Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]

Cruz licked his inflammed, snot soaked upper lip. "I was ten when my house was burnt down,"

She laughed. "I'm fine! John, I'm hardly pregnant, okay?"

"Just thought I'd ask.." He smiled lovingly.

She returned his warm smile and vanished.

Her fiancé took a seat in the living room.

Louis hung his head, strands of oily brown hair sticking to the snot that coated part of his face. “I’m sorry, mon ami.”

"No, no, that's the best thing that ever happened for me. In the long run," Cruz stared up at the sky. "The shape that Spain is in right now, I bear no passion for it. The United States.." He breathed, "This is my home."

Louis nodded understandingly, forcing his drooping eyelids open. The longer his eyes were closed, the more acute the cold felt, the more his every cell hurt. “Aye, I do not miss France as much as I would miss living here… if I am to die..”

"We're not going to die," Cruz laughed, even though he doubted himself. "Even God himself would be disappointed if we died from the cold, of everything,"

Louis let out a short, raspy laugh. “True. But I see you use the word ‘we’. I do not intent for you to die in here, my friend.”

Cruz sighed shortly, "If I wasn't in love, Louis, I would refute that and you know it," a sorrow tainted his croaking voice. Oh, April. He missed her, everything of her, and the warmth she radiated most particularly. The thought of her made his eyes gloss over and his expression go blank—all consuming thought, no room for anything else.

She laughed. "I'm fine! John, I'm hardly pregnant, okay?"

"Just thought I'd ask.." He smiled lovingly.

She returned his warm smile and vanished.

Her fiancé took a seat in the living room.

Several minutes later, Jane reemerged with a plate of eggs for each of them.
"See? I can still cook," she teased, handing him his plate.

She laughed. "I'm fine! John, I'm hardly pregnant, okay?"

"Just thought I'd ask.." He smiled lovingly.

She returned his warm smile and vanished.

Her fiancé took a seat in the living room.

Several minutes later, Jane reemerged with a plate of eggs for each of them.
"See? I can still cook," she teased, handing him his plate.

He stood up to go to the dining room, "Thank you, love. Is it– to early to call you Mrs. André?"

"Not at all," she replied. She practically glowed with pride when he asked.

"Misses André," he spoke with a certain ring of delight. "Mrs. André, my wife."

Jane blushed happily, brushing her hair behind her ear.

He laughed softly and set his plate as his usual seat at the table. A nostalgic smile flickered over his lips, "Remember our first dinner?"

"When we were both drunk?" she asked with a laugh. "That seems so long ago now."

"It does, doesn't it?" He exhaled, took a bite of his freshly made breakfast. Outside, a fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight. "Look at that.. lovely,"

"It is, isn't it," she sighed. "Too perfect. I wouldn't want to go out, for I wouldn't ruin the snow."

"Mmm, I'd be too afraid of you getting too cold." John hummed lovingly.

"Johnathan André, I can handle myself!" Jane stated firmly.

He swallowed another bite of egg, and commented teasingly, "Can you?"

Jane crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "I can."

"Mm, prove it," he challenged playfully.

"Alright. I challenge you to a drinking contest!" she stated, a smirk on her lips.

"Good Lord, let me finish my breakfast first," he chortled.

She grinned and ate her eggs quickly.

He ate… playfully slow. Just to mess with her.

"Joooohn!" she moaned. "Your eating is agonizingly lethargic!"

"Oh? This is how I normally eat," he laughed teasingly.

"No it's not," she grumbled, pretending very well to be upset.

He stared at the last bite for a painfully long time.