Bar Talk

***A/N: This chapter contains archaic language and phrases of the time period, including the language of the fan.***

John Laurens sat at the bar of the local pub (again), dragging the pad of one freckled fingertip through the condensation that pooled on the dark wood from the bottom of his tankard. The bartender stood a few feet away drying glasses with a dingy rag and conversing with a blonde gentleman. It was emptier than usual in the dimly-lit room, the nighttime rush being a few hours off, which made it less noisy than usual as well. It was easy enough to hear anytime someone walked through the doors.

And when that someone took the seat directly next to you.

A smirk slid smoothly onto John's face as he caught a glimpse of just whom the chocolate hands on the bar top belonged to. He swiftly spun his body to face the man full-on. "Well, if it ain't the prodigy of Princeton college."

Sigh. Headshake. Muttering.

He turned.

"Do you have to do that every time you see me, Laurens?"

John chuckled softly. "Maybe not."

"Then why do you?"

"Maybe because I know it annoys you."

"Good day, Laurens." He went to turn back.

John quickly latched a hand onto his arm. "Kidding, kidding. No need to get tetchy Aaron."

Burr faced him once more with a glare. "Why do you insist on testing me?"

A flash of pearly whites. A toss of bouncy curls. A barely-there caress on his arm from freckled fingers. "You know you love it, Ronnie."

Burr shifts his arm away, face impassive. "I most certainly do not enjoy any part of our interactions, Jacky. Especially not when you insist on invading my personal space."

"Is that any way to speak to your elder?"

A warm flush spread up Aaron's neck. "Being two years older than myself hardly qualifies you as my elder."

"Ah, ah, ah. I believe it does. Which means you, my prudish friend, need to show me some respect."

Sigh. Headshake. He raps his knuckles on the bar. "Bartender, two fingers of your finest scotch."

"So Burr, how's that mistress of yours?" John inquired after pulling a thoughtful sip of beer.

Burr scoffs. In a conspiratorial whisper, he leaned closer to John and said, "a jilt,¹ that one. I let her dance around me for far too long. Dragging me about the shoppes² and fluttering her eyelashes to beg me for drops³ I most certainly wouldn't be purchasing and making love⁴ with me instead of letting me strum her.⁵ The most I was allowed was to tip the velvet.⁶ By God, I swear I'll never understand the fairer sex."⁷

John laughs heartily, wiping tears from his eyes. "Tough luck there, Friend. How'd you get caught up with a woman like that anyway?"

Burr turned away for a moment to accept his drink with a "thank you, my good man" and took a sip before leaning back into John. "An old acquaintance of mine- a Princeton fellow, you see- invited me to a dinner party. When all had retired to the drawing-room⁸ I spotted this beautiful woman in the back corner and would you believe it, her left hand held her open fan!⁹ And so, of course, I, seeing no other gentleman approaching her, discreetly made my way across the room while the other men began lighting their cigars.

"Upon my approach, she noticed me and proceeded to cover her face with her fan,¹⁰ further encouraging my pursuit. I met her with a customary kiss on the back of her lace-gloved hand to which she moved her still-open fan to her right hand and covered her face¹¹ once more before turning on her heel and swaying away. I followed as requested and we ended up in the semi-privacy of the balcony. As you can guess, it all spiraled downhill from there."

John gave him a fake scandalized look. "And after all that 'come hither' you never got further than a kiss? Ha!" Chuckling, they both downed the rest of their drinks. They sat in a relatively comfortable silence, listening to the smatterings of idle chatter around the room.

"So...," John started. "Considering your luck- or rather, lack thereof- with the fairer sex, have you any paramours of the... other persuasion?"

If Burr had any drink left he surely would have choked on it. He swiftly looked around the room to ensure that they hadn't been overheard before clasping a hand tightly on John's shoulder, fingers digging harshly into his collarbone. "Are you mad man?!" He whisper-yelled. "Surely you know that I could have you arrested for implying such a thing? Do you wish to see either of us publicly executed in the town square? Or perhaps bound and kneeling in the middle of camp awaiting the cold touch of a pistol's mouth at the base of our skulls?"

Glaring, John shrugged the hand off. "I know you, Aaron, don't forget that," he said ominously. "And you know me. Don't pretend like it isn't so."

"Whatever the case may be, it still gives you no right to risk both of our lives in such a public setting," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Save your foolhardiness for the battlefield and get yourself killed then." With that, he rose, settled his tab, and walked out of the bar- shoulders tense- without a backward glance.

John sighed and went back to tracing his finger through the water rings in front of him.

***A/N: SO, it turns out that Google Docs doesn't allow footnotes to be copied and pasted along with the rest of the document. Because of that, I had to go back and manually type in the superscripts that numbered the footnotes. In addition to that, instead of letting my lovely professional footnotes go to waste (and to save myself the pain of rewriting them), I just took pictures to compile into a pseudo-endnote.***