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Language:
English
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Published:
2018-02-26
Updated:
2018-03-30
Words:
22,803
Chapters:
10/?
Comments:
60
Kudos:
81
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The (Mis)Adventures of the Philadelphia LGBT Club

Summary:

A 1776 modern au. Friends will be made. Fun will be had. John Adams will not sit down.

Notes:

Welcome to the culmination of my all-encompassing obsession with 1776. Comments are highly appreciated. Please.

(I plan to update twice a week, on Sunday and Wednesday evenings. If I'm late, please forgive me.)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

   The pamphlet had been pinned to the bulletin board outside his office for a while, and somehow Lyman had failed to notice it for months, until the colored ink had faded and the corners curled in on themselves. He’d noticed it entirely on accident, as he attempted to return a memo pertaining to flu vaccinations that had torn off and fallen to the ground to the board, his hand brushing against the aged pamphlet that had finally caught his eye. What had actually caught his eye, in particular, was the gaudy, overly saturated comic sans, in what looked like could have been magenta when it was originally printed. Flu vaccinations forgotten, he pulled the pamphlet down off the board, tearing it where it had been pinned, though he doubted anyone would miss it.

   Lyman was far from a graphic designer, but he could tell that whoever had designed this pamphlet wasn’t either. His eyes scanned the aged paper and slowly pieced together the pamphlet’s intended purpose. An LGBT club, here in Philadelphia, and judging from the address on the back, less than fifteen minutes from the hospital where Lyman worked. Inside a church, it seemed. A cringing smile appeared on his face despite himself. He blinked, momentarily lost in thought, before crumpling the paper in his hand and returning to his office. Somehow, perhaps subconsciously, when he had intended to simply dispose of the paper in a nearby waste bin, he shoved it into the pocket of his lab coat. Collapsing ungracefully into his chair, the sudden force causing it to roll back a bit, he stared up at the bright fluorescent lights embedded in the ceiling. Though he’d worked as a doctor for decades now, the cold air and smell of saline still put him slightly on edge, and he fiddled uncomfortably with his tie. He blinked. Every single day had been like this, boring, tiresome, and repetitive since he’d moved to the city over three months ago. His coworkers were cordial to him, of course, but he hadn’t had an actual conversation with someone in months. He was never really the type to feel lonely, but as the weeks wore on he couldn’t help but feel like some kind of human connection was missing from his life. His face settled into his regular scowl as he pondered his lack of friends. He’d moved to Philadelphia for work and had nothing back in Georgia to look back on. Work, it seemed, was all he had. He’d picked up various hobbies over the years, but had quickly dropped them, and nearly gave up on any sort of social interaction at all. He didn’t mind it entirely, but the gut-wrenching pain of coming home to his empty, cold apartment day after day, gradually began to wear on his mental state, to the point he looked for excuses to work late into the night. He rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, half considering taking a nap on his desk. He’d felt cripplingly tired as of late, no doubt due to his inability to fall asleep, instead, lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and silently lamenting on how no one would miss him if he were to meet… unfortunate circumstances.

Perhaps he should get a cat.

 

    Letting his hands rest in his pockets, he absentmindedly fingered the crumpled paper in his pocket. Part of him knew his anti-social shut-in behavior was unhealthy, but that part didn’t always win out over the existential dread he felt at the thought of needing to make small talk with strangers. Still, he pulled the crumpled pamphlet out of his pocket, and with a sort of nausea, looked it over again. He needed friends. With a sigh that gradually turned into a groan, he rested his head on his desk, with a resolution to attend the next meeting.

    Meanwhile, a few blocks south in a small, stuffy courtroom, two men were bickering back and forth, to the point that it seemed to nearby onlookers that they would soon resort to physical violence. It was a small case, petty theft, with a sentence of only a meager fine. Still, to the two lawyers, it seemed like a life or death issue. The judge, jury and small audience all seemed incredibly beleaguered by the lawyers’ antics and were repeatedly checking their watches. The taller of the two lawyers, dressed in an expertly tailored green suit and a near-visible air of conceitedness spat something especially heinous, causing the other lawyer to gasp, bare his teeth and march determinedly up to his opponent, hands balled into fists. As he opened his mouth to speak, the loud bangs of the judge’s gavel rang out through the small courtroom, perhaps to prevent any physical violence.

“Mr. Dickinson! I would prefer it if you did not bring Mr. Adams’ sex life into question in my courtroom, seeing as it has nothing to do with this case!” The judge called out, earning a smug smirk from Mr. Dickinson, clearly pointed at Mr. Adams.

“I apologize, sir,” He said with a tone that indicated he was not sorry in the least, “I will return to using Mr. Adams’ own poor arguments against him, rather than these ad hominem attacks.” Mr. Adams muttered something under his breath but returned to his stand. The judge sighed and half-heartedly called for a recess.

People meandered slowly out of the courtroom until only the two lawyers remained, and Dickinson strutted up to where Adams sat, shuffling through papers, thick-rimmed glasses removed from their case and perched on the bridge of his nose, with an absurdly confident air. Dickinson opened his mouth, no doubt to make a particularly cutting statement when Adams cut him off.

“You’re a disgrace to the law, Dickinson.” Dickinson smirked at that.

“You pain me, John. And here I thought we were friends.” Adams snorted, slapping his papers down on the table and removing his glasses with a flourish.

“We are not friends, Dickinson. We are acquaintances, at most.”

Dickinson gave a gasp of mock offense. “You and Thomas had me over for dinner just a week ago!”

“And!” Adams shot up from his seat, “You drank all my wine and yelled at me about housekeeping for hours! We are not friends.”

Dickinson gave a disgruntled ‘hmph’ his nose pointed in the air. “Not my fault you’re so…” He trailed off for a moment, only angering Adams further, “Unrefined.”

“Prick.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I think you might be the source of all those gay stereotypes, John.”

“Is that necessarily a bad thing?”

Adams gave a shrug and returned his glasses to his face. “I’m guessing I will see you tomorrow night?”

Dickinson nodded. “Of course.”

“Ugh.”

“Fuck off, John.”

“And I’m guessing Rutledge will be there as well? He didn’t come last week, or the week before that now that I think of it.”

Dickinson had taken a particular interest in his fingernails, inspecting them rigorously for any dirt that he imagined could be there. “Yes, he will.”

“Uggghh.”

“Fuck off, John,” Dickinson repeated.

“The both of you are terrible on your own, but together you’re insufferable!”

Dickinson smiled, an actual, warm smile this time.

“I wish you two had never become friends,” Adams continued, “It’s been nothing but a hindrance on my life. I could swear, it’s like you’re married to him.”

Dickinson’s warm smile faltered and was replaced with a look of disgust.

“Disgusting.”

Adams laughed, shoving his paperwork haphazardly into his suitcase. “Goodbye John.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye, John,” Dickinson echoed.