Revolutionary War Roleplay! [CLOSED]

"As I said.. Just the trials of the job, Madame. Nothing I can do to change it," John confessed.

"You can enjoy yourself tonight," she remarked with a smile. "And… it's Mademoiselle, s'il vous plait."

"Mademoiselle, forgive me," he smiled apologetically, brushing flyaway hairs off his brow.

"I accept your apology," she said softly.

He finished his glass with a few massive gulps.

"Une pleine?" she asked again, watching his expression.

He nodded again. His cheeks and jaw were tense.

She filled it again and put it down. "Relax, Monsieur."

John did as she advised– letting go of his burdens, for now, dissolve them into the brandy rolling down his throat.

"Bonne?" she asked, seeing him visibly calm down after swallowing the drink.

"Mhm." He sighed back languidly.

She smiled. "I take it that you're feeling better, then."

"Yes'm, Mademoiselle." He confirmed in a softer tone.

"Would you like another?" she asked, reaching for the glass just in case.

"Yes," a slur was beginning to settle into his words.

She filled it again steadily. "Here you are, Monsieur."

He turned the glass, and drank it a little slower than the previous three.

She leaned on the counter, contemplating having a drink herself. "Do you live around here, Monsieur."

"Decently close, yes…" He replied slowly. "A thirty minute ride.."

"I could take you home if you like. Or you could stay here," she suggested, filling a small glass for herself and draining it in one swallow.

"You'd be.. Okay with it?" John slurred, then remembered, that "home" was… So far away– and what he was thinking of was the British camp. "Shoot, shit.. Nevermind." He rubbed his face harshly. "Home is too far."

"You're welcome to stay here," she said, taking another quick shot.

"Accepted…" He murmured back gratefully

She smiled coyly. "Would you like another, Monsieur?"

He lifted his head in an unsteady motion, "Abb..solootly." He slurred.

She grinned and poured the liquid into the glass.

I smell…
sniffs
I smell seduction.. )

He pulled it up to his lips again, spilling some down his chin, down his neck and cravat by accident. His drunkenness was setting in fast and hard.

(Peter warned him…)

She smiled smoothly. "Here, let me help you…" She wiped gently at his shirt with a towel.

John, you need a lesson from Mr. Hamilton )

"N-mm," he grunted, his words tumbled misshapenly from his drunk flushed lips. He tried to thank her, like the excruciating gentleman he was.

(Say no to this… even though your drunk and can't even say thank you.)

She looked into his eyes. "What?"