the_cupbearer: (smoke)
It was late evening, in one of the many taverns that dotted the city of New York: Ganymede sat alone with a meal and a pipe, listening vaguely to the conversations around him, most of which were predictably centered on the ongoing war. He didn't have much faith that the colonists would truly win, would honestly separate from Britain and not collapse to anarchy soon thereafter, but being the sort who valued not being tarred-and-feathered, he kept that opinion to himself.

He was writing, actually, a long letter to a friend back on the continent whom he hadn't seen in years. He hoped Johannes was still alive at this point to even receive it.

And Ganymede might have stayed peacefully alone, if he hadn't been at the table with the only empty seat in the place.

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Ganymede | Benjamin Prince

July 2017

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