Chapter Text
There is a room with a calendar. The calendar flips consecutively in the nonexistent wind, pages snapping forward and forward until numbers become a blur. Then, a single finger, deliberate and slow, lightly taps in between the flying pages, and it stops: December 1780.
Alexander Hamilton regards the war as endless, but he is well-versed in the future that they will emerge triumphant eventually, just like his wedding that will commence in a few days.
His mind has been a whirl lately, from the battle in Long Island to the winter's ball, where he saw the love of his life; time truly is fleeting. It sent him to the edge of his chair, where he arranged another set of parchment and sealing wax to tell his dear Betsy how elated he is for their wedding.
The wedding's date was set in stone, December 14, and there were only a few days to roll until he began a new chapter in life, a new beginning.
And Alexander is absolutely glad. The countless infantry weapons that rose then fell to the ground against the British's sharp blades have invisibly wounded him; such ferocious battles have been a riptide to him, but he could never waver.
Honor and a legacy were still planted in his mind; his dear Betsy is also waiting for the two of them to be eternally bonded in harmony of love and fidelity. Moreover, he wonders what Laurens has been doing. He wishes nothing but comfort amid the chaos of the war.
All things considered, his mind grasps further at his messy thoughts after he finishes writing the header of the letter. Just when he was about to start on the content, a white flash envelops his vision completely and his body is swept through the air without the sense of touch below him.
After a year of resignation from the Continental Army, Aaron Burr resumes his law studies. When his health finally recovered, books stacked on books became a frequent pile for him.
His eyes scan the last page of a textbook in civil law. It was quite refreshing despite the ongoing war. He could only wait for it to end. It will end. He knows it too.
Besides the war, his mind roams to his Theodosia, yet she will be his ultimately—for she is the best woman and finest lady he has ever known. Her husband has been ill-stricken recently, and Burr knows it will not take longer for him to rest well as all of his senses close on the man permanently.
He closes the book after absorbing its contents. He settles the book on the new pile while a single thought settles in his mind: to send Theodosia a letter.
Pulling himself off from his chair, it only took one step before he was shifted by a wind that should not exist. He was quick to notice, but not as quick as the utter whiteness that consumes his vision thereafter.
It has been a month since John Laurens's horrific captivity by the British. Upon that, he was appointed as a special prime minister to France by the Congress, he preferred to return to the southern campaign, but he was convinced by the Congress and Washington nonetheless.
A mission required his presence in France to secure funds and supplies; it was simple yet time-consuming. The senseless thought made him lay flat alone on his bed. He would rather talk of strategy on the battlefield, or better, offering enslaved people freedom in exchange for service in the Continental Army.
But Congress belittles him with ignorance. Frustration flares in him, and he could only slouch himself at one of the tavern tables, staring into a drink he had scarcely touched.
Around him buzzed the low hum of soldiers, merchants, and drunken patriots trying to forget there was a war to survive. There across from him was a poorly amused Marquis de Lafayette, blabbering something about his patriotism and slipping in his wife.
"Mon ami [My friend]! Cher [Dear], is my country not good for you?" He sarcastically laughed, swirling the wine in his glass.
Laurens exhales sharply through his nose. "Necessities can be tedious at times."
Lafayette whistles, "Mais bien sûr! [But of course!]! Even I must agree myself. I am certain Colonel Hamilton would do too."
A reluctant laugh escaped Laurens despite himself. Lafayette always possessed that irritating ability to pry levity from misery. And when he mentioned Hamilton, Laurens's mind immediately drifted.
On the subject of him, Laurens recalls the date today—there are only a few days until Alexander would be purified of sin—not really, he thinks. He wouldn't admit he has been joyful about the news either.
There was, of course, a letter of reassurance coming from him, and his sensations eased slightly. It was only a matter of time before shame washed over him once more for reserving a feeling as passionate as a married couple for a gentleman like Alexander, but he seems to not care, does he?
Selfishness poked inside him, a reminder of its permanent presence, and he loathes it.
Before more thoughts were fully formed, a voice snaps him out of his trance. "John Laurens," he snapped his fingers. "Are you brooding again?"
Laurens shakes his head, preparing to retort to Lafayette. He did not need to know of his insidious thoughts; the chatter could not ease his them, nor the tension he felt.
At once, the air shifted between them when he tried to open his mouth. That was when their playful conversations were paused by the sudden blindness of their visions when reality warped around them.
It is both a typical and atypical day for Hercules Mulligan—operating his business for the sake of proximity to the British.
Recently, the British troops' movements have been meager, entertaining them in his shop using his charm offered him trivial information, which bored him quite. He decides to take the opportunity to slack off in his shop while passersby take quick glances of the front.
He could go to a tavern and find his friends, but he was stopped by the betrayal of his vision, and the next time he knew, he was not in his beloved shop anymore.
The familiar scent of nature lingers in the heartfelt home of the Schuyler family in Albany. It is not occasional for their family to be busy, but an important day is soon to happen among the members—mostly for one daughter in her comfortable bedroom, accompanied by some of her sisters.
"Eliza," Peggy cooed loudly, poking a finger at the back of a daydreaming Eliza. She hovers tall and behind Eliza, rereading letters from Alexander on her table. Angelica could only scoff as she sat herself on the bed, watching the playfulness when Eliza met with Peggy, who could not contain the big, wide grin on her face.
The three sisters knew the big day that would settle on their mundane home, but Eliza pressed herself to ask, "Peggy? Do you need something?"
"No, I can tell you're lookin' at his letters once again?" Peggy could not stifle the high-pitched giggle within her, not until heat rose up to Eliza's cheeks with a certain reddish hue.
Eliza could not trust herself to answer, so she only shot Peggy a glare. The letter she grasped is pressed against her lips, pathetically hiding her evident flush.
Angelica, feeling a painful ache and pity for Eliza, brought herself up to walk behind Peggy and pat her back a few times, using her stoic tone with a smile. "That's enough."
Peggy deliberately pressed her lips in a straight, thin line before pouting in a sulk; lucky for her sisters that she's obedient, but not without questions. "Why let our soon-to-be bride be alone?"
By accident, Angelica cringed at the term, aware of to whom Eliza would be a bride, but Eliza and Peggy did not happen to notice, only occupied with laughter from the teasing.
Eliza rolls her eyes, no offense taken, only sarcasm. "A woman needs her privacy too."
Peggy snickers, no attempt to stifle her amusement. "And who knows what you do alone, that is why we are here!"
Eliza's flush deepens at the implications and lets out a shocking gasp. "Peggy!"
Beyond the familial and sweet bonding seen by Angelica, she winces again with the same steady ache in her heart that continues to remind her of the truth.
She truly wanted to shake the feeling that she should not harbor currently, but she couldn't.
The family had been busy with the preparations for the wedding. As a matter of fact, their remaining sisters and brothers were just downstairs, handling the confirmed guests for the wedding.
Besides that, the steady ache in her heart was sometimes temporary, so she could hope for the better.
Staying with optimism, she gazed back at her contented sisters with a smile. Truthfully, she is happy for Eliza, she could already imagine her life in prosperity and contentment.
And that was the last image implanted in her mind as a distortion of their surroundings stretched beyond their naked visions and lit up white.
In the headquarters of New Windsor, George Washington firmly held his eyes toward the letters he wrote to plead with other states to gain an upper hand in their current and scarce supplies.
The winter was ironically a raging fire. It should've been the opposite, yet it spread its deadly cold to his soldiers and their necessities. Years of experience and the death of a French diplomat that will always be remembered, it was difficult for him to manage the disagreeable prospects of their supplies.
Following Benedict Arnold's betrayal, Washington was faced with such severity, he could only send immediate letters to urge diplomats to help him beyond the dead winter.
His eyes flutter shut, and he whispers to himself a short prayer for the war to end. That way, he could be safe and sound along with the soldiers who served under him, praying for his wife's safety and loyalty sitting in Mount Vernon.
When he finishes the prayer, he opens his eyes and is instead met with complete white instead of the familiar table and paintings that decorated his headquarters.
War is cruel, so Thomas Jefferson strode to the romance of France.
It was just a short detour outside of the war, he thought with ignorance. He knows he will return shortly to his natural home of Monticello, resuming his duties to avert crises in the Congress.
Bringing his slaves brought more comfort for him, he could sit loosely in his room and relax in Paris while studying the agriculture and architecture of France. Festivities aside, it's not like he was here to truly relax; unfortunately, he would also have to attend diplomatic meetings even in France.
His plans in Paris could not be extended anymore when air that should not be air lingers around him and scenes are blurred into each other grotesquely. He is not in Paris, not in France at all.
Being one of Virginia's youngest delegates after traveling to Philadelphia to take a seat in the Congress, James Madison quickly grappled with legislative work in spite of his awful condition, but the war waged in means that were unexpected, such as the dead winter.
With the British forces ready at all spots and the tense winter that limited their supplies, it was his duty to be in the committee work and manage the security of funds and supplies in efforts of the war.
When he started coughing, he grabbed a handkerchief from his suit's pocket and covered his mouth as he tried to clear the rough and irritating sensation in his throat.
Fortunately, he felt his throat free and relieved from the scorching dryness that would make its return soon. He lowers his head to his pocket where he stores the handkerchief back, and when his head rises, the setting he has been accustomed to is blinded by a flashing white light.
A monarch—rather, a king—must not need worry about his colonies. He knows they are doing fine and this playful revolution will end as usual.
That was the mindset for King George the III, sitting on his throne with his eyes set afar on the windows of his palace. The sky lit in happiness of light blue as birds flew and chirped. Everything is good.
Today has been another normal day. George III is unaware of what goes through his colonies, but nothing out of the ordinary has been known to him, so he does not worry.
Albeit they may have been his thoughts, they became predictions, a prediction that was immediately dismissed considering getting blinded by a white light and having realization dawn on you that you are not in your palace is obviously not a normal thing to occur in your day.
✦
Suddenly, yet deliberately, everyone was now summoned in a disorderly manner as many fell to the ground after losing their balances; only a few managed to stand on their feet during the teleportation. It almost looked like a pile of bodies stacked on each other.
Soon after, the contemporary and dark-lit room began echoing with voices.
"What just happened?"
"What is this? Where are we?!"
"Ow!"
"Sir! Is that you?"
"Get off of me!"
"Oh mon Dieu! Quel est cet endroit?! [Oh my god! What is this place?!]"
"Stop it! Your shoe keeps kicking my face!"
"Whose hair is this?"
"Is that not—"
"Hello!"
The clashes of voices lowered in an instant when a booming voice rang throughout the room, unfamiliar and foreign. Afraid, everyone finally got on their feet and began truly observing the room around them—it was nothing alike what they've ever seen in their lives.
Dark gray and black hues were used in the room, along with a long curve of fluffy red chairs on either side that are joined in some way and separated in the center by short steps leading to another platform of empty space unreasonably. Everyone felt gentle on their feet and reduced the amount of noise produced by everyone's shoes thudding.
Some took turns and looked behind their backs, where a big rectangular box was attached to the wall, both sides also presented one door on either, labeling from left to right: "Food" and "Bathroom." No doors were presented other than the two.
Some people rushed over to the doors and realized the doors were locked. As comfortable and odd as the room was, everyone had also taken notes of those around them. It shortly became a reunion for families and friends.
"Well," Alexander coughed loudly. Finally on his feet, trying to maintain his composure when Burr had fallen flat on top of him, he said, "Nice to meet you again, Burr." He wanted to comment on how heavy he was but relented.
Burr, flustered, makes a contorted and unreadable expression. "I know your jests, sir."
"Where… where are the others?" Eliza frowned. She was behind Peggy and combed her hair after the fall made it messy. She observed the room in a full circle but saw no more than two of her sisters present.
Angelica rose a brow, repeating Eliza's head movements. "Do you mean John, Philip, Cornelia, and Catherine?"
"Of course I do," Eliza sighed. Well, at least she had two of her sisters here.
"Betsey?" a familiar voice called, a voice so certain to Eliza despite it coming from afar and behind her.
When she looks back, it was him. Alexander.
"Alexander!" she exclaimed, jumping into his arms for a loving embrace.
They shared the proximity to kiss, but people were watching, and such intimacy was reserved for the wedding, which would still take days to happen. Instead, Alexander pulls away from Eliza's warmth and brings one of her hands to his as he lowers himself to kiss her knuckles.
"How long has it been? Weeks? Months?" Alexander casually asked. In actuality, he had seen her a few days ago.
Eliza chuckles at the exaggeration. Her laughter was a burst of sunshine in Alexander's dimmed world. "Quite impatient, are you?"
While the two lovebirds lost themselves in conversation, with Angelica and Peggy lingering inches away, in the corner of the room, Lafayette helped Laurens gain more balance after repeatedly kicking Laurens's face during the abrupt travel, accidentally.
While he sputters apologies to Laurens, he steals a glance across the room and sees a good friend, and he couldn't help but cheer, "Colonel Hamilton!"
Laurens's and Mulligan's glances followed Lafayette's call, and Alexander looked back and forth—his friends were also here.
He could only graciously apologize to Eliza and her sisters for the disruption before he was swept into the embrace of his friends. His arms hooked onto Laurens's and Lafayette's shoulders, becoming a complete circle of friendship. It was surprisingly unusual for reunions to happen like this.
"I've missed you all!" Alexander laughed out loud. He truly was happy to see them all at once regardless of the weird event that just happened.
Mulligan's laughter followed. "I was beginning to think I was sent to this place as a punishment by the divine God!" he exaggeratedly sighed, acting deeply relieved, gaining more laughter and union in the close circle.
To Alexander, the laughter had begun to drown out when his eyes were fixated onto Laurens's. How long has it been since he had seen his dear Laurens? Who knows. What mattered was that he and the others were here, safe and sound.
They were all pushed away from the embrace, but the four remained close together. The others observed from a distance, but Washington stood directly behind them with a profound smile, pleased to see his soldiers' manly friendships. Burr and the sisters shared Washington's sentiments and continued to chat in the unfamiliar room.
It was only Thomas who evidently showed clear disgust on his face with his arms crossed at the sight of Alexander with his friends. Madison too, maybe, maybe not; he was busy coughing the fourth time onto his used handkerchief.
Everyone had their own groups, whether they were a duo, a trio, or a group. It would be normal for them to be confused yet happy regardless of the current circumstance since everyone was reunited all at once—except the British king was also there.
Little by little, they all noticed the King's presence, who held a surprised yet entertained expression on his face, turns out he had been distancing himself from them and was just watching.
That's when a clear division began with him and the rest of the Americans, moving to the opposite side and emphasizing an invisible line in the middle that distanced the two groups. Everyone glanced at the King with a distinct aversion; some were hidden, some were outright evident and intentional.
Still, George III remained (annoyingly, to the Americans,) calm and natural. He has no need to tick his beloved people off. "A good day to you all," he announced confidently, in a diplomatic tone. The greeting garnered whispers, he determined their reactions, as it was not a good day, and they were confined in this room with no way out, instead of the latter; whispers of condemnation directed at him.
Washington reluctantly steps out of the crowd and bows out of respect. Their nations' relationships may not run smoothly often, but it was the only means to retain an inch of governance despite being in the colonies. "Good day to you too, Your Highness."
Alexander, who had run to his Betsey's arms then to his friend group, pulled away from both crowds and attempts to warn his general, a suggestion to stir the conversation somewhere else, "Sir, I believe—"
"One, two, three, mic test! One, two, three… am I heard?"
The same and foreign voice ripples across the room, jolting everyone from their spots as their gazes darted about to see where the voice was hiding. Murmurs were heard, and some people clutched their loved ones tightly, but no one could compose a single sentence when the voice spoke.
"I am now aware that you all are trying to find me, so that means I am heard," the Voice awkwardly cleared their throat, "so I would like to say first: I am not a threat."
Everyone, even the King, was skeptical of its answer.
Washington, ever the diplomatic and professional leader, lifted his head to the ceiling (for he assumed that was where the voice originated) and spoke with composure, "My name is George Washington, commander of the Continental Army. If you are a divine being from the above, then we would respectfully require an explanation of your purpose… to transfer everyone all at once in this room."
"Oh, okay," the Voice merely replied, as though trying to find the right words to speak thoroughly, "I should, um, also clarify that I'm not God nor some divine being—yes, believe it or not—and you would not find me in the ceiling. To explain the situation that all of you are in, you will watch something." The Voice lowered but everyone could hear murmurs from whether they came from.
The Voice's ambiguous answer commenced a list of rumors among the people, whispering to their peers and families, they were all still unconvinced and bewildered by its denial to be a divine being, how else could it travel all of them from different locations to one bizarre room? And what was about it about watching something, watch what? A performance? The list was endless.
Thomas, far away from Alexander and his group, turned to face Madison and whisper in his ears, "Do you think we would watch from that big black box?" he asked, voice lilting of full curiosity despite of the bizarre predicament they're in. The room did seemed foreign besides the voice from nowhere.
"I cannot find any source of entertainment here, so that box may be the only choice."
Alexander was back chattering with his friends. Their conversation was not a casual chitchat between gentlemen, they were instead filled with theories of the place and the analysis of the Voice.
Laurens observed the two doors in the room, and his brows went up. "Has no one checked the doors here?"
Mulligan was the first to answer, "I did, but they were locked."
"Oh cher [cher], how will we get out of his place? Are we going to wait for the alien voice from beyond to come back? It may had lied and truly was a divine being, holding everyone hostage." Lafayette concernedly asked.
Alexander shrugged, not a sense of worry seeped into the reckless man, no matter how endless; his relaxed posture and neutral expression told his exterior. "Agreed. Those were my thoughts, but the tone of its voice was seemingly… awkward. It is rather not fitting for it to being a supreme deity."
Then, a clap startles the people out of their chitchat, they assumed the Voice was signaling to shut up for a moment. They began, "My apologies for not responding urgently. I know what to say now." The Voice sharply inhaled and resumes, "To be clear and concise, the room you are in is not in the year of 1870, everyone has been tele… transported to the year: 2026."
And that was when everyone was swept into a wave of shock. Chaos began in every direction, ricocheting through the cramped room. Panicked voices collided with one another.
"We've traveled in time?!"
"You believed that?"
"This has to be some despicable lie."
"How many years is that?"
"Would this mean slavery has been abolished?"
"There is no way—"
"Hey! I'm not done. You can have your side comments later." The Voice reprimanded with a loud yell. The sudden vibration and tone completely closed everyone's mouths, silently shaking and panicking more from the Voice. "Anyhow! Do not worry, everyone will return to where they were before I brought you all here, while retaining their memories of this... happening, or whatever."
Everyone looked at each other with a silent oath to not speak, assuming the being was mad and unfinished. Unbeknownst to them, Alexander pressed to ask, "Whoever you are, this does not answer our purpose to you." They were also supposed to believe that this entity was not divine? Someone with good or bad deeds? The fact that they were trapped in a chamber with no way out while being a century into the future did not help at all.
Washington looked at Alexander with a mix of surprise and disapproval. "Alexander—"
"Talk less, smile more, Hamilton. Did I mention I was finished?" The Voice chuckled, almost like a child, sarcasm dripping through each syllable while stifling their laughter when Alexander shrunk back. The Voice cleared their throat as it resumes, "Moving on, everyone has a purpose here, of course. If you remember the year I had stated, then you are correct to assume that you, and everyone here, has became a part of history—small or big. You will be here to watch a major remembrance had been produced in the current century that will always recognize every each of your legacies, no matter how old the remembrance gets. That's all."
In the suspense of their halted heartbeats during the entire explanation, the room finally erupted. The younger men cheered first, their excitement bursting free and laughter rang throughout the room, though some were still hesitant to believe, they could not contain themselves knowing future generations would learn about them through this large tribute that the Voice has yet to specify.
"We will be remembered forever!" Peggy squealed in delight while dug in the embrace of her two older sisters. She never thoroughly imagined how the younger generations would remember her, she thought she would just die and that's it.
Eliza returned the notion happily and hugged tighter. "Indeed we will!" Angelica was also the same, though something in her expression reminded Eliza about their other sisters and brothers, were they not remembered either? How?
The older men, like Washington, stood reserved with dignity, but he allowed himself to smile at the thought. He still held some skepticism from the divine being, especially when they denied being one. The more he thought about it: pleasing and terrifying. History truly has its eyes. He could only wonder how they perceived him in the recent days.
George III knew history would have remembered him, so it's not like it mattered too much. He remained an outstanding distance from the swelling crowd, but he clapped soft and low while he surveyed their nosy reactions, to himself.
But with all of their reactions, no one reacted more strongly than Alexander.
His eyes gleamed with feverish excitement, every insecurity suddenly drowned beneath pure vindication. Coming from a rough background with a wish for war after a total landslide fell on his life, he was able to achieve his goal of a legacy to be remembered forever.
Breathless, he pressed his hands to his chest, an unrestrained, wide grin covered across his face. "I fulfilled my legacy," he gasped out of breath, unable to contain his anticipation.
Laurens came closer to Alexander and swung a playful hit using his elbow. "I reckon you should've not interrupted the divine, yes?" he joked to Alexander, a joyful smile tugged his lips.
He coughs loudly on purpose, and he is unable to suppress his laughter. "That I am aware, and shall never do it again, for my dear Laurens." He chirped with a wink, gaining a low chuckle from the fond Laurens.
The comment about fulfilling a legacy was a comment to himself. Everyone around him laughed, cheered, and exchanged remarks. Like a thunder, their celebration were cut off short by the entity's booming voice.
"Remember when I said everyone will watch something? Yes, we are still doing that too. I have selected everyone here for they all shared a common connection to one individual here."
Everyone turned their heads around to glance at Washington, but before they could congratulate him, the Voice continued.
"Just keep your guesses to yourselves for now. I have yet given instructions on what everyone is supposed to do. For the time being, have a seat! Then I will fully explain your purposes."
The rest followed the Voice's simple instruction. It took a brief session of chatter for some people to have a seat on the comfortable chairs that could shockingly lift up its armrests (discovered by Peggy).
The left side row was already packed with Mulligan, Lafayette, Laurens and Alexander sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, one seat left empty at the end. On the middle, another seat was also left empty, then the next followed Eliza, Peggy, and Angelica, all sat together with the armrests up so they could snuggle, Burr was a seat away from them.
Meanwhile, the right row was significantly emptier; only because there were 12 people out of the 20 seats the room offered. Burr had sat with a distance to Thomas and Madison who sat jointly, another a seat away from Washington. George III claimed the far right seat, all by himself.
"Thomas," Madison called out. A bemused Thomas glanced at him. "When the Voice mentioned retaining our memories after this performance, might they have been referring to granting us a second chance? What do you think?"
"Huh." Thomas tapped his chin at the thought. "Possible, it is." Was all he said.
"Thank you! I will also remind you all that you are free to change seats if necessary." The Voice said, their tone felt foreboding to everyone. "Now I am certain everyone has been waiting to know what will they watch, but I must offer a vital explanation first as we are in 2026."
Everyone held their expectations high enough to soar through the sky. To be in the future even hundred of years later, watching how they are remembered, gave such a build-up, a kind of heart-pounding uncertainty.
"Some of you have already guessed the so-called big black box's purpose. It is one of the modern days' technology: television, an electronic device that is a telecommunication medium for transferring moving image and sounds. This will be where you would watch."
Everyone almost felt speechless at such description. They recalled performances being done live. The only advanced thing that was considered in their time would be a bunch of horse carriages and some printed pamphlets, but a box capturing the vibrancy of humanity and the 'major remembrance' of their legacies seemed impossible.
Alexander curiously asks while instinctively looking up at the ceiling (to which he thought the Voice lied about its presence not being up in the ceiling), "When did this invention happened?"
"Quite long after your time period, around the mid-early 90s. If it were to be that time, it would not be as advanced as this one, but it is still one huge invention." The Voice replied. "That aside, I am also sorry for being vague on this tribute to history. The said historical production is a sung-through music theater, known nowadays as a musical."
"Sung-through?" Angelica echoed, curiosity slipping through her, "I believe the concept of its sound seems familiar, but could you please clarify?"
"Yes it is familiar, 'cause you may have it as opera in your times, although a sung-through musical differ in terms of genre. It is a narrative work where the entire story is told through music, featuring little to no spoken dialogue. The one you'll be watching may contain some dialogue, but the rest is back-to-back songs played live and on stage."
It piqued everyone's interest at the end. To which, Thomas came forward to ask the same question everyone had in mind, "On stage? Then how would this 'television' cover the live performance of a 'musical'?"
"Because it is filmed, also known as a video. I should probably elaborate that the creation of this musical production was released to the public in 2015, and remember that this year is 2026, so I can only tell everyone that modern technology is nothing like your technology essentially."
After the Voice's explanation, murmurs bloomed all across the room. Predictions over the advancement of technology overlapped and tangled each other.
"It appears that the camera obscura has undergone significant evolution," Angelica remarked. It was entirely speculative on her part to assume that the device responsible for such recordings was the camera obscura, a tool traditionally employed by artists for the study of nature.
Eliza glanced at Angelica with a tilted head, her eyebrows furrowed. "You believe so?" Her sister may be right. Music is still art anyway.
Peggy could only nod along to her sisters. On the other hand, she informs something she had deciphered from the Voice. "Do you think what it said about 'video' is genuinely derived from videre?" Her sisters looked at her with confusion. "Specifically, the Latin word meaning 'to see'?"
Both of the sisters' light bulbs finally lit as Eliza lets out a gasp of epiphany. "You are right! That must be it!" A smile spreads across her face. "How smart of you!"
"And that also brings to me to my one last reminder which I almost forgot!" the Voice suddenly exclaimed, surprising the people in their seats, "the two doors are now opened. If you've ever wondered about their labels, the one entitled 'food' has an arrangement of food inside the room; I suggest everyone should get one before I start up the television. The other that says 'bathroom' is known as the 'privy' in your time; you relieve yourself and wash hands with water and soap, all for the hygiene."
Surprisingly, George III came to speak, jolting some of the Americans in their seat. "Indeed it has," he drawled smoothly, hands politely folded on his lap. "I presume we have the liberty to rise from our seats whenever we so desire?"
"Half. It's discouraged rather, that's why I will not be starting the television until everyone has their own snacks; bathroom is only if you really gotta go," the Voice emphasized on the really. "I only needed everyone to sit so I could inform of the future and your purposes here. Now, do everything necessary, then sit and wait."
"What comes next?" Alexander asked.
The Voice did not respond at all.
Everyone had apart ways; some were quick to get their snacks and others made used of the restroom. During the short interval, many of the Americans avoided the King's presence and maintained wide distances from him. George III knew of this and felt a stab through his heart, but nothing further than that. He would just have to talk to their leader after the performance over their behaviors.
Shortly after, everyone made it back to their seats. Another surprise takes place as the television suddenly lit up before anyone could question the Voice's existence again. It faded bright and resembled a starry night sky above the river that bridged between lit houses in the dark.
"Oh sweet heavens," Mulligan covered his eyes. The sudden brightness had pained his eyes temporarily.
Lafayette hummed in agreement to Mulligan before nudging Laurens lightly in his seat, prompting Alexander to also look at him. "I must admit," he said, eyes fixed on the dark screen ahead, "it is rather difficult to believe we are about to witness technology entirely unknown to us."
Laurens puffs a breath of amusement, gently shaking his head. "At this point, I am no longer certain what should surprise us."
Beside him, Alexander said nothing for once despite how clever he was. Instead, he bidded to his gaze to do the thing and linger on Laurens more than he intended before looking back onto the television. The faint glow from the screen cast a brief shine over his features and Laurens could not help and return the stolen gaze and stared endlessly into his restless, beautiful eyes.
There was a quiet understanding between the two, and no matter their martial statuses, they had already reserved a part of their heart for each other.
"Hello!" the Voice boomed, startling the people once more, "Sorry to interrupt as usual. I was just testing the television and decided to pause it, thus you only see a sky for now. It'll fade again since I'll skip it. Once the musical shows who it centers around, the music may sound crispy as it is live and not balanced in sound."
Everyone nodded along to the Voice. In their minds, the Voice was a respectful deity, despite its casual tone. Still, they were more captivated by its explanation. The musical's description felt realistic and gripping, keeping many on the edge of their seats, eager to continue watching.
Alexander glanced at Washington with a dignified look. He thought the musical would be about his leader and was honored to be a part of his tribute, he could hope he made a name to himself to the nation.
"Lastly, there are inaccuracies in the musical as creative liberty was used. You may inquire something while watching the musical, I am always willing to entertain. Enjoy the show alas!"
Then the television's display moved. It faded again to black, though nothing was seen, the sounds whirred across the room and applause came to life.
"Seems we have company too," Mulligan remarked.
[GEORGE III]
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your king, George III.
The instant the voice declared itself to be the King, the Americans' delight eventually subsided, with the exception of the real King who clapped loud in his seat, of course it was him, and whoever portrayed him has already been excellent. The audience who were also watching alongside them were probably amazed.
"As always," he confidently replied, loud and proud.
However, it was then that George III's pleased reaction as opposed to the Americans' dissatisfaction would reverse once his actor had said the next line.
Welcome to Hamilton.
"What?"
Suddenly, in the darkness of the television, a golden, highly legible word appeared in the center of the screen: Hamilton.
The room settled in another eruption, most came from Alexander's friends and their loud cheers.
"Mon ami [My friend]! It's about you!" Lafayette stood in amazement, clasping his hands at Alexander, who was stunned, couldn't even stand up after his friends, Eliza, and in-laws followed.
Everyone—except for Thomas, Madison, and George III—have forgotten about audience etiquette and circled around Alexander to congratulate him.
Burr gave Alexander a hand shake. "Congratulations, sir Hamilton."
While his friends were particularly the loud ones, Eliza managed to seize him up from his seat and wraps her arms around him in a hug; her warmth consumed Alexander's cold interior and their hearts beat as one amid the cheers. He returned the embrace as the swell of his peers congratulated him like a melody.
"They've made a musical about you," Eliza beamed, her laughter tolled like bells.
Alexander lifts a hand to rub it against his nape and could only shyly chuckle, still stunned. He truly fulfilled his legacy.
Behind him, he realized Washington had stood up from his seat and calmly applauded. Guilt quickly took him as everyone had thought the tribute would mainly focus on their General, but he seemed unfazed at the announcement of the musical's title.
"Well done, son," Washington bowed, an unexpected smile of dignity covered his face instead of disappointment. He was honored for his soldiers to have a nationwide keepsake.
Alexander disliked the familial term being used on him by his superiors, but the wide grin he had betrayed him. He couldn't help it. He would have never known that people centuries later would still remember his name.
"Excuse me." Thomas stood up, interrupting the praises. Alexander glanced at him and could sense he was fuming in and out. "We have a performance to watch."
Everyone proceeded to ignore him and went back to their seats on their own record, after fully congratulating him.
George III only had his arms crossed in his seat while he continuously puffed out deep breaths of disappointment. He was the first person to be practically introduced and somehow it is not all about him? Preposterous if you'd asked him.
At this time, please silence all cell phones and other electronic devices.
"Cell phones?" Peggy echoed. The term was completely distinct. The term seemed far from how she guessed.
"Whatever it may be, it serves as a distraction during the performance, as has been implied," Angelica said.
All photography and video recording is strictly prohibited.
"Recording? Then would this… 'video', be prohibited?" Eliza worried, waiting for the Voice to do its thing and speak from beyond.
"No, this one is the only official film. Any recording that is not the replica of this exact video are illegal, but they still surface."
Everyone nodded to the Voice. It was logical. The black screen then faded to a vast stage that amazed everyone in their seats. A different kind of subtitle faded shortly, New York City, June 2016; Richard Rodgers Theatre.
Alexander gripped his pants, unable to contain his excitement. The video contained its own audience, applauding and were as enthusiastic as he was to see how the future generations have portrayed him to be.
Thank you, and enjoy my show.
While everyone heard the audiences laughing from this remark, no one except for George III had a strong reaction.
Doesn't matter to Alexander. The show hadn't started yet he might burst out of his seat. Thrill lingered through his veins; he had a high and endless expectation of this musical.
From having nothing to lose, to a musical that constantly carried out his legacy, it made him breathless.
And he was ready. Ready to witness how the future had chosen to remember him.