forum Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]

Started December 04, 2018 by @KalamariCakes

tune

"Goodbye," she replied in a small voice. Her hands held small clumps of her faded plum colored housedress.

It was as if the world had stopped around them. Pierre stood there with his hand on the doorknob, unable to turn it for what felt like an eternity. But eventually, his hand moved almost against his will and pushed the door open. He gave Edonine a sad smile, and was gone.

"Aye, it's about time." Cruz called from the inside of the carriage.

A small portion of his sorrow dissipated, and the forlorn smile on his lips brightened slightly at the sound of the familiar voice. "Cruz!" He climbed into the carriage.

The Spaniards face stretched with a broad smirk. "Did you snatch un beso?" He chuckled.

The remark caused Pierre’s cheeks to flush as he sat down. He shoved at his friend’s shoulder lightly in protest. “Cruz!” But was that… a hint of regret in his voice, that he had not stolen a kiss before they’d parted?

He laughed loudly, "It's good to see you, my friend. The meb at regiment, they call you thunder eater now." He chortled.

Pierre laughed with him, though it was weighed down by a slight longing. “I would not have survived without Edonine. How are you? How is your sister, and the baby?”

His laughter sweetened. "Amabelle is just great," Amabelle, his sister. "Its a girl. Her name is Ísabel, after our mother. Came out with a full head of hair," he told his story with great dramatic flair. The carriageman snapped the reigns and the wooden vehicle puttered off on the bumpy gravel. "Levi, her husband–you know, Mr. Washington's favorite aide-de-camp–he nearly fainted when her water broke!"

Pierre clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Congratulations Cruz, you’re an uncle!”

He shut his eyes for a moment in happiness. "That is the happiest I have ever seen my sister," he beamed. "I'm blessed to have been there,"

“I’m happy for you all, and of course, the baby.”

"Aye.. That man wept with the most joy I have ever seen on a man's face.." He remembered with a note of wishfulness that only close friends like Pierre could catch.

It always made him happy, to see Cruz in this rare state, and he squeezed the other man’s shoulder lightly. “Good on you, my friend, good on him.”

"Mm, mhm." He laughed, looking outside for a moment, then back. "So, tell me about this mujer, my friend," he smirked.

(Mujer=woman)

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replied evenly, though the longing evident in his eyes said differently.

"Ahhh. So no attachment to her at all?" He prodded.

“She treated me like a friend, something that I appreciated and returned,” he answered, careful to keep his tone light.

"Mhm." His friend echoed skeptically.

Pierre bit his lip, thoroughly confused. Edonine was just a friend, or at least that was what he told himself. The way she’d cupped his cheek in her hand had suggested otherwise— but that couldn’t be. Still, he found himself reaching up to touch the spot just to the right of his mouth where her thumb had been only minutes ago.

Aw xD )
Time skip?)

Sure lol)

~~~

The following morning welcomed a small flock of new members, and Pierre set up to assign them to their own commanders after asking for their basic information: name and their promise of allegiance to the Patriots. He'd be standing between an aisle of tents, the assortment of fresh men lined up in front of him.

(Forgive me if I do this wrong, I’m not entirely sure how this works)

The first boy, so young he could hardly be called a man, stepped up. “Name?” Pierre asked, shuffling an assortment of files. “Jamie Winchester,” the freckled boy replied, anxiously tugging at his coat sleeve.

The kid behind him was freckled as well, just faintly. He was a really scrawny, short thing, hunched over like he had pains in his chest. He had brown hair cut just below his ears and flitting green eyes.

The freckled redhead moved on after being assigned to a commander, his nervous anticipation almost as prominent as the sunburn coating his face. Pierre glanced at the next in line, a tiny scrap of a boy with green eyes. “Name?”

"Um, uh, Francis Swallowhill," he replied. It was clear the poor boy hadn't hit puberty. That explained his strange build of body and the high voice–at least he had a workable amount of muscle in his arms.

“Swallowhill..” he muttered, writing the name down. It sounded strangely familiar, but the boy’s face didn’t ring any bells. “Age?” he asked next, unconvinced that the boy was of legal age to be serving in an army.

He mumbled 16. Many young boys had already joined, lied about their age– the Patriots were desperate for more support. And the young boys were starving for meaning in their lives.