"There cannot be a happy ending to the fight between the raging gods and humans. However, even in the middle of hatred and killings, there are things worth living for. A wonderful meeting or a beautiful thing can exist. We depict hatred, but it is to depict that there are more important things. We depict a curse, to depict the joy of liberation. What we should depict is how the boy understands the girl, and the process in which the girl opens her heart to the boy. At the end, the girl will say to the boy, "I love you, Ashitaka. But I cannot forgive humans." Smiling, the boy should say, "That is fine. Live with me."

-Hayao Miyazaki (finalized ideas for Princess Mononoke)


Night still reigned and the Davenport manor was quiet apart from the crickets and owls sounding on the stray winds. Connor had his cousin dispatched to Myriam, who was fully awake upon their return, aware that her roommate vanished to their aid. Alice woke up in time to wearily get inside her wooden cabin and waved off to her friends. Myriam shook her head at her friend's recklessness in the day and wished them a good-night and tended to her companion. Now it was just the observer and the assassin left to the veil of darkness. The novice habitually swung her head back, noting the discomfort in her neck-muscle. The taller male stopped her, sensing her dreariness.

"Are you not well, Tsipporah?" Connor caught her by the shoulder. The novice dismissed his aide and walked along a bit faster, but tripped on her own foot. She was caught before her face kissed the ground reluctantly. "I will carry you the rest of the way."

"For fuck's sake—"

"With or without your permission, I said I'd take care of you."

"Whatever," she yawned, not really caring to carry an argument in her languid state. The assassin craned her off the ground and held her in his arms as a mother would for a newborn child. She, of course, did everything in her power to look poker-faced. His woodland scent filled her nostrils as he held her close and her head laid upon his chest. The novice swore that her heart sped a thousand times more just being held like this, but tried to think nothing of it. She was always surrounded by handsome, charming men and felt the same adrenaline in her early childhood days. This was probably another passing infatuation. It must be.

"I've never been to a Native American wedding before…" her eyes felt heavy, "I wonder what you guys do for reception…"

"No alcohol is permitted on marriage grounds, but it does not mean the entirety is bland. If you are permitted to witness the ceremony, then your friend will be able to come as well." Angie coming to a wedding? The only reason she ever comes is for the booze, the men, and the dance floor—not to mention the one night stands. The novice gave a weak chuckle at the thought of Angie just coming for the dancing only, which was clearly impossible. The only issue now is to make her dress, it seems. All of this beckoning of independence consumed the time for her levity. She thought Alice deserved it with all her hard work and time she's used up to support the colonists' cause.

Once the two were inside the manor, Connor placed Tsipporah on her feet with great care. The girl managed to balance herself on her own and went up the stairs at a normal pace. She turned to her door and stopped at the strange noises coming from the inside. The observer staggered for moment before looking into the keyhole to see what was happening and realized, as she turned the knob, that her door was locked. What? Connor came behind her, not liking her struggle to get in one bit.

"What is that noise? Is the door locked?"

"Yeah…" she didn't even bother because she knew what was happening. Unfortunately, Connor did not and pulled out his special wires and knobs to unlock the door. Tsipporah threw her head back in exhaustion and too tired to pay attention to what he was doing until she heard the door click open. Her eyes drastically opened as he almost opened the door. The noise behind it was getting louder and clearer, too—it contained a whole legion of passionate moaning.

"Don't do that!" the girl hissed, shutting the door. Connor frowned.

"I have unlocked the door and now you do not want to get inside?"

"So you're telling me that you can't hear that—"a louder, ecstatic cry sounded through the wooden door, lacing it with whining and disjointed words. The voice was quite familiar as well. The novice didn't bother to check what was happening for she already knew. Her hand combed through her disheveled locks and looked back to her assassin-friend who gave a blank stare at the door.

"That was Angie… she could be hurting!"

"Hurting so good, probably."

"'Hurting so good'? What does that even mean—I see…" he looked back at the in disgust and brushed past his observer to his own room. However, the girl stood dumbfounded, knowing that once Angie gets to humping she won't open the door until morning because she'll snooze after a bump and grind; as she predicted there, quietness. She was fast asleep as every part of her body relaxed after a collective spasm, and then tomorrow she'll brag about how amazing it felt and why her friend hasn't tried it yet. She hasn't, really, and felt no shame. It was one of her innocent quirks: she would only give her unbitten fruits to her true love. It was a foolish notion, but it was pure, wasn't it?

"Whether it's unlocked or not, Connor, I can't just go inside. There's no room on the bed and they both damn well jizzed everywhere." She emphasized everywhere. Connor rubbed the back of his head in thought and came to a reasonable solution.

"Why not sleep in my room for the night?" he proposed.

"Oh no… That's that shit I don't like…" she backed away from him.

"Well, what do propose? I had no intention of any inapt behavior. You had no objections before."

"The hell you mean 'bef—Oh." She recalled the night at the stables and sputtered her lips. Shaking her head, she opened his bedroom door in defeat and he followed suit. His room was very fitting for him, especially since he added some native-flavor. The canopy was still the same as hers, but the sheets were replaced with furs and animal skins in beaded patterns, and the walls carried some contemporary cave-man feeling to it. In short, the novice thought that if Connor should retire from killing, he should be an interior designer. She kicked off her shoes and was crestfallen to see that her feet was riddled with blisters, but huffed in annoyance rather than pain and continued to take off her patriotic coat and weapons. Her top almost came over her head when she remembered that she was not alone in the room.

"Are you looking, tree-hugger?"

"No, I was leaving, but then you—"

"You wanted to see if I matured?" she said sarcastically and Connor slammed the door as he exited the room, taking it as an offense. He would never peep-tom another girl; it was disrespectful, shameful even. Why would he even consider looking upon her bodice without her permission? Wait… Was he really wondering if he would have her permission? Nope. Nope. Nope. Tsipporah searched through his drawers for some pajamas and found an abundance of large sleep-wear. She took one into her hands and the stench of the forest entered her nose. It was heavenly. The novice put it over her head and allowed the clothing to fit against her body, even though it was obscuring it pretty well.

"Hey, dude, I'm finished." She opened the door with Connor waiting behind it. He turned to see her wearing something of his and looked back to her face. She de-braided her hair and it was now loose and full, going in every direction with defined, soft curls—not to mention it grew ten times more than it has the last time he's seen her hair like this.

"What? Go change." She pulled him into the room and it was her turn to wait outside.

"Your hair…" he whispered.

"What? Did you say something?" she pulled on the free-flowing attire. Connor shook his head, noting that it was simply nothing important and he went to change. The novice closed the door behind her and the native-male went to undress. He unbuttoned his suit slowly to avoid clumsy work in the threading and laid his coat and coverage on the canopy bed. He leaned against the bed's post and suddenly withdrew to his thoughts on how today went. He failed to assassinate William Johnson, but managed to thrash his finances and save his village without spilling the man's blood. He smiled at the minimum damage, but remembered something his observer told him before. If she were to leave, he would have to kill all of the Templars. His eyes turned to the door she waited behind. Everything would be right again, wouldn't it? He destroys the Templars and she would return home. He'd save his village and she returns to the future. Somehow the thought of her leaving fashioned a gaping hole in his chest that consumed all of his heart…

"Oh my God, are you done yet? You're going to bed, not a runway show—" she bust the door open, which alarmed Connor to a fighting stance, but relaxed upon seeing that it was none other than the noisy-woman. Her heart climbed up her throat as she gazed at his uncovered torso. His every muscle was toned and defined; every part of him seeped with a luscious male vibe. Tsipporah quickly closed her eyes and turned around, resisting the image of his naked. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she was fully awake and shut the door behind her. Maybe sharing a bed—a room, in fact, was a shitty idea. Her naughty bits were tingling at the thought of it or maybe it was her common sense leaving her body. Most likely both

"You could not wait, could you not?"

"What?" she squealed, "Wait for what?"

"To sleep." Connor's thumb pointed to the bed and he, too, was in his sleepwear. The novice gathered her rational thoughts and ventured back into the room, splaying herself on the beds' contents.

"I guess this is fine…" she moved over so Connor would have more room, "we've done this gig before. Night, hero." She pulled the covers over herself and her assassin, who was now curious of why she suddenly shrieked in his presence. Were his recent activities finally striking fear into her heart? He fixed himself upon his side and shook Tsipporah's shoulder. She hummed to herself before turning to face him, and soon regretted it. His face nearly hovered over hers and his warm breath almost made her eyes flutter, and her full lips to relax, defenseless.

"W…What?" she faked a yawn, disguising her dizziness.

"I was wrong before; about you refusing to grow when you have and for that I am sorry. We will always have to dirty our hands to reach the truth. I did not want to expose you to such danger because you have become a priority as those I care for—my family and my home." Her eyes widened and felt her body become numb at the mention of… his home? When did she become so important to him all of a sudden? Helping him keep his home sure, but to be as important as his home and friends are? Her biggest fear was erupting—she finally became the apple in his eye.

"Connor…" her eyes were veiled with fatigue.

"Tsipporah?" he turned her face to his as her words faded.

"Someone's waiting to love you…" a lyric escaped her lips and the world of dreams took hold of her. Connor's eyes softened at the realization that she was the one who had sung to him that night…


The next morning was bathed in mist. December snow was setting in rapidly as light flakes of ice rained down on Davenport, Homestead. Angie woke with a start, scratching her mesh of milk-blonde curls and cracked her stretched bones. She rolled to the side where another laid, snoring softly. She smiled and fancied the thought of doing something special for the winter season. It was the 20th after all and… Hold the fuck up. It was the 20th of December and nothing spectacular was being set up! Angie shook her blond bed-mate until his eyes fluttered open.

"Fillan, baby, today's the 20th!" she bounced on the bed in all of her naked glory. The Robber's vision was fixed as he saw her toned body saddling him, reminding him of what took place the night before. He rubbed his eyes and smiled devilishly.

"Yeah, so?" he stretched, placing his hands on her hips as he relaxed.

"What do you mean 'so'? It's four days before Christmas, you numb-nuts." She giggled at his demanding touch to ravish her all over again, planting a trail of sensual kisses until he reached her lips.

"'Numb-nuts'?" he growled in her ear, "That's not what you called me last night."

"Heehee, that's not the point. It's almost Christmas," she kissed him, "I want to get you and everyone nice presents, and a nice little party for the holidays. I'll get you something really special…" She gave his blue eyes a gentle glance before capturing his lips into hers and he gladly accepted it by deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring the cavern of her mouth. His hands snaked around and up her spine, causing a fervent gasp to break out from Angie. She had never yearned to do it all over with the same man (or woman) before and wanted to please, caress, and pleasure him again…

"Damn it, Angie! I want my bed back!" Tsipporah kicked the door open and couldn't care less if the whore had clothes on or not. The blonde couldn't care less either now that she was ready for round four… until the assassin stepped in.

"Fillan, my observer needs her sleeping quarters back if you do not mind."

"I do not, actually." He rolled to the other side of the bed and to the floor as Angie proudly stepped from the covers, exposing everything.

"It's a little cold, ain't it?" the novice wrinkled her face at her friend's expense.

"Yeah. It's four days before Christmas, too. We should think of some holiday ideas. Fast." The novice blinked at the subject. That's right. They did the whole Boston Tea Party fiasco during winter break. Goddamn… Tsipporah licked her lips and thought hard about it. Tree decorations, holiday clothes, gift-giving, and songs by the fire, big fat turkey and sweets…

"Tsipporah," Connor called, "we must dress and see Achilles."

"Go by yourself. I wanna talk to Angie about having a Christmas party." He attempted to drag her, closing in—"and if you drag me, I'll go to jail." Fillan pulled his trousers up and snorted as he exited the room. Angie, alternatively, crossed her arms and stood by her friend and the male of the Brotherhood waved his hand and left, leaving the two girls to chat. The novice didn't even want to bother on the wild night her friend had—in her bed.

"So what should we do about Christmas?" she began.

"Aren't you going to ask me about last night?"

"Ok…" she exclaimed, pokerfaced, "What did you do last night?"

"Oh, babe… Fillan just came in my room and locked the door, saying—"

"'Let's fuck each other's brains out'?"

"He told me about himself, things lead from one thing to another, and then…"

"You humped like rabbits."

"I think I'm in love, Sipsy. I never thought it was possible, but you were right! True love exists!" she squealed and jumped in place with her breasts bouncing in synch.

"Ok… now put some clothes on, shit."

"He is so good in bed, Sipsy-babe." She swooned in her tone. "Did you and Connor have a nice night, too? You saw him topless, at least? Tell me you saw his di—"

"Did I? No. We were both too tired and just wanted to sleep. I'm gonna go… Oh, right! I never said hello to Faulkner yet! And there was Peg-leg who holds information about Captain Kidd's treasure! See ya!" she darted out the door and down the stairs in her PJ's. Angie laughed a little at her friend's attitude. Who was she kidding? Tsipporah's too much of a virgin to hook up with anyone. She clings to childish dreams and calls Connor a "hero" as if they were role-playing as they did in grade school, but she saw something different in her eyes this morning. Something she thought would come to her. Fulfillment.


Connor left the manor and went to the cliff-sides once his standard assassin suit and weaponry were on. The sun had not reached to the sky entirely, thus the twilight and rays bled through the skies. He thinned his eyes to the shining rays to make out where his master was and ran to him once he was spotted. The old man said nothing despite knowing full well that his student waited there for a response. It seemed like forever before a conversation took place.

"It is done." Connor plainly said.

"Johnson is dead?"

"No," the student replied, unable to lie, "he retreated when we destroyed the tea."

"Only to hatch some new scheme, I'm sure… You should have killed him."

"There was no need."

Achilles closed his eyes, wondering if Connor knew what he was saying and gave a sigh. "Time will tell if you speak the truth." The student assumed that this discussion was over since the old man didn't seem too proud of him. His words were brief and his eyes were barely lifted to him even as he walked in his sightline. The young man combed his hand through his hair and threaded away, leaving Achilles to enjoy the sunrise. However, at the corner of his eye the Aquila and her mates cleaning the decks in a lively fashion with Faulkner directing orders; as he went into the forest, he noticed that his first mate stopped in order to speak with someone. Of course.

He couldn't see too clearly who it was, but by the body-language and boasting it was none other than his own observer. Connor smirked to himself at the thought of her planning something as feminine as a party for the holidays. Picturing her dressing up for such an occasion was even more so.

"Connor," Achilles voice sounded behind him.

"Yes, what is it?" he sprinted back to where his master sat. The old man gestured him to come closer and handed an envelope to him. The envelope was strange, however; not like a general note, but this one had a crimson wax-seal on the envelope's hatch with a… royal seal stamped in? Even the corners of it had gold-reliefs…

"Who is this from? Is it a letter?" Connor held the piece of document.

"It is a letter sent from the Queen of France. She has been receiving letters from Samuel Adams about our cause and has secretly been funding for weaponry, armory—among other things."

"It reads that she is currently hiding in Boston." Connor skimmed through the note.

"You must fetch her. She will not stay for long, nor does anyone except for her husband know that she is here." The hooded assassin folded the letter and tucked it away, heading for the woods to get his observer first. This was pretty sudden. What… Why would the Queen of France come to America in person?


"You are still as sharp as always, mate. Aquila's missed you for quite some time."

"I miss her and the crew, too, Faulkner, but you know I can't ride unless the captain says so. By the way, if I said I was planning a Christmas party, would you come?" Tsipporah gave the drunken mate a light nudge to the arm. He crossed him arms and thought about it—the rum, the gifts, the fun, the rum…

"Aye, you can count on it!" he toasted to her and the novice laughed.

"Okay," she put her hands on her hips, "but you have to bring a gift for someone. Anyone." The old man understood, raising his rum-bottle to the air and back to his lips. The girl shook her head and went the other direction to check on Alice—if her wound was healed alright. She cupped her hands over her mouth, feeling winter's chill under her skin, and her foggy breath fled from her mouth. Thank God she put her fighting-suit on or she would turn into a Popsicle before afternoon came, but then she heard something coming towards her… like running.

"Whoa! Jesus, Connor, you gotta stop doing that," she breathed, his footing was so light, she thought the wolves scampered from the bowels of the forest. Connor straightened himself and handed her the message. The novice wore an uncaring face and took the piece of paper, but knew of its importance after seeing the royal seal. Once her eyes ran down the page, she looked back to her native friend.

"You're kidding right?" she bore a frightening smile, "This is… Do you know what this is, Connor?" she skipped in place. Her companion acted indifferently.

"The Queen of France is here to discuss business and return home to France once—"

"This is a letter from Marie Antoinette! And she's here! Oh my God…" she was practically fangirling over the fact that she was reading and holding a letter by the French queen—the dauphine. Was she dreaming? Of course she wasn't dreaming…

She bounced on her feet in one place, squealing like fool and her 'hero' looked about her as if she'd gone mad before grabbing her by the shoulders to calm down. He then explained to her that they were requested to pick her up from a certain location that was printed in the letter, but it was written in riddles. Tsipporah loves riddles as much as she loves adventure. It then occurred to her that if Antoinette was in league of the Brotherhood—sending letters to one of the supporters—then the Templars would target her, too. That didn't look too good because that would make them both essential, living Macguffins (and essential items used to accomplish a major goal). The observer took Connor's hand; her face emptied of zeal.

"We should find her—fast. The Templars have some sort of inn under their control and their men are everywhere. I would be less worried had you killed at least one." She was still upset that he hadn't assassinated William Johnson. Sure, he was a threat to his hometown, his village, and his people, but how long was he going to keep this "keep your targets alive" charade going? The novice feared that she would never go home for only he can kill them and not her…

"I understand your frustration, but perhaps—"

"Perhaps it didn't occur to you that I'm from the future and you live in the past. I nor my friend can stay here as long as we'd like." She was all out of reasoning and hoped that he wouldn't go on like this. "I'm here to watch you choose the right path. I appreciate you being merciful to your enemy, but," a lump formed in her throat, "how long are you gonna do this?" Connor gazed at her and began to walk about her as a taunting predator would.

"What do you propose? I want us all to be free and live equally. Why must I kill them all?" It was either the winter air thrusting air out of her lungs or maybe she was still mad about Angie jazzing up her bed, and/or she was feeling the African vibes in her veins like her mother does before a spanking. What did he just say? Did he do any study on these men or is he seriously—

"Ki sa ki lanfè a ou menm ki di?" her heritage slipped out in malicious anger, "Ou estipid ti gason ti kras!" she crouched to the floor and gripped at her messy curls, huffing heatedly as if she was going to turn green any second, unleashing unbearable rage on the whole Frontier.

"Cousin! Tsipp—Oh…" Alice could've sworn that her companion was turning red, which was funny considering her complexion. She wanted to touch her back to appease her, but Connor held her back, shaking his head. The novice breathed one last huff before rising to stand once more. Seeing that Alice was here and well, she greeted her in a complete mood-whiplash.

"Alice, what's up?" her eye still twitched, "We can't sit and chat, but I am planning a Christmas party; tell Myriam about it and everyone else. Connor and I have some business in Boston so bye!" she heaved the assassin by the arm and down the lane as Alice waved weakly at their departure. It has been a while since she spoke Creole and that was when she was incredibly pissed. Even Angie had never gotten her so furious that the vein in her neck propped itself up for the world to see and all her Caribbean rage unraveled off the charts. What she heard was nonsense, though. When Connor had told her once that he was going to kill all of the Templars including his father, she held him to that. She thought he'd grow into this honest man who would do as he'd promised, but…

"Enough, Tsipporah!" he whipped out of her stronghold, "If killing pleases you, then perhaps you should do it yourself. You cannot expect me to—"

"I don't expect you to do anything but protect your people from maniacal invaders and you're not even doing that!" she stepped into the empty carriage where Fillan stared wide-eyed at the volume lengths this angry woman went with her tone.

"Ride, Fillan,"Connor pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on, "Take us to Boston." "Aye, sir." And they were off.


The entire carriage ride was discomforting. Just… everything about it. The two members of the Brotherhood refused to look at each other or further discuss important informtation. More on the observer's side laid the main issue because she was just plain furious as if Chapeau's persona was rubbing off on her, but that wasn't the case. In her mind, Connor matured more than he she expected or even hoped for so when he was set out to eliminate his targets and do whatever it takes to protect his people, he would do so, but this situation now was plain ridiculous. He was too soft in her eyes.

Fillan himself couldn't interfere with their quarrel since the girl wouldn't let him:

"Hey, listen, Sipsy—"

"Don't just assume that we're friends on the account that you just fucked my friend in my room and on my bed. You're doing the laundry—my laundry when we get back." And that was that; end of discussion. The recruit and the hooded assassin exchanged a tortured look before they both went their separate ways. Connor and Tsipporah went through the usual blending into the crowds until they reached the designated rendezvous location. Once they came inside an old shed across town, the tale male had to ask something that was slightly poking his mind.

"Tsipporah," she still wouldn't look at him, "how did you know that it was the Queen of France who wrote that letter?"

"What?" she blinked.

"Your eyes only searched for a second. Literally."

"She's the only royal I know during this time who had shitty handwriting."

"Well, pardon my 'shitty handwriting', but it is one of the things I am working on." a dulcet voice answered the two. The bickering couple looked up to see a figure waltzing to them from the corner of the room and step into the bit of sunlight that was peeking through the broken wood tiling of the ceiling. It was woman whose skin was white as snow with pulled back, curly hair of strawberry blonde, and a dress of silk and ruffles of mint. Her blue eyes sparkled and rosy cheeks turned up a smile upon seeing who the "strangers were".

"My, you must be Connor Kenway. Mr. Molineux spoke of you at the docks." As expected, he would not return a kiss or hug, like the stubborn guy he is. The observer did, though; squealing inside about how she is meeting the French 'fashionista' Queen. Well, not exactly French by birth—more like French by treaty and marriage, since she's really Austrian. "And you must be the observer—Tsipporah, yes? Mr. Davenport has been telling me wonderful things about you."

"You mean he compliments me to other people and treat me like shit at the manor? You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm sure he means well, but there are other matters to attend to. Only my husband knows of my leave. He knows the risks I am taking by just being here and speaking to you two. I may be staying in Boston for a few days and it must be with you. It cannot be the Sons of Liberty." Her face wrinkled with urgency and the novice scratched her chin and looked to Connor. Of course he wasn't going to leave someone behind, especially when it's a sovereign. He turned his back and waved his hand for her to follow, which the Queen gladly did and hopped over to him.


Ever since they left the old shed across town, the Queen clutched onto the pair for dear life. The novice tried not to laugh when she jumped every time there were rioters riling up and jumping Loyalists. The least she could do was pat her hand, assuring her that this is just the normal day in the life of a Bostonian. The prissy woman didn't want to believe that, but how could she? She's been rolling in a mountain of luxury every day of her life, partying and gambling, and going to operas on a daily basis. Has she ever dreamt of the reality that people on the other have to face when they wake up every morning?

"May I ask you both something?" she asked as the group entered the carriage, "Where do you stand in all of this conflict?" The observer stilled in her seat, but Connor had enough to explain. It was clear of why he joined this fight and why he got tangled into this web of conspiracy—to protect his people. It was always his reason whether it is the colonists or the English. Allegiance didn't matter to him. The Queen's face remained stern as he bluntly explained, but turned to the observer when he was done. The carriage kept moving until the countryside was clear outside their window. The black female bit her lip and fidgeted as if she was being interrogated. For once in her stay here, she wasn't completely sure.

"To be honest, Queen Marie Antoinette… the only thing I know is that I was sent here to watch him." She couldn't even lift her eyes from her own hands. The prissy woman furrowed her brows, "Do you really expect me to believe a portion of what you are telling me?" She didn't really, but it was worth a shot.

"I want to protect the native subjects, too. They are my best friends right now, but what if no matter what I do, they end up…" the novice's words could not finish as if saying it would jinx them. "Dead?" the queen finished for her and Connor, who sat next to her, bore his eyes into that of the observer's. Tsipporah sighed and turned to the window, not wanting to say any more, but Marie wanted to know what she was working with. She couldn't just side with someone who had no clarity of thought.

"With all due respect your highness—"

"Your insincerity to me, your friends, and yourself is hardly any form of respect."

"…"

"You joined simply to protect, but you've no faith that it will change the fate of anyone. How on earth do you support those you watch if your faith is brittle? I can see it in Connor's eyes that he has more courage because he wants more than just to protect, so you should, too." The woman across from her was out of words and didn't really think Marie Antoinette would be the one to tell her that she was out of sorts, but then again, she did get politically involved during the 70's so…

The carriage stopped the moment the young novice had a comeback, but shut her mouth for it to come later. They parked and came up the lane to the manor, where the blonde waited at the patio and Fillan ran up to her, giving a sweet peck on her lips. Her attention overturned when she saw the Queen of France coming their way.

"AH! No fucking way! Marie Anoinette?! Holy shit!" she lifted her off the ground and swung her around like a long lost sister. It took a while before she put her back on the floor.

"So is she gonna be here for the Christmas party?" Angie said as they all sat out on the front porch. Marie jumped at the thought of staying when she heard that they were having a party, but Connor went off to hunt with Myriam and Alice. "Only for the week, so I guess so. I wanted to make something for everyone in the meantime and try to decorate the house, but there is no Wal-Mart, Walgreens, no mall…"

"Make something, you say?" Marie approached her, intrigued. The observer smiled and confessed that she goes to school for art, as did Angie did for performance. She smiled at the fact that they were going to get along just fine. They managed to connect despite them coming from different timelines and had so many ideas for the party. Luckily, Marie had some maps from Molineux on who can help her get some crafting supplies for sculptures.

"So what are you making, Tsipporah? Is it something for Connor?"

"It's something he'll want to keep around, sure. I'm making other things, too…"

"You care about him, do you not?" she froze. "There's nothing embarrassing about confessing your affections to a gentleman such as Connor. He is divine." The old man interrupted just in time and greeted the strawberry-blonde, bidding her to come inside and rest. The novice wiped her brow as she felt a sweat bead form and Angie stifled a giggle, earning an angst fist to the gut. It didn't stop the hilarity, however.

"You just shut the fuck up, Angie, I won't have it!"

"You're making something for Connor, I just know it! You may be emotionally constipated, but not for him." She sniffed, "When are you gonna confess to this guy that you like him, anyway?"

"The day the trumpets sound for the end of the world… and I don't like him that way."

"Stop telling yourself that! I grabbed Fillan by the reins the chance I got—no offense, babe." She waved at her beloved and he nodded back, "None taken, love.""And it's wartime, too. How long do you think he's gonna last out here?"

"Stop saying that!" she protested, "I may not believe in myself enough to help anyone or make a difference, but he does! So don't you dare say that to me about him, ever! Now we're gonna have a nice Christmas party, get everyone together, and have Kateri a big, nice wedding for everyone to remember. Understand?" Oh, Angie understood, alright. Fillan began to see it, too, but walked off the porch and head to the stables. The blonde shook her curls from her face to see the girl's eyes better. It's been a while, but she knew something that her friend for many years was afraid to admit.

"Yeah, I understand, Sipsy," she squinted her eyes, "I understand that you are afraid to admit that you are starting to love this man."


Too bad Sipsy's gonna keep her macho-man behavior up until the naval wars. Don't worry, people, she'll soften up. In the meantime, the holidays are coming up, too, and this is only part one of the holidays chapter. I shall post more in time. :D