Chapter Text
[Laurens’ POV]
Two weeks.
Two weeks out in the ocean. Two weeks of not having a proper bed to sleep on and one that kept collapsing every other night. I just wanted to get home— the hammocks were incredibly uncomfortable, and they constantly broke every couple days. The amount of fabric that was went through should be a crime.
I was so busy fighting that I actually forgot how hot it would be too. I mean— it is summer, after all…
I got off the boat with my necessities that’s in a bag. I’m immediately thrown into the bustling city of Charleston. The people, the smell of the air— which still smells of rain.
I spot… posters? Of politics, goods, ship arrivals and departures, anti-British propaganda, literally anything that exists.
I take a big stretch— my arms going up and me bending backwards. Two weeks at sea would make your body sore. I walk off the dock and onto the sidewalk to get to a bench. Sitting down feels greaaaaat right now… like I could fall asleep.
After I’m done, and because my father’s filthy fucking rich, I go to a livery stable and hire a carriage for about an hour and a half.
“An hour and a half to Mepkin Plantation, please.” I so kindly ask the worker.
“That would be about twelve to fifteen miles… so eighteen shillings, Mr. Laurens.” They responded.
I handed them the eighteen shillings without missing a beat, hopped on the back of the carriage with my bag, exhaustion, and sore muscles.
This ride was going to be a long time… so what do I do? Take a nap to the sounds of the wheels going over the concrete, the small crushing of rocks and dirt, horse hooves, the wind— which are all pretty calming to me for some odd reason.
***
As I woke up, I’m roughly a few minutes away from my home.
When the carriage finally stops, I hop off and make a beeline straight to the doors and knock… and another… and another.
“Good god, can someone just answer?” I mutter to myself. I must’ve jinxed it because right as I said that, the door opened to one of my father’s slaves.
“Hey Micah. Where’s my father?” I ask.
“He’s in his bedroom. He’s not happy today.” He responds softly.
I nod and head to my father’s chamber. When I do, I see him… putting stuff into a bag?
“Father? What are you packing for? Are you leaving?”
“I will be in Philadelphia for the weekend, John. It’s got an important meeting— I’m sure you’ll understand.” He finally looks at me. “You look thinner… and scary.”
“No shit, I just came back from a battle and had poorly rationed food on a boat for two weeks. Would you rather something else?” I give a snark response. Which I know for a fact he won’t like. At all.
“What did I say about talking back? And no, it’s better this way. You looked… heavier… before you left.” He goes after my past weight.
“Rude.”
I look around, seeing his study clean and organized. It’s weird to see things like that during a war. I’m used to messy, I’ve grown to like it. I notice a portrait of him and me from a few years ago. Before I started fighting, and before everything got messed up.
“I suppose you’ll be fighting again as soon as you can?” My father asks.
“You know me better than anyone.” I answer without actually saying the answer.
“Boy, you must focus on family-“
I rolled my eyes, feeling his criticizing stare. “I’m more focused on freedom, father.”
It gets silent. Too silent. I hate it. I don’t like the quiet.
After a long few moments, my father finally speaks up again.
“Prepare for Philadelphia, John. We leave in two days.”