Work Text:
176x, after the Stamp Act
“What in God’s name have you done?” Virginia angrily sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, the report on the table in front of them. He was very close to going mad.
“Nothing that seems out of the ordinary for me,” Massachusetts responded, looking up from the pamphlet written by another one of his goddamn rebels, his seat on the sofa opposite Virginia’s. “It was an effigy. Not the real person.”
“But your citizens still hung him. Do you think none of this will result in grave consequences?” Virginia snapped, glaring at the man. “Why is it always you who does the most outlandish things? Do you know how many headaches you’ve given me, and probably the Crown, in the past few years?”
Massachusetts stared back, and Virginia couldn’t tell if the other province was mocking him. Add that to the list of grievances he already had against the New Englander. “My civilians are just standing up for their rights, which Britain has — ”
“NO,” Virginia interrupted, and Massachusetts returned to reading his — Lord give him all the strength he needs right now — pamphlet. “You are not going to start rambling to me about your ‘rights’ and everything. Is it really appropriate for us colonies to go against our mother country? Are you out of your goddamn mind? New York, is this amusing to you?”
New York coughed and went back to drinking his tea. It was always these two backing each other’s plans. They should be teaching the younger colonies to behave, and yet, all that has resulted from their ‘parenting’ has been endless rebellion. Discipline does not exist among the New England colonies, nor is it apparent among the Middle Colonies. He blames it all on Massachusetts’ religious upbringing and New York’s Dutch origins.
“Virginia, you should be supporting our cause, really,” Massachusetts said.
“No.” He shot it down. Instantly. One of these days, Britain is going to come over here and they’ll all regret all of the demonstrations. Mark his damn words.
“Why not?” Massachusetts continued, ignoring Virginia’s darkening glare and what he just said, “they’re taxing us when we don’t even get a say in their legislation. This is done without representation, and don’t you think we at least deserve to impose our own taxes, given the fact that we are their most profitable and successful colony to date? Think about it. Parliament doesn’t have to do it for us, because it would be unconstitutional and could lead to unrest. It already has and rightfully so.”
“You and your rebellion.” Virginia is trying very hard not to go insane. It’s always Massachusetts, and sometimes New York or North Carolina, that manages to get him closer and closer to making a deal with the devil to get them to have respect and be obedient. Does no one think about their actions anymore? Because it certainly doesn’t seem like it.
“Virginia, you’re getting too upset about this,” New York commented, looking at him over the rim of his teacup.
Virginia’s glare shut him up. At least New York understands when to stop talking, unlike the province sitting in front of him right now, nonchalantly reading a text that probably calls for the total separation of the colonies from the Crown or whatever.
“Britain’s violation of their own Bill of Rights — ”
“One more word out of you,” Virginia warned.
Massachusetts finally, finally got the cue. He shrugged.
Virginia got up. “I can’t deal with you two right now. Not now, not ever.” Why did he even choose to come up to Boston? He must be mad. He probably already is. “I’m taking a walk.”
“Go check out some of the — ”
He slammed the door closed behind him.
(And when Massachusetts is finally punished in a few years’ time, following the Boston Tea Party and the passing of the Coercive Acts, Virginia joins the cause for American independence. Despite all of their differences and brashness, Virginia still loves this ragtag group of colonies.)
1770, a few weeks after the Boston Massacre
It’s not the first time his civilians had died. People die every day, for all sorts of reasons.
But something about these murders took the air out of his lungs, kicked the back of his knees, punched a gaping hole through him.
Massachusetts lifted his shirt, turning to the side. The wound had opened up again.
Connecticut winced at the bleeding scar. “That’s literally what you get for being so stubborn. You complain about me being too ‘liberal’ and whatever the hell you say about me, but look at you. What in the Devil’s name is this? Don’t speak. Hold your shirt up. Give me a second to patch this up.”
“You should just. Not disinfect the wound. Let him feel the pain, you know?” Rhode Island chimed in. “Seriously. Teach him a lesson.”
Yet, Massachusetts’ eyes have never shined brighter. There was a spark, one that screams danger, in his burnt brown eyes. It unnerved Rhode Island and Connecticut both.
“That’s a terrific idea,” Connecticut agreed, humming as she took out her medical supplies. How a girl who would get in fights and arguments with boys all the time, her hand breaking everything she touched, would come to love an art as delicate and demanding as medicine was beyond all of them. Rhode Island found the irony inevitable. Massachusetts just knew that was the right path for her.
New Hampshire winced when he caught sight of the wound. “Does it not hurt anymore? That looks really bad.”
Maine brought his knees to his chin on his spot on the carpet next to Connecticut, a bowl filled with water next to him with a clean rag inside. He was quietly observing the scene. Anything to fulfill that insatiable hunger of his pursuit for knowledge.
“We should just throw you to the ducks and cows in Frog Pond,” Rhode Island threw herself on the armchair in front of the low table. “You’re our older brother. Act like it, goodness.”
“Why are you two speaking to him like you expect a reply?” Maine wondered, shifting in his spot to crouch down and look at the blood dripping down Massachusetts’ ribcage. His eyes gleamed with dangerous curiosity. Massachusetts would know. “I wonder how our bodies do that.”
New Hampshire sighed. “God naturally had to tie us back to our territories. After all, we are the land’s physical personifications. He made us according to that.”
“That’s true,” Maine hummed. “I wish we knew what we were fully capable of. We’re immortal, our wounds heal fast, but the ones caused by attacks on our people scar over, if not permanent. Do you think they have books documenting everything about us? Maybe in one of Europe’s great libraries? God has so much in store for us. I can’t believe it.”
“You think too much,” Rhode Island wryly stated. “It’s not good for you.”
“Shut up,” Maine shot back.
Connecticut wringed the water from a clean rag and pressed it to the wound. She glared at Massachusetts when he slightly startled at the sting of the cold water.
“Uh huh. Literally. That’s what I thought. Shut up. Don’t talk. I don’t see what New York finds so many things to talk to you about,” she muttered, shaking her head as she gave the bloody piece of cloth to Maine, picking up the needle. “Your responses are all nonsense, and they’re all so snarky. Do you not have nice things to say? Don’t answer that.”
“I love how you have to constantly remind him to shut up,” Rhode Island giggled.
“Because he never listens when I don’t! Even when I tell him to, he doesn’t,” Connecticut said, exasperated. “I wonder how that Dutchie down south handles you.”
“He hasn’t been Dutch for a century.”
Connecticut stabbed the needle through the wound, pulling it free at the other end. Massachusetts sharply sucked in a breath.
“Did I tell you to speak?” she snapped.
Rhode Island laughed. Maine at least had the decency to hide his snickers with a cough. New Hampshire had a smile, adamant not to look up from the carpet. But it’s done with no ill will. The wound will close in no time, and Massachusetts can still stand. All is well, at the end of that day.
And while they can naively hope nothing more grave will happen, it will invariably, one way or another, going to get worse. So the question really stands to be: when it comes, will they be ready?
1774, following the dissolution of the Virginia House of Burgesses
Maryland nervously eyed Virginia’s still figure. The first colony has been reading the same pamphlet for quite some time now, his lips pressed into a thin line and forefinger tapping on the paper repeatedly.
She looked around the common space. Virginia had called all of the colonies’ personifications to the Virginia House following the numerous uprisings and demonstrations against the British Crown a few months ago, to keep them all “safe and out of trouble,” in his own words. Only Massachusetts was present. He appeared to stay in the common space with Virginia all day, never running out of material to read. At least he was quiet? Until someone mentioned the British Crown, then he’d go off on the notion of independence and individual liberty. New York, who was often right next to Massachusetts, was nowhere to be seen. The younger colonies were probably either outside or upstairs, minding their own business.
Massachusetts seemed to notice her anxiousness, looking up from whatever notes he was taking from the book in his hand to stare at her. Massachusetts unnerved Maryland greatly. “He’s on his last strand of sanity,” he told her. It was obvious who the ‘he’ was.
Virginia snapped up, brilliant green eyes narrowed in anger at the other colony. His wince from the sudden action did not go unnoticed by Maryland or Massachusetts. “I have been, ever since you started stirring up trouble all the time. How are you feeling? Have the effects of the Coercive Acts — ”
“ — Intolerable Acts,” Massachusetts corrected, much to Virginia’s dismay, judging from how the personification sat back and glowered at him, “and to your question, I’ve never been better. Thriving, prosperous, whatever. Have you felt the same, Virginia? The motivation fueled by the possibility of paving the way for a truly revolutionary and unprecedented future? You too, Maryland, think of it: a world where colonies are able to successfully rebel against their tyrannical parent colonies. If we are the first to achieve it, picture all of the other colonies, all around the world, that can follow in our footsteps. Our legacy will be immortalized, much like us. Listen: ‘the American Colonies’ — no, they would call us ‘the United Provinces of America' — sounds quite like an empowering name, doesn’t it? We have everything needed to be successful: the ports, the agriculture, the people — you name it, we have it. What is stopping us, Virginia, from reaching that goal?”
Maryland warily noted how, despite the ‘thriving’ Massachusetts mentioned, his actions seemed sluggish, his skin a bit pale, his cheeks sullen. The Intolerable — Coercive — Acts and the forcible shut down of Boston’s port, the rippling effect of that on the economy and colonial sentiments toward the Crown, has taken a toll on his physical wellbeing. That is undeniable. But what also is undeniable is the euphoria seen in Massachusetts’ gleaming eyes. The idealism proposed by him did, admittedly, lull Maryland into having a sense of purpose, and the sound of leaving a legacy in this world where everything is changing constantly didn’t sound too bad. They were living in the moment. Best to make the most of it because, well, who knew what the sky-high tensions with Great Britain could bring to the future and their existence?
“And yet, you have never been more ill,” Virginia slammed the idea down immediately, as he often did, despite the lack of force and usual conviction. “You speak oh-so highly of this, but keep in mind our power. We do not have the experience or the military might of Great Britain. Our navy is practically nonexistent, not to mention the people that are always looking for a chance to invade and retake their land. I strongly support this cause for independence because Britain needs to be humbled, yes, but do not get so lofty just yet. You have to plan this out — ” Virginia’s face contorted into one of pain and he turned his face, coughing, red blotches obvious against his skin, which was loosing color by the second.
Massachusetts shook his head, unswayed. Nothing can change his mind. How stubborn and determined he was. And how terrible that it was so. Maryland admired it. If only she could be that obstinate, but alas, she was a woman and, worse yet, she had dark skin. The eighteenth century was not a kind one to people like her.
“Your House of Burgesses was dissolved,” the New Englander stated, to seemingly refute Virginia’s point and to drive the point of Britain’s tyranny into the Southerner’s heart.
Virginia was not happy, his clutch on the pamphlet tightening and creasing the paper. “Yes. And I’m extremely upset about it. Britain has overstepped their boundaries, overexerted their power. We have to be careful and concise on how to deal with this, though. We don’t want another charter being repealed or another incident similar to yours. Actually,” he sharply laughed, “I can’t believe Britain did that. Seriously? Dissolving my House? Is he aware that — ”
Massachusetts met Maryland’s eyes, then looked at Virginia, who was getting more and more worked up over the prospect of his royal governor dissolving his legislative body, hand gestures becoming more grand and forceful in their movement.
“ — I was his first successful colony in the Americas. My House of Burgesses was the first and is the oldest legislative body in the Americas. Does he think so little of me? Does he? Well, to Hell with him, I’m sure — ”
Virginia does not take extreme beliefs often. He does not speak commonly of his beliefs. To get him to this level of extremity, this level of anger, is almost a feat. Even New York, who often purposefully poked fun at him, did it knowing Virginia understood it was all jokes. This was serious.
“When your House gets dissolved, I recommend speaking less and stop doing sudden, harsh actions,” Massachusetts interrupted, placing a hand out to placate the other man. “You’re getting worked up over this. How rare. But the illness will catch up with you, and how lucky of you to have me here with you to give you words of advice. When my House was dissolved by my royal governor, I was practically confined to my bed for days. Do you want to go up to your room? It should kick in in a few hours or so. Wait and see. It will not be pleasant, and Mary won’t find you that handsome anymore.”
“Of all things happening, perhaps we shouldn’t focus on that,” Maryland laughed — which was not a denial, by any means — getting up. Massachusetts was right. Time was working against them, so they could only hope they were ready when it decided to strike. She held out a hand for the other to take. “Let’s get you back to your room, first colony.”
1774, First Continental Congress
“You’re such a radical,” New York teases, a smug grin on his lips, eyes crinkled with humor. “You don’t seem to be particularly enjoying this meeting, hmm?”
Virginia shot them a glare. “Don’t raise your voices. Don’t — ”
“Don’t draw anyone’s attention, don’t make a fuss, don’t start arguments…” New York and Massachusetts automatically recited, the dogma drilled into all of them weeks before the congress would be held. New York gave Virginia a pitying ‘what can you do?’ shrug and head shake.
“We’re not kids, Virginia,” he pointed out. “If anything, you should be paying attention to Maryland. I don’t want our delegates to mistreat her.” Speaking of, Maryland was getting odd looks from their delegates because of her skin color.
Virginia ignored him. He turned to watch Maryland instead.
New York exhaled a laugh. “How typical of our dear Virginia. Now, where was I?” He turned back to Massachusetts. “Right. The opinions here are too moderate for your extremist tastes, aren’t they? I can feel Mister Adams about to advocate for ‘total American independence’ in all sorts of pamphlets, complaining about the moderate views of this congress, after the meeting.”
“He might,” Massachusetts agreed. “And you are correct. People aren’t ready to accept that the only available option now is full separation from England.”
“You and your independence. Haven’t learned from the Boston Port Act, have you?” New York cupped his cheek with a palm, elbow resting on the table.
The mention of the act made Massachusetts frown slightly. A hand subconsciously drifted near his right side, where a long, thin scar ran as a reminder of the massacre. “And yet, it was your colony who refused to comply with the original Quartering Acts. If you weren’t held back by your mask of getting everyone around you to like you, you know you’d be openly calling for — ”
“Now that’s an idea,” New York cut in, smiling. “Nothing less of what I expected from you.”
Massachusetts gave him a blank stare.
“Go write down your opinions or something,” New York told him with a fond look. “That look is your equivalent of an eye roll, so don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“Well, technically, I never did.” Regardless, since New York knew him oh-so well, he began writing. It was better to have something to do while New York absently spoke to him about random things, and at least Massachusetts would end up with something while New York would be satisfied with throwing in adoring teases at him in his talking. Massachusetts decided to write something about forming an army. Conflict was inevitable, and England would never let go of them (as colonies, he was sure England couldn’t care less whether the personifications died and whatnot) without a fight. And what a fight they’d put up, when (and not if) independence was declared.
“What in God’s name are you two devising about now,” Virginia hissed, voice quiet. He was far too paranoid, in New York’s humble opinion. Not that anyone asked, nor will he ever speak it aloud.
“Nothing much. Do you think our delegates are aware that the three of us are far older than them? You’ve been around since the very start of your House of Burgesses, and what a true shame it’s come to an end, and Massachusetts here knew of the.. feast, certainly, with the Indians, but the delegates treat us like scrawny orphans,” New York dramatically lamented, heaving a sigh. “Tragic.” Perhaps he should direct a drama. He was an oddly good actor when he wasn’t just doing it purely for comedic effect to satisfy that twisted, sarcastic humor of his. Well, once you’ve lived a lie, what’s one more to the list?
Virginia leaned back in his seat. “They probably all acknowledge that we’re more than a century old, at this point — and, God, is that alarming — but they think we’re no more mature than children. Yes.”
“And how do you feel about it? Our oldest, our wisest, of colonies?” New York asked.
“I think you’re intentionally provoking him,” Massachusetts interrupted.
Another shrug from the New Yorker.
An eye roll from the Virginian.
New York loved subtly provoking Virginia. Virginia was openly hostile in his insults to the other colony. Massachusetts was often caught in the middle of their back and forth conversations, with Virginia about to strangle New York and New York about to die from laughter alone. It’s a one-sided rivalry — actually, Massachusetts would describe it as “bullying.” Yes, that was the word.
“They’re naive to believe we don’t understand politics,” a new voice said. Maryland. She pulled out a chair and sat at their round table. “Hi. I hope you don’t mind me sitting here. The younger colonies are perfectly content to sit and quietly converse among themselves, and I think it would be better for me to sit here with you three.”
“You’re welcome here anytime,” New York nodded. “We were just talking. I assume you heard pretty much all of it?”
“More or less.”
Virginia looked a lot less disdained with Maryland’s presence nearby. Thank God. New York would’ve actually started to tone down his teasing if he got Virginia seriously upset.
“Well, what do you all think of the actions posed by the Congress?” Maryland motioned for Massachusetts’ notes. The New Englander obliged, returning his quill to the stand and sliding the papers over to her. No one said much, waiting for Maryland to finish reading what he wrote. New York observed the architecture of the Hall. Virginia was reading the notes alongside Maryland.
“I still think independence is the best way to go,” Massachusetts finally said, breaking the brief silence.
That brought the same exasperated look around the table.
How typical indeed.