
“Dear---” he started, but Laurens shot him a familiar warning look. He frowned.
Washington entered the tent and sat at the desk.
“Excellency!” Alexander said, startled. “I did not expect--”
Washington didn't look at him. Instead, he sat at the desk and watched the tent opening, where Laurens promptly appeared with handfuls of papers, which he placed in careful piles on the desk. He shot Hamilton a smile and disappeared.
Washington took the paper on the top of the pile and read through it. Finally, the general looked up at him.
“Are you ready, Hamilton?” Washington asked.
“Of course, sir, but---”
“You are too Ill to leave and I need you. Lieutenant Colonel Laurens tells me you are well enough to write. We cannot afford to have your talents be wasted at this critical time. Compose a draft to General Sullivan. “
An unasked-for smile spread across Alexander's face.
“Yes, sir!” he said, sitting up straighter.
“Put your blanket back on first,” Washington said, eyes drifting to the blanket which had fallen off.
Alexander snapped the blanket from the ground and rearranged himself, finding his pen and a spare sheet of paper. Washington recited numbers and strategies, and they flowed from the general's mouth to his pen. He was a vessel for the man's commands. Washington breathed life into him like no other.
Only the dull thud of something being placed down disturbed him from his writing reverie, where he writing in great detail about his illness to Angelica.
He looked up from his table and studied the large desk that has been placed in his tent. He frowned. Laurens would have nowhere to sleep other than with him. It was not that that was so terrible, but the man's small desk suited him fine, and ---
Laurens appeared and placed a chair behind the desk.
“Dear---” he started, but Laurens shot him a familiar warning look. He frowned.
Washington entered the tent and sat at the desk.
“Excellency!” Alexander said, startled. “I did not expect--”
Washington didn't look at him. Instead, he sat at the desk and watched the tent opening, where Laurens promptly appeared with handfuls of papers, which he placed in careful piles on the desk. He shot Hamilton a smile and disappeared.
Washington took the paper on the top of the pile and read through it. Finally, the general looked up at him.
“Are you ready, Hamilton?” Washington asked.
“Of course, sir, but---”
“You are too Ill to leave and I need you. Lieutenant Colonel Laurens tells me you are well enough to write. We cannot afford to have your talents be wasted at this critical time. Compose a draft to General Sullivan. “
An unasked-for smile spread across Alexander's face.
“Yes, sir!” he said, sitting up straighter.
“Put your blanket back on first,” Washington said, eyes drifting to the blanket which had fallen off.
Alexander snapped the blanket from the ground and rearranged himself, finding his pen and a spare sheet of paper. Washington recited numbers and strategies, and they flowed from the general's mouth to his pen. He was a vessel for the man's commands. Washington breathed life into him like no other.