America's Favorite Fighting Frenchman

1776- Paris, France (Oceane)

Oceane, the youngest daughter of Monsieur Louis de Dupont, was the most elegant of them all. Her beauty was known for miles around, as she always wore expensive silk dresses, with matching gloves and shoes. Her hair was always suited to match the environment of wherever she would be going. She had shoulder-length red hair, with eyes as green as a traffic light, pale skin, and brown freckles scattering her skin like how stars speckle the black night. Currently, she was at her father's side, listening to his conversation as he told his wife about the United States declaring war on the United Kingdom. "But, father," she protested, standing up, her sewing falling off her lap, landing in a heap of a mess on the floor below her. "Marquis de Lafayette has just gone there to help out!"

"Yes, he has," Louis replied. "And what about it, Oceane?" he asked. That was one thing he was known for- patience, and the ability to knock down drinks faster than anyone in France, and still be sober enough to walk in a straight line. He had pale blonde hair, with the same eyes as his eldest daughter, the same freckles and pale skin she had.

"Well," she began, then hesitantly paused. "Well, I thought we were to wed," she said. "I remember you and mother saying something along that, right?"

"Oceane, please," her mother, Mèlaine, said. "That was before this war. This war is so dangerous, that we can't keep that promise. We will have to find someone else for you to wed," she said.

"But, but!" she stuttered desperately, as memories of her lover came flooding into her mind. "But, Daddy! Oh, please! I, I love him!"

"I'm sorry, my hands are tied," Louis said, with his tone of voice sharp, meaning that the conversation was not to be continued. Frustrated, Oceane stormed out of the family room, to the balcony, as memories of her and Marquis replayed.

Louis held a ball, and Oceane was in her room, pinning on a flower to her dress, when she heard a deep, confused voice mutter in the hallway. Perplexed, she cautiously opened her door, gasping at the man she saw. "Bonjour?" she cautiously asked, backing up, afraid of the intruder.

"Ah! Pardon me, miss, I did not mean to frighten you. My name is Marquis de Lafayette, and I'm looking for a Monsieur Louis de Dupont," he said, bowing politely to her. She smiled.

"I should've known it was you. Pleased to meet you," she curtsied. "I'm Oceane de Dupont," she smiled.

"You are his daughter!" Marquis exclaimed. "I can see the beauty in your eyes," he kissed her ungloved hand softly.

She giggled, blushing. "I am," she smiled, before pausing as she heard someone ascend the steps. "Quick!" she pulled him into her room, throwing him into the closet, slamming the door shut. Her hair disheveled, she turned to greet whoever was surely at her door now.

"Oceane? You alright?" Mèlaine asked.

"Oui, just getting ready, still!" she called back, waiting until her mother's heels clicked down the stairs before letting Marquis out. "That was close."

"You're telling me," he said, smiling at her. Once she looked into his eyes, she knew it was over. She had fallen head over heels for this man she had just met. "Yo," she thought. "This one's mine."

Snapping back to reality, she sighed as she looked around. Why did men have to fight? Why couldn't countries stay out of war? Frustrated, she grabbed a stone, and throwing it as hard as she could, threw it into the abyss, imagining it was her anger. "Stupid war ruins everything!" she grumbled, before admitting defeat, and trudging back into the house, the glass panes in the doors rattling as they slammed shut behind her.