Notes: I was curious – what are your opinions on possible Crowning Moments of Awesome (or Heartwarming, or Funny, or Fail)? TELL ME.

Part XXI

November died; December replaced it.

The holiday spirit was starting to bloom along the frosty hallways of IAHF, right alongside the holly and the poinsettias. One morning, everyone woke up to see that a new blanket of snow had fallen over the old, powdering the school into a winter wonderland.

The Alfred team won the Hockey Championships. Nobody fell through thin ice this year. Zariana-Sylvia Middleford went on a quest for the hidden swimming pool. She hadn't returned since then.

Throughout the school, though, staff and students alike were preparing for the holiday season. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza decorations all went up, although most people used secular Christmas décor. Lucas took the opportunity to string up angels and mangers in the Angels' customary meeting room. No one bothered to take them down.

However, one of the holiday cheer seemed to be evident on Jennifer's face as she sat in the corner one evening in early December, watching Kriss and Merka decorate their Christmas tree with British flags. After a moment, Merka handed Kriss her flags and headed over to Jennifer.

"What's wrong?" she demanded bluntly, placing her hands on her hips. Jennifer looked up at her.

"Nothing."

"As if. You've been like this since Thanksgiving."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Shut up!" Merka exclaimed. "We all know something's wrong. Now spill. Did Mighty Major J harm – oh, wait, he's in Venice. Did Sean Tanaka…?"

Jennifer snorted. "Too old for him. In a couple of weeks I'm turning eighteen."

"Okay, then, what's wrong? Seriously."

"Work."

"Work… Workbitch? Or just work? I mean if it's just work I suppose I could –"

Jennifer leaned against the wall more heavily. Merka sighed and sat down, facing the other Anglophile.

"You won't get any happier, you know, if you just stew like this. Let it all out. Or else you'll die from too many emotions."

Jennifer snorted. "Never heard that one."

"Okay, so you won't really die. But it'll still hurt! And it's unhealthy."

"I'm just hung up about my decisions." Jennifer shrugged.

Merka hugged her. "I'm sorry about that."

Outside the window, the snow fell harder and harder.

A silent, deadly shadow slipped through the halls of the Palazzo Ducale. It passed by a records room, where a tired secretary was recording a new entry by the Council of Ten into the criminal register.

Tomorrow morning before daybreak, Antonio Foscarini is to be strangled by the executioner in the prison where he is now detained, so that he dies. After he is dead, he is to be hung by the foot by the same executioner on a high gallows between the two columns in Piazza San Marco and left there all day.

The shadow slipped upstairs, towards the piombi. It was mid-April; the climate up in the piombi was bearable – for the moment. Antonio Foscarini was asleep in his bed, dreaming troubled dreams.

They must have condemned him. They had interrogated him for hours, for days. There was something about the Spanish in their accusations. Foscarini had no idea why, or how. He had defended himself on the thirteenth. They must have condemned him tonight.

The shadow slipped into Foscarini's cell.

"Hugh," Mr. Allen hissed.

Mr. Hugh looked over at his counterpart. "Should I?"

"Don't."

"But… freedom."

"Don't you trust Satow?"

"To be truthful, not really."

"I don't trust him, either, but I trust that Venezia even less. She's trying to get to you."

"I know, but… what if she's right?"

"Why would you even think that a Mary Sue –"

"Well, Satow's story has its holes…"

"She refused to give you evidence that she was right."

"Neither did Satow!"

"You're taking the Mary Sue's side?"

"No! I'm not! I'm just saying that we should be more open-minded about these things!"

"She works for Lilith! Lilith nearly killed us! Nearly destroyed our school! Hugh, if she gets the Chronotransporter, what do you think she's going to do?"

"Go back in time?"

"Exactly!" Mr. Allen's blue eyes were alight with franticness. "She'll go back and resurrect Lilith and change the outcome of the invasion! We'll lose the battle! Everything will be doomed!"

"But if we don't get back to IAHF… who knows what's been going on there since our departure?"

"There won't be an IAHF to go back to if we let her have the Chronotransporter!"

Mr. Hugh leaned against the bars, frowning. Venezia was a Mary Sue. He couldn't trust her. He knew he shouldn't. But there was something that made him want to trust her. Something.

"Don't give in, Hughie," Allen's voice was gentle. "If she has you under Aura of Smooth, don't give in. Be strong."

Hand-in-hand with smiles on their faces, Peter and Lila set out for a walk after breakfast. Lila yawned as they left the Campo di Santa Margherita, passing by stall keepers and shop owners and other people.

"Is it just me," Peter suddenly muttered, "or are people talking about Foscarini?"

"What happened?" Lila yawned again. "I'm still not awake from last night."

Peter grinned shyly. That had been a tiring night, going from the Dorsoduro district to the Piazza San Marco and back in the night. They had narrowly avoided being mugged by some man in a mask on a bridge leading over the Grand Canal.

"Did you hear?" Elise Rayn ran up to them with Stan barely tailing her. "Did you hear about Foscarini?"

"Non parlo italiano," Peter replied quickly.

"Oh, right," sniffed Elise. "Did you hear, though? Stan just told me!"

"What is it? Do hurry!" snapped Lila.

Looking around her to make sure no one else was listening in, leaning in to ensure that Peter and Lila could hear her, and cupping her hands to their ears, Elise whispered, "They've strangled him!"

"Strangled!" Lila squeaked. Elise glared.

"It's an open secret; everyone's talking about it," Stan pointed out drily. "No need for all this secrecy."

"Yes, but…" Elise shook her head. "Go to the Piazza San Marco. You'll see. It's dreadful!"

Off they ran, feet pounding and hands grasping each other so that they wouldn't lose the other in the early morning crowd. Lila led the way, nearly slipping over the roughly-paved streets in her shoes. Peter nearly lost track of the people he collided with.

When they reached the Piazza San Marco, they stopped short and gaped along with the crowd already assembled at the Piazza. Dangling by one leg from the gallows between the two columns leading into the piazza, his face bruised from being dragged on the ground, was Antonio Foscarini.

Peter took one look at the cadaver's ghastly appearance and fainted.

He's dead! He's dead, you incompetent fools! What are we to do? I wanted to protect him!

"Calm down!" Ernest Satow snapped at the Chronotransporter. Takeda Kane took his arm, her eyes grave. Emma was asleep on the nearby couch.

We have failed our mission!

"Since when was it our mission?" Satow's eyes narrowed.

"Ernest," Kane warned.

"It's blaming its own incompetence on us!"

"Ernest!"

Satow looked at Kane seriously. Kane looked back, her own eyes just as steely.

"Ernest. Calm down." Kane turned to the Chronotransporter. "Perhaps... instead of worrying about what has already happened, we could instead start worrying about how to fix it?"

The mission was to save Foscarini. Perhaps we can go back and –

"No!" Satow leapt at the Chronotransporter. Kane snatched it from him before he could push it off the table. "Takeda, give it back -"

"Don't agitate this machine. You know how much power it contains."

I was speaking, growled the time machine. I was thinking that we could go back and save him still.

"It'll only create yet another alternate timeline," groaned Satow. "Too much trouble. Don't even bother."

"He has a point," Kane agreed, shrugging. "We shouldn't mess with the timelines too much. You know what happens if we accidentally go too far."

"Besides, wasn't the objective supposed to be obtaining Vano's documents instead of saving Foscarini?" Satow crossed his arms and took a seat.

Saving Foscarini was the reason why we wanted Vano's documents.

"Right, but Foscarini's dead. And Foscarini dying proves something important. It proves the anti-myth of Venice."

The anti-myth of Venice, echoed the Chronotransporter. It makes sense.

Throughout history, people had viewed the Venetian Republic in two lights – through the myth and the anti-myth of Venice. The myth of Venice was upheld by the city's many achievements in art, architecture, and government – it was the belief that Venetians consciously designed their Serene Republic. On the other hand, the anti-myth of Venice insisted that those achievements were but a façade over a regime built on the repression of dissent.

"See, it's a perfect example of the anti-myth. An innocent man, dead by secret accusation. A miscarriage of justice. There's no doubt that without Foscarini's death, Venice could have turned out differently." Satow watched Kane set the Chronotransporter back on the table. Emma stirred faintly from her slumber.

Kane folded her hands in her lap and smiled faintly.

Lucas, Cain, and Michael were taking a walk outside just after dinner, their pathway lit by nearby lampposts. Snow was still softly falling, although the Mochis had made their snowplough rounds. Said snowploughs, though, were some resentful students with snow shovels. Mochis were extremely efficient taskmasters, after all.

Thus the paths were slick with ice, but at least the Angels weren't sinking in snow. Lucas had half a mind to complain to higher-ups in heaven; why could Jesus walk on water and they couldn't even walk on snow like Tolkien-verse elves?

Flying didn't count. The Angels continued to walk. Michael and Lucas were still refusing to look at each other. After a while, Cain sighed and broke the frosty silence. (Pun not intended.)

"So, Eros, how are you going to –?"

"Shut up." Michael crossed his arms.

"Really, why must we equate him with a pagan Roman god?" Lucas sniffed.

Cain shook his head. "Cheer up. I'm just wondering what Michael's next move is."

"Why do you care?" scoffed the archangel.

"Still reeling from that badfic from the seminar?"

"You try reading about yourself sticking your wings into someone's –"

"And not just anyone. That insufferably radical –"

"Calm your halo, Luke, there are worse liberals than Jennifer Chang –"

"Oh, now you're defending her?"

"Don't be such a Puritan!"

Cain groaned. "Shut it, both of you! Or do I have to threaten you with a –"

"What's all this heavenly bickering about?" A fourth voice chimed in. The Angels promptly fell silent as Jennifer stepped out from behind a nearby tree, ice-skates in her hand. She raised an eyebrow at them. "Really, if you wanted to criticise me you might as well do it to my face."

The Angels looked at each other. Jennifer tapped a foot.

"They were fighting," Cain said after a moment, shrugging. Lucas and Michael glared at him in a 'thanks a lot' way.

"Fighting about what?"

"About your… er, suitability for…"

"Suitability," Jennifer repeated.

"Well, there's an ideology gap –"

"Chasm, more like," Lucas muttered.

Jennifer raised the other eyebrow. "And that's all that matters? No personality? Attraction? Love?"

"Well, if you can't see eye-to-eye with someone on their beliefs, then why bother falling?"

Jennifer paused. "Makes sense," she conceded. "So what?"

"So you need to stop bewitching my brother!"

"Finite incantatem," Jennifer deadpanned. "That should do the trick. If it doesn't, I guess he's not under a spell."

Michael snickered.

"How far have you two gotten, anyway?" Lucas's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing sinful. In fact, we haven't even held hands if you're that concerned." Jennifer rolled her eyes and turned to leave. "And before I forget, Lucas, you really should go see Nurse Florance." Smirking, she strode away attempting to whistle. Somewhere in Heaven, the Angels' boss killed another kitten.

"Why would she say that? I'm not… oh, no, she's not insulting my mental state, is she?" Lucas demanded.

Cain cackled. "I think she's trying to say that having such a large stick up your ass is extremely unhealthy," he said innocently. Michael guffawed; Lucas flushed redder than the Devil himself.

"Oh, I'll get you for that!" the latter snapped, scooping up some snow from a nearby drift and throwing it at Cain.

"So juvenile, Luke! Surely you can do better than that?" Cain taunted, reaching down to make a snowball as well. Michael laughed, backing away from the other two.

But it wasn't long before two sets of snowballs hit him, embroiling him into the so-called "Great Heavenly Snowball Fight of 2011". Or at least that was how Lucas referred to the event later on, even though the event was neither great nor heavenly.

"Change of plans."

The students and G8 members gathered in the Foscarini library goggled at Satow.

"Change of plans?" echoed Susanna Black-White.

"You and Howard are still presenting your information to the Council. We're just going to come with you."

"And what about rescuing…?" Charlie trailed off, eyes narrowing.

"You can still do that, but we're going to –"

"You're going to?"

"Look. We need to steal those spy reports. If the Chronotransporter gets them, then we can all go back to IAHF." Satow's expression was grave. "It's the only way."

Susanna and Howard the Spy looked at each other. "You know the story?" Howard asked, fiddling with his tunic.

"Yeah. You accuse Vano of perjury, and I'll be the witness."

"All right."

"We'll all meet up at the Palazzo Ducale at sundown," Satow said breezily.