The Crimson Rose

ASSASSIN'S CREED

By: Chi~

Disclaimer: Don't own anything guys. I sort of suck at everything, sooo…

A/N: So, yeah, nothing much to say! Just glad people have been reading and well…damn, I have a lot of editing to do. :grumbles: Sometimes, I just really suck at making sentences and the flow and just - :growls: Ah, well, if people are reading, everything is worth it. Also, I noticed that the heading in the last chapter wasn't messed up. Perhaps the same will happen to this chapter as well, since it's once again showing a different alignment. :grumbles: This site is seriously eff-ing up. It's irking me and at the moment, I don't have much patience. But, anyways...

As you can see, I changed both the rating and the summary because...well, there's nothing totally 'M' rated going on at the time, and the language isn't frequent. Plus, the last summary was too vague and seemed, "What the hell is that? 'm not readin' it :moves on:" So, yeah, it's all changed. Hopefully it was a change for the better...?

Continue on, my friends.

Read in ½ for ultimate action depth.


Chapter II

The Rain of Blood


No matter how many times he forced back millions of thoughts out of his head as he rode, trying his utmost hardest to have a calm little journey to Acre without the disturbance of his slightly angsty mood, his mind kept bombarding him with one thing. Or, more like, one scent.

It had been an interesting scent, really. It was soft, painfully feminine, gentle and was almost inviting. In fact, he honestly wouldn't mind smelling such a scent again. Perhaps he had left his room too early; the scent seemed so far away.

He wondered if it was some perfume the woman had worn, or if it was just her natural scent. Either way, he didn't think he really minded. He didn't have much of a preference for womanly perfume, but he knew he liked this particular smell. It was calming, as if the woman hadn't meant harm even though she had been armed. Hell, once he thought about it, the woman was probably just a merciful lady since she had apologized for trespassing.

Though, Malik and he knew. No one could be trusted. Not even this woman who seemed gentle. He could never be sure; she could be the devil's spawn, for all he knew.

'Course, when he found her, that was what he had to decide. (Or, more like his Vision had to decide.) An ally, or a foe.

He was quite curious though, to tell the truth. Not only had this woman sneaked past him a first time, but a second time after he had left his room to investigate. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't already realize that most likely he had passed the woman on his way down the tower of his barracks, oblivious to her very existence. (But, he knew better, of course.) Thatwas interesting to him.

Altair never missed anything. Yes, he was somewhat unstable from his nostalgia, but still – his senses were always sharp.

She had sneaked past him perfectly.

Intriguing, he had mused. Those were practically skills of an assassin.


The first night he travels, he dreams. Which is rare.

- -

He was running.

The wind whipped around him as he left others on the sides of his path to endure his dust. He had to catch up, he thought to himself as his heart flipped with slight excitement. This target was quite persistent and almost a challenge. An interesting challenge. He had been chasing after this person for almost an hour - maybe even two - it seemed.

Her hair was a dark red, seemingly untouched by the scorching sun's rays. In fact, parts of her hair almost seemed black. Her mane didn't seem somewhat coarse and curly like most middle eastern women, so he could already mark her as foreigner blood.

Before he could think anymore, he noticed her take an almost impossible sharp turn into a sudden break between two buildings, vanishing into the darkness between. He followed immediately, recognizing the very alley-way itself.

He fought back a smirk; it was a dead end.

When he actually caught up with her, it was at the very dead end itself. And she was waiting for him with an expectant look on her surprisingly...

...beautiful face...

Covered in blood. As the rest of her body. Dripping from her loose yet form-fitting clothes.

Her blue eyes glowed vibrantly against the red.

Before he could do anything further than just stand there and stare, her hand grasps something on her hip. It takes him a millisecond to recognize it as a dagger. And then he was paralyzed, stuck and unable to move in case she considered throwing her weapon - which he was sure she would do.

Once again, before he could form yet another single thought or reaction, her hand raises the knief and swiftly throws -

- And then he is on his back, on solid ground in a mist of darkness. And she was there, much to his confusion.

To add to his confusion when he observed more of their current situation, he noticed they were both naked, she was on top of him, and he was inside of her. Deep inside.

And the tip of her dagger caressed his cheek gently, hardly seductive. He bit back a gasp and made himself seem unfazed. Even though he was inside her, synchronized completely.

Suddenly, his hand raises as she continues to caress his face with her dagger, staring at him with those glowing blue eyes, body still covered in blood.

Strangely, he wasn't covered in blood. But when he looked in his hand that was slowing rising to the side of her face, he noticed a feather with the tip caked with blood. Dripping and vibrantly red as if he had ran it across a recently bleeding neck.

He seems to do the same as her with the feather - caressing it against her cheek.

She smiles soon, ceasing the caressing with her knife and leans back, slightly arching with him from the movement since they were joined. But she didn't seem lustful, or drowning in ecstasy, and neither was he. He only stared, and didn't let go of the bloodied feather.

Suddenly, she smiles, raising her left arm and showing a marking in black on her wrist. He identified it immediately. The Templar outlaw.

Bloody tears began to slide down her already bloodied cheeks as her smile became strained. Her hair, long enough to brush against her elbow, moved to her side and dripped beside their bodies as she cocked her head to the side almost questioningly -

- -

But that was the end of it, since he had abruptly awoke with a sweaty brow and tight undergarmets. But the faint, soft, womanly voice in the back of his mind echoed at that moment,

"Eagle."


He had to admit; she had been beautiful. Not only that, but her bloodied state continued to spam his mind so much that he had to over-work Fatin again just so he wouldn't have such a dream again. Riding would clear his mind. He wanted to get to Acre as soon as possible, because her hair, her eyes, her face, the blood on her skin, her petite form, and him buried deep inside her -

He snapped himself out of his thoughts the moment he began to think about that part of the dream.

Thatpart had been quite confusing and he almost felt violated, even though he had been the one inside of her. He didn't understand it all; it made no sense and he didn't even know if he even wanted to know so it wouldmake sense. It had been so vague, yet so vivid that he could almost feel -

Get your head out of the skirts; Altair quickly stopped himself from getting too into the musing on his dream. It was no time to think perverse thoughts; he had a mission. Plus, he didn't even know what this woman looked like. There was still a large chance that this outlaw just might be ugly.

But, still, he wondered, why had he dreamt about her? And, not only that, but why had he dreamt her covered in blood and with such a strikingly beautiful face? Surely he didn't expect...

No, that was absolutely out of the question and Altair would absolutely have none of it. So what if he was depressed. So what if he was lonely. He was better than this! Never once had he had fantasies, at least not for women he didn't even know. This was ridiculous. His mind was in deeper turmoil than he thought.

Perhaps his mind had fabricated such from the her smell of jasmine. After all, that was the only thing real about her. The rest of her was a mystery. Perhaps it was the fact that she was a mystery and could actually knock two Brotherhood guards and get past him without him noticing is what made him fantasize about her abilities.

Which ever it was, though, and Altair wouldn't contemplate on it any longer, he didn't know until he met her and her weapons - face to face.


He reaches Acre late in the night. He was serious about not having that dream again. At least, not on the rode.

But almost in the time frame of a blink of an eye, he finds himself horseless and dropping into the Acre Assassin's Bureau, effortlessly landing on is feet. Then, he is bombarded with the absolute need to lie down. Which he doesn't do, at first. He had the task of notifying the rafiq that he had arrived.

That didn't stop his eyes from staring at the many comfortable looking carpets longingly as he strides into the adjoining room, reluctantly, where the old rafiq was currently analyzing a map of Acre itself.

Without a second passing, exhausted topaz met deep, dark brown.

"Altair, you have arrived," the rafiq enthusiastically greeted. The old man smiled brightly, even though it was basically covered by his long, find beard.

"Safety and peace, my brother," Altair flashed a tired smile as he held out his arm in greeting. Once the rafiq had grasped said forearm and he clasped the rafiq's same forearm, they squeezed each other respectfully before letting go, arms falling to their sides lifelessly.

"You are a day early and exhausted," the rafiq said matter-of-factly, shaking his head in slight disapproval over amusement. "Have you not learned the lesson of patience?"

"No," but Altair gave a lopsided smile, equally amused. "But I have now."

The old rafiq barked in gently laughter. "Enjoy your lesson, young one." He shook his head again, smiling. "May your rest be comfortable and fit tonight."

Altair let out a minor chuckle, nodding. "To you, too."

The rafiqwaved him off, putting his concentration back on the map in front of him, watching Altair through the corner of his eye as the assassin almost immediately collapsed in a heap onto of the cusions the moment he walked out. Putting his mind back on the task at hand, he lightly chuckled to himself as Altair let out an almost inaudible sigh of content.

Though, the moon was still dark in the sky but the night was young...

It was impossible not to dream.

- -

He is watching her climb up the side of a watch tower, just as effortless as he could. She was like a spider, hardly seeming to struggle up the wall and climbing with perfect sync with her limbs. He watched with interest, intrigued that this mysterious woman had skill that was even better than Maria's.

Quite intriguing indeed.

Shimmering blue eyes, sparkling in the afternoon sun, clashed down to his and he watched her falter a little in her climbing. Her eyes dilated when his gold gaze met hers. Not a second later, her climbing commenced again, this time faster than before. It seemed she noticed how close he was and that he was watching, preparing to climb after her and -

He felt himself smirk before he sprung forward, like a beast after it's pray, with his usual swiftness; fast and effortless. Climbing after her just as he knew he would. He just needed to keep a good eye on her if she slipped and still catch her even if she reached the top and attempted to jump -

And then their surroundings shifted and merged together, making him disoriented and slightly confused...or slightly moreconfused then he already was. He refrained himself from asking, "What is happening now?"

He began to float, no longer on the side of the watch tower and climbing. He floated in the collage of colors, blinking in his helpless confusion.

Seconds that had felt like hours later, his feet touch some solid ground as the colors suddenly dulled and turned pitch black; eternal darkness.

He looked around, slightly surprised, eyes flickering here and there before his head suddenly snapped up, setting his eyes on a figure that was coming closer from a distance.

She was walking towards him, he concluded, from the red and black locks that seemed to bounce at her swaying hips. When he noticed the rest of her appearance, he felt his saliva clog in his throat, choking him momentarily.

She was dressed in rough shalwers (much like his own) that slightly rumpled under her knees from being stuffed in the rough leather boots she was wearing. (His eyes almost grew wide when he noticed throwing knives were attached to her boots - ones just like his.). Covering the shalwers from the hip to above the knee was a pure white skirt. On her waist, she wore belts that had familiar pouches and on either hip rests familiar daggers. Her torso was dressed in a white tunic, slightly big in size to hide her breasts a bit more. (He knew for a fact that her breasts were probably binded tight.)

Most of her face was covered, except for her jaw and delicate-looking mouth, from the robes she wore with the hood up.

What struck him the worse was when he noticed the beautiful silver bracer on her right forearm and the blood red sash tied securely around her thin but curvy waist. She was an assassin. The very same redhead he was meant to track down and pursue.

He knew from the tattoo on her left wrist.

With his feet planted on the black ground, he watched as she stalked toward him, a walk of a panther. His walk. Except, she was more graceful. Somewhat less deadly. But still, he knew when a walk promised death. After all, he did the same.

He watched as her delicate chin came closer and closer until finally, she was right in front of him, staring at him even though he couldn't see her eyes. Her robes billowing around her. He blinked, mind blank; there was no wind.

When his eyes opened again, her hood was off and her deep ocean depths were staring into his, hard and almost intimidating, which he didn't care. No one could hold his gaze long; his eyes were of a different world. An animal. A basilisk.

But they stared at each other for what seemed like hours. This didn't surprise him either. Not much, at least. This was longer than even Maria could manage.

Suddenly, something touched his face in bold strides, making him flinch out of surprise. She cooed at him, soft and gentle. He realized she was stroking him with a pure white feather.

"Eagle," she murmured, staring into his eyes again. He blinked. And then his arm reached out, a feather in his hand again, like in the last dream.

He moved the tip of the feather along the curve of her delicate, beautiful face. Over the drop of her eye, the small bump of her cheekbone, the hollow of her cheek, and stopped at the corner of her mouth, staring into her eyes during the whole time. And she smiled, eyes softening and warming at the same time.

His heart jumped a little, and felt a name bubble in the back of his throat.

She got a questioning look on her face, a ridiculously cute look, as he began to open his mouth to say -

- -

But the soft dawn awakens him, forcing him to come back to the world and end his rest for the night.

He groans, murmuring to himself that he hoped the dreams would stop because he was too confused for comfort.

Shaking his head and rising up to his feet groggily, he stretches up his arms and loosens the kinks in his shoulders with a audible crack. He heard a familiar chuckle behind him.

"It seems you are awake, Altair."

"Yes," the young assassin answered back, slightly smirking to himself as he patted his body, checking his weapons out of habit. "I take it is six o'clock."

"You are right," the rafiq answered. Altair turned and stalked into the room, meeting the slightly tired gaze of brown. "Rough night?"

"I suppose. I don't feel too rested." The assassin pushed the vague memories of his recent dream away; it had no relevancy.

The old man slowly nodded in understanding. This made Altair blink at him.

"What?" Altair asked.

"It's just, you were tossing and turning, murmuring to yourself about some princess - "

"Princess?" Altair was immediately bewildered and...embarrassed, immensely. "Princess?"

The rafiq threw his hands up slowly, shaking his head, pleading innocence. "I heard "Suri - Suri" as you slept. I am only telling you what I heard."

"And I appreciate your honest information," Altair quickly cut in, seeming apologetic. Then, not a second later after the rafiq nodded in acceptance, he asked, "then, I was speaking Hebrew?"

"Yes," the old man answered, nodding his head. "Though, only that name. The rest that you spoke was in Arabic."

"I see," Altair muttered, more to himself than to the elder in front of him. Murmuring Hebrew in his sleep...

"It is nothing, my friend," Altair assured after momentary deep thought. "I seem to be having some...sleeping issues."

"If you say so," the rafiq shrugged, but took the assassin's word on it. Altair always had a leveled head. He told no lies...most of the time. That in mind, he had to accept what the assassin said. "I will question no further."

"Thank you," Altair answered with a thankful smile that only lasted a split moment before his lips dropped to its usual neutral thin line. "I will eat and then be on my way."

The rafiq smiled as Altair turned away, walking toward a different doorway where a room like a kitchen was. "Safety and peace, young one."

Altair gave a stiff nod before disappearing from his sight.


He decided to scout the outskirts of the Templar strong hold. If he didn't find her, then he decided to head over to the poor district. If she wasn't there either, he would check both the rich and middle districts. The docks were a last resort (since he had yet to learn how to swim). If all else fails, well, he would have to discuss thatwith Malik. But he didn't think about that for long. He began to devise a plan on how to capture this woman - when he finally found her - without causing an uproar within the dull but busy society.

Most likely, this woman would run. Actually, that was a definite fact that she would run no matter what. With that in mind, he realized that devising an actual plan in catching her was probably just wasting his time. It was simple; he would chase her. And then, he would adapt.

He was an adaptable man, after all.

So, the search began.

For hours, he wondered the streets, checking both in front of himself and the corners of his eyes for any flash of red, blue, or metal. He had heard, seen, and even smelt nothing of the woman. He had been scouting the outskirts of the Templar stronghold long enough, and guards were beginning to become suspicious. That irked him.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, signaling that it was either noon or a little past noon, and that irked him even more. It was hot, he had been walking and staying alert for hours, and guards were soon going to be all over his ass. Where the hell was this woman? Hell, it almost seemed like she didn't even exist and that she was some fabricated person by Malik and others just so he wouldn't be moping in his room all week until his birthday had passed.

If it hadn't been for the smell of jasmine in his room, he would have considered such a thing long before. But smells do not lie...unless, that's what they wanted him to think.

Oh, please, he thought to himself, almost rolling his eyes. Don't kid yourself. No assassin would ever lay a hand on perfume, muchless spray it all over your room. He scowled. The thought was just peposturous. And absolutely immature.

He glared under his hood, moving along with the boring crowd of Acre as he continued to search for a woman whom was slowly beginning to seem fabricated. He swore, after walking a little bit more, to God or Gods that he would brutally torture those who tricked him, if this woman was actually some made-up plan to get him out of the fortress for the week.

Finally, after scowling and setting off a very vile aura around himself, he turned into a random alley-way, figuring he might as well scale the roof-tops before he jumped to conclusions. And then he stepped in something the moment he was enveloped by darkness.

Raising a brow, he stepped back, back into the light, staring down at the ground to find out what he had stepped in. He turned over his foot, looked at the bottom of his boot and blinked once again.

Blood, he stated in his mind, instantly sharpening his senses and switching to 'high alert'.

Someone was either injured and escaped to this alley in hopes of confusing their pursuer. Probably someone innocent. Or, perhaps, there was a fight happening in that very alley.

With the latter possibility in mind, he took a step back into the alley, engolfed in darkness again, and listened carefully, seperating the bustling city behind him and concentrating on the sounds within the alley.

At first, he didn't hear anything.

And then he heard a woman talking. He didn't understand what she was saying, since she was speaking in another language, but he still recognized the dialect and distinguished that it was the very primary Templar language.

German, he thought, eyes narrowing. The woman. I have found her...

The mission had begun.


"Ich frage noch einmal..."

Her voice was getting louder; closer. Straining his hearing a little, he tried to recognize any other voices than hers, anything that could tell him what she was doing and who was she doing it to.

"Wo..." She trailed yet again, right when he suddenly heard a familiar crack; a bone breaking. Not a moment later, a pained yell was shouted to the heavens. And not a moment after that was it cut off by yet another familiar sound of flesh meeting flesh.

"Erbarme dich!" The voice of the pained yell wailed, in pure agony. It almost made even Altair cringe, if he hadn't been so used to hearing such things.

"Nein! Sag mir, wo meine Sohn ist!" She yelled. He crept closer, almost feeling the her anger in the very atmosphere. As he crept more, crouching on his knees to insure stealth, he heard an her impatiently exhale before he heard yet another bone break with a sudden snap!

She was torturing the Templar, apparently. He couldn't help but wonder why.

The scream was cut short again, this time blade meeting flesh - from what he could hear. Agonized groans smacked him in the face when he finally found some sunlight. She was finally in plain view.

He stepped back, straightened, and flattened himself to the wall, making sure he was hidden perfectly in the shadows. And he looked at her again.

She was just as beautiful as she was in his dreams. Except, up close, she was more severe and raw; a reality. Her hair was darker and yet still vibrant and lively in the sun. Her eyes were brighter, cerulean blue. But they were buzzing and deep with death.

Blood was all around her, as well as bodies. Crimson smears were on her simple dark blue tunic and beige shalwers and long-sleeved kameez and her boots were coated with gore.

In his eyes, she was a woman of beauty. A woman of death.

He watched as her jaw clenched and her beautiful face screw up a little in frustration. Her tan skin glowed a lighter tone, making her seem pale in a way. All she needed were wings.

Her small, seemingly soft but bloody hand grasped the battered and broken templar's jaw - whom was still groaning in pain and bowing to her at her feet. Through clenched teeth, she bit out in foreign tongue, "Keine Antwort?"

The templar shook his head in her grasp, his chainmail making an obnoxious noice from the movement. His bright green eyes swam with tears, begging for mercy. "Ich weiß nicht wo er ist, Verräter!"

She snatched her hand back as if his distraught and beaten face burned her very palm. Her same hand clenched, knuckles cracking and bleeding. Her other hand reached for the dagger strapped to the belt she was wearing loosely around her waist. Her eyes never met the crying templar's.

"Sehr gut..." She began, slowly unsheathing her slightly-curved dagger, decorated with beautiful designs on the blade, out of its sheath on her tip. "Ich bedaure es zu sagen, aber ich werde dich töten..." She continued, examining her blade for just a moment before shooting a somewhat pitying look towards the now sobbing templar with his head bowed at her mercy.

"Und..." she started, but stopped as she walked slowly behind the templar, putting one hand on the side of his bloodied head and the other - with the dagger - across his shoulder, her blade touching the sobbing man's neck. She leaned into his ear more, whispered something so softly that Altair almost had to strain his ears to hear.

But he heard. Loud and clear.

"Ich bin nicht der Verräter. Meine Mann ist..." She stopped short, eyes looking up towards the sky, bright blue in the sunshine. He saw the side of her luscious mouth twitch, turning up in a momentary smirk before dropping as she hissed, "Wer ist tot."

She let out a small hum, as if she were thinking enthusiastically, before her arm suddenly slid across his collar-bone at lightening speed. Blood sprayed and splattered on the ground and around her, coating both some of her face and ground before the now dead templar. She was somewhat drenched in more blood, but it seemed as though she didn't care.

Altair's golden gaze analyzed the whole dead-end, seeing the bodies and blood and one woman who looked youthful and beautiful enough to be a blooming girl.

"Schlaf im Himmel, mein Engel,"she said softly, her dagger clenched in her hand roughly as the last templar's blood dripped to the ground beside her. He watched as she bit her lip, staring at the whole scene in front of her and staring at her hands. It was as if she was surprised she could actually cause such destruction and perform such a slaughter...

He was sure she was used to her hands being bloody, since she just stared at them with no real emotion. She knew her abilities. She knew how to kill, swift and quick - almost professional perhaps - and yet...she could make the blood rain.

Interesting. She was more brutal than him, obviously, when it came to killing. 'Course, he was suppose to kill. Her...well, she wasn't. He was sure of that.

He looked her over, trying to see if she was injured in anyway, until he noticed something strange. This woman was shorter than the woman in his dreams. They looked exactly the same, but she was shorter. He estimated that she could probably reach up to his mid-chest.

"Rest in peace," her soft Arabic snapped him out of his rememberance of his dreams, making his eyes snapped up to her face. She was staring down at the floor - or maybe her boots, he couldn't tell - as she sheathed her bloody dagger back to her hip, patting it out of habit, probably.

God, he had to admit. She was more beautiful in reality.

But that didn't matter. With what he's seen, she's obviously against the Templars as much as he was.

Was she trustworthy? An ally?

Probably, deep - deep - in his soul, he hoped she would show blue when he used his Vision, but he didn't notice as he closed his eyes. He had to make sure. He had to prepare for the truth. The Sight was the truth.

When his eyes opened again, she was still standing in her current spot, but the world was dark and gray. The bodies no far from him showed nothing, for they were dead. And she glowed a bright, strong blue.

An ally.

Which very well meant he was in for a chase. 'Course, either way, even if she hadn't been an ally, he would still need to give chase.

This woman definitely had that strong independence. Just like another blue-eyed woman he knew.

He closed his eyes, ignored the shot of pain that cut through his skull as his Vision was cut off, making his jaw clench. But he still opened them, to see what she was doing since she was so...quiet.

He almost blanched, but he didn't. He knew the possibility that she had already heard him when had gotten closer at the very beginning. But it still made his heart flip in his chest with momentary surprise when his eyes opened and she was staring right at him, as if she could see him in the shadows.

And she was smirking. Devilishly.

"Assassin," she hissed with venom, but her big blue eyes were strangely amused. "Did you enjoy watching that?"

His brow quirked, but he stepped out of the darkness, none the less. He couldn't help but smirk when she slightly faltered at his tall size. Yes, still, she was amused.

Oh, yes, very prideful indeed, Altair thought as her smirk became wider. But seems smart enough to determine the outcome of this 'dillema'.

"As a matter of fact Idid." He said, gesturing to the slaughtered Templars, dead in their own organs and blood. Broken. Battered. Destroyed. "You, my sweet," - he almost smiled at himself - "made the rain fall." He gesture toward the blood with a small nod with his head, but didn't move a muscle; analyzing her thoroughly

She began to smile the moment he recognized the scent that was suddenly pounding into his sense besides the blood, gore, and sweat.

Jasmine was what he smelt.


Omake

Finally, after scowling and setting off a very vile aura around himself, he turned into a random alley-way, figuring he might as well scale the roof-tops before he jumped to conclusions. And then he stepped in something the moment he was enveloped by darkness.

Raising a brow, he stepped back, back into the light, staring down at the ground to find out what he had stepped in. He turned over his foot, looked at the bottom of his boot and blinked once again.

Oh...

He swallowed before he looked away and bit out, "Ohh, that is disgusting!"

Suddenly, he heard a sudden intake of breath and looked behind himself - only to regret doing so. "ASSASSIN!"

"Fuck!"


German Translation:

"Ich frage noch einmal..." - "I ask again..."

"Wo..." - "Where..."

"Erbarme dich!" - "Have mercy!"

"Nein! Sag mir, wo meine Sohn ist!" - "No! Tell me where my son is!"

"Keine Antwort?" - "No answer?"

"Ich weiß nicht wo er ist, Verräter!" - "I don't know where he is, traitor!"

"Sehr gut..." - "Very well..."

"Ich bedaure es zu sagen, aber ich werde dich töten..." - "I regret to say, but I will kill you..."

"Und..." - "And..."

"Ich bin nicht der Verräter. Meine Mann ist..." - "I am not the traitor. My husband is..."

"Wer ist tot." - "Who is dead."

"Schlaf im Himmel, mein Engel." - "Sleep in heaven, my angel."

- -

:clears throat: Anyways, yeah...this sure was weird writing this while listening to "Never Gonna Give You Up!" In fact, it's sort of creepy. But nonetheless, it helped. Lol.

Altair's Dreams: He's been having some whacky dreams, hasn't he? Weirdness!

The Blood Lady: Yeah, she reallywants her son, apparently. Lol. She's messy at a kill too! Such a distraught redhead! Though, she seems to be a girl who knows that she is basically damning her soul to hell, so she obviously still has some sanity. That, or she's slowly losing her sanity and is beginning to not give a shit. But, as time progresses, the answer to that will come.

Altair's Crushing: Oh please, he wouldn't fall for a woman just because she's skilled and beautiful! This man is a hard person to get close to. Either he lets you in or he keeps you to the curb and makes you stay there. It would have to take a lot for Altair to actually fall for her. He's just admitting that, yeah, she's super hot. :shrugs: What's a man to say more?

The German: I've taken German class myself and, obviously I'm no expert, but I remember certain things. Like, when she was talking in singular, about herself, I changed the 'Mein' from the stupid Google Translator and changed it to "Meine" because she's a woman. There's other stuff too that should be changed, but I can't pin-point them since I'm obviously an amature. If anyone can point out the problems so I can fix them, it is deeply appreciated.

Suri: It's quite obvious, but I'm still not going to fucking spill it! Keep reading, yeah?

Omake: Haha.

Mistakes: If there are any mistakes at all, please ignore them the best you can. I'll get to them as soon as I can, since I read over these chapters a whole bunch and still miss errors. (Gosh, I really suck that editing! :grumpy:)

Okay! Well, this is long. Hopefully it was enjoyable. I'm getting more fans and hits, so I'm getting excited.

Chapter III will be up some time in later-February, since I got this chapter out earlier than I though I would. Which I feel very proud of myself to getting it out so early. :smiles: So, anyways, why don't you tell me how this chapter was by clicking that beautiful green button right under this sentence, eh? Yeah, there yea' go - I see that mouse hovering over it. It's yelling 'Click me! Click me!!" :winks: Later.

EDITED: February 1, 2010 - Both the German statements and embarrassing spelling/grammar mistakes. Thank you SO MUCH, "German Guy" and "Nuit" for the German help. It looks prettier! :smiles largely: Yesh!