Hamilton X Jefferson Novels & Stories

Halfway, he closed the door and raised a hand to take off his shirt, then put it aside. Staring at the half-naked man, Xanthus felt like laughing for a second. There were probably only a handful of people in this world who could make Jepherson stoop down. If it weren't for Raeleigh, who else? Unfortunately, he was Jepherson, Marissa's grandson, someone the Doyle family wanted. Xanthus quietly took off his clothes and walked to the shower with his back to Jepherson. Jepherson stood aside and accompanied Xanthus for a shower; neither of them spoke at first. Both their height and body proportions were nearly the same. Other than age, Xanthus really could not think of any merits that he had over

But maybe he's grumpy, and he always made that face. They remind Jefferson of the two sides of a coin, like a summer and a winter, they are opposite of each other, but somehow they complement each other. While Hugo was doing the talk, Homer looked at the participants one by one with his cold gaze; Jefferson was no exception. Jefferson had no idea why he was doing that.

"I'm getting nervous." I swayed my hips to the beat and danced around like I was each of the characters: Aaron Burr, Alexander Hamilton, Hercules Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette. Great American people... Well, Alexander is on my mind. I continued to dance until the song, Blow Us All Away, where Philip Hamilton died in a duel. My wolf whined, and I started to cry. Darned wolf emotions during the full moon. Everything is harder on my brain during this time, and when Philip was shot, I shouted. "PHILIP, NO!!" I heard thundering footsteps and then hands on my shoulders.

“He mentioned something called Jeweler’s Row. Heard of it?” “No,” Aaron admitted. “As soon as Eliza’s song is over, let’s reconvene at that table over there where Jamie and Aurora are sitting and see if anyone else has.” “Ah, but blondie looks so enthralled,” Cadence fake pouted. “She’s not my type,” he assured her. “She’s too blonde, too tall, and she just mentioned Alexander Hamilton in perfect context.” “All right, you,” she said physically crossing her arms. “I’ll have you know I didn’t think the correct answer was Thomas Jefferson—I was just joking around. And I know the Statue of Liberty is in New York City.”

Celia I snuck a look backward, half-expecting someone else to be there. "Wh—what?" The smile slipped from the man's face and his eyes hardened. He pushed his chair backwards with a loud creak, then walked towards me with a slow but steady precision and an air of authority. I looked up to stare into his eyes as I was several inches shorter than he was. I knew I was tall, but this man was way taller. Alexander Hamilton...I'd heard that name being thrown around by my parents a couple of times, times where I'd been privy to their private discussions. They usually metioned the Hamilton name with a mixture of revulsion and fear, as though they had a score to settle with him.