Chapter Text
*June 21st, 2025*
“No one really knows how the game is played, the art of the trade, how the sausage gets made!” Singing along to The Room Where It Happens playing on my headphones, I’m home alone today and Mom wants chores done before she gets home. My fingers wrap around the broom and I use it as a microphone for the next verse. “We just assume that it happens! But no one else was in the room where it happ-”
*CRASH*
I freeze and after a moment of processing I tap my earbuds twice, pausing the music and abandon the broom to rush inside. I open the door and kick it when it sticks. I hear talking from inside. ‘Did someone break in?! Are they dangerous? Oh boy-’
“Where the devil are we?”
“Ow! Get off me!”
Various voices meet my ears when I open the door and I see a group of people dressed in old timey clothes that look like they just fell out of nowhere. I stand there, hand still on the doorknob, gaping at them.
“Who the hell are you and how did you get into my house?!” My exclamation catches the strangers’ attention and they turn to me. The men turn back around immediately and/or cover their eyes.
“Goodness our apologies madam. We appear to have caught you underdressed.”
I look down at my jean shorts and cat socks, my Nightmare Before Christmas t-shirt and raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I’m dressed.”
One of the women, wearing a blue dress, stepped forward and smiled politely about to speak when a note falls from the ceiling. I grab it out of the air and read it aloud.
*Dear friends,*
*You have been brought together to view a theatre production by the name of, “Hamilton.” The person who may look strange to you is from the future and is here to answer your questions. You will be transported to a viewing room shortly, please use this time to ask any questions you may have.*
*-#####*
When I finish I purse my lips in confusion but before I get the chance to say anything-
“A play about Hamilton? Really?”
“Sorry, who are you to judge that?”
“I-”
“Please! Can everyone introduce themselves and the year they’re from and we can get on with this?” I call out and everyone settles and I sigh, relieved. “Okay, I’m…you can call me Thea and the current year is 2025.” Surprised exclamations and expressions spread through the room, some wondering how this is possible. Eventually everything calms down enough that another person steps forward to introduce themself.
“Alexander Hamilton, and the year is 1780.” A few people are confused at the fact that even some of them are from different times. Another man speaks next.
“Aaron Burr, same as him.”
“John Laurens, 1780.”
“Hercules Mulligan, also 1780.”
“Angelica Schuyler, me and my sisters are from 1780.”
“You can call me Peggy.” The yellow dress declares.
“Eliza”
“George Washington, 1780.”
“Martha Washington, same year.”
“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Marquie de La Fayette, 1780.” A few looks were given at the length of the man’s name.
“James Madison, 1789”
“Tomas Jefferson, same year.”
“King George III.” A few glares were sent in his direction, which he ignored.
The teenager in the room glanced at Hamilton and spoke, “Philip Hamilton.”
“Hamilton?” Eliza and Alex said together.
“Hey Ma, Pop.”