Captain: I'm back! And now hotter by one degree! /terriblejokeIknow Phew, a lot has gone on since I last posted! As I already said, I am now the proud owner of a Bachelor's degree, I also moved back home, hung out with my kickass best friend for ten days, and have been crying into my laptop as I look for jobs. Wait what? Oh yeah, job searching suuuucks, especially for wildlife field work, oi. Anyho, I did also manage to royally screw up my back while at school, so been dealing with that lovely stuff. Buuuuuuut I did manage to get a chapter written, woo woo! I hope ya'll decided the hang around for this, about to get into the good stuff! Mwahahaha.

Oh, and my times for traveling between the cities is done on a very rough estimate of miles and average walking speed. I try to take some terrain constraints into consideration, but again, the estimate is rough.


"For the record, this is a terrible idea." Emma crossed her arms, squinting through tired eyes into the lessening dark.

"You said that already." Altair lightly flexed his left arm. The blade extended and retracted with each motion, but it appeared to cost him judging by the barely hidden flinch.

"I know. I just wanted to make sure it actually made it through your thick skull."

"This was your idea." Of the three of them, Malik seemed to be the most awake, and the most excited to see them off.

"No, I gave intel that would suggest a potential window for the healthy and fit. I also recall voting for staying behind." The straps of the pack were already annoyingly digging into her shoulders, and the robe covering chafed any exposed skin. She would kill for a shower right now and a large coffee, not necessarily in that order.

"When he goes, you go, and for my sake that needs to be sooner."

"Way to make a girl feel loved."

Malik simply gave her a stare before lightly shaking his head. Evidently he'd gotten to used to her remarks and had simply decided to start ignoring them. As Altair continued to fiddle with his blade, the Dai motioned her a few steps away.

"I am serious Emma, please, do not be difficult for him. You may despise him and he you, but he will follow through with his orders. Even injured, he is capable, as much as it pains me to say. He will get you safely to Masyaf. For my sake, please, do as he asks. The Master will ensure you are looked after once you arrive, and he may have the answers you seek." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. It was probably one of the first times he had seemed unsure of himself. Whatever bothered him, though, he chose not to share. "Be safe, Emma."

"It is time to go." Altair approached them, unfazed by the glare the other man shot him.

Emma heaved a sigh, shifting the pack on her shoulders and taking one last look around the Bureau. Who knows when or if she would see this place again, if she would find a way home, if this master would really help her or not. There were so many unknowns ahead of her, and an almost childish fear hit her at the idea of facing them alone. Malik had become her only solace here, the only piece of familiarity and friendliness in this almost alien world. She sighed, perhaps the answers would be just beyond the walls, and she would go back to her life in the big city, her experience here nothing more than a distasteful memory.

Judging by the stiffness of his body and the delayed reaction, she took the man by surprise when she wrapped him in a hug. Screw 'decency' or whatever their rules were against displays of affection. "Stay safe yourself, and thank you, for all that you've done for me."

His arm came around slowly and lightly pat her on the back. He was certainly unused to such a gesture, but he didn't seem too opposed to it.

Pulling away, she rolled her shoulders once as she turned towards the assassin. "Well, let's get this shit show on the road, I guess."

Malik heaved a sigh, a chuff of amusement barely concealed in it.

"There she is," he muttered with a shake of his head, turning and walking back into the other room.

No more delaying now. Altair was already next to the fountain, glancing up at the sky above.

Emma gestured towards the exit. One thing she wouldn't miss, having to scale the damn wall to get out of the building. "Lead the way, then."

She would almost say the look he gave her was suspicious. It wasn't as if she really had a choice here. Malik couldn't house her in the Bureau if she refused to go, and the guards had already proven they didn't exactly tolerate people hanging out in the rooftop gardens, nor did she want to attempt sleeping in one of those again. Once they were out of the city was another story, but for now she would behave like a good obedient woman, no matter how much it pained her.

Whatever was going through his mind, he didn't say a word. Instead, he turned and scaled up the wall with less ease and grace than he had at any time before. She still couldn't believe that he was so determined to do this trip the day after he'd been shot. He may have claimed to heal quickly, but no one healed that fast. This wasn't X-Men, and he was definitely no Wolverine.

To his credit, he said nothing as he waited for her to scale up, the process much more difficult with the pack on her back threatening to pull her back.

Jerusalem had yet to awaken. The night guards were working their way back home and the morning watch had yet to venture out to their posts just yet. The city was theirs. Stars still struggled to keep their grip on the sky to the west. It was peaceful in a way, and almost beautiful. It would never compare to the skyscrapers of the Big Apple, but it had its own charm.

Emma blinked, finding Altair had disappeared from her side. He was already down the ladder, strolling out into the empty streets. The cop rolled her eyes, forgetting about the view as she dropped down the follow him.

It was silent between them as they walked towards the gate. A certain tension that refused to be broken. It was going to be a long six days to Masyaf if this kept up. Well, she was not going to be the one to break it first.

A loud groan filled the air, followed by the creak of hinges. The last stars had finally disappeared from the sky, and the gate was being raised somewhere nearby. Rounding the corner, it came into view. There were only a handful of guards still working on securing the gate, the others were mindlessly milling about, in no hurry to take up their posts just yet. Few citizens were up at this hour, beginning to set up their stalls. Slowly, Jerusalem was coming to life. It was better to be out of the city before she fully opened her eyes.

The guards paid them little mind as they walked through the open gate, more concerned with rubbing the sleep from their eyes than any of the people around them.

"Wait here." Altair ordered, moving towards the stables positioned just outside of the gate.

Emma rolled her eyes, quietly muttering to herself. "He speaks, and it's to order me around like a dog. This is going to be fantastic."

A merchant gave her a strange look as he passed, making his way towards the gate. The cop shot him a glare that quickly sent him on his way. Sometimes it paid to make them think she was crazy.

Altair seemed to be getting into an argument with the stable master, but they were speaking Arabic, so she was helplessly unable to follow along. He gestured towards himself and her with his right arm, stepping close to the man. The stable master was no small man himself, but in the face of the assassin, he seemed to shrink several sizes. He raised his hands in peaceful surrender, though could only shake his head and speak what sounded to be some sort of apology.

A much more irritable assassin returned to her side, empty handed. She raised her brows. Walking that distance was going to take much longer than riding, and while her boots were fine for pounding away the days in the concrete jungle, she doubted they would fare well in this sandy hell.

"There are no horses, someone came late last night and bought them all. We will have to walk for a few days, until we reach Damascus." He left little time for a response, and instead started making his ways towards the massive hill that led down to the city. Ah hell nah.

"What did you tell him?" Emma didn't move from her spot, chewing her lip in thought.

"I fail to see why you need to know that." He stopped, partially turning, irritation still clear on his face that now she refused to follow and asked silly questions.

The cop rolled her eyes. Bloody men. "Humor me."

His frowned deepened, but she couldn't say for sure if it was in response to giving up an answer, or the answer itself. His voice held more of a growl than usual. "That my wife and I needed a horse. He didn't need to know anything more than that."

Emma raised a brow, well wasn't she just raking in the husbands lately, and to think Eliot once threatened that she would be alone with thirty cats if she kept up her usual levels of snark and sarcasm.

It made sense to sell a story like that, less questions and less memorable to see a man and his wife traveling, rather than attempt to get away with anything close to the truth.

It was also entertaining how much the words seemed to pain him to say.

"Where are you going?" He frowned, making no move to stop her as she turned towards the stable master.

"Never send a man to do a woman's job." She smirked, leaning back and placing her hand on her belly. It didn't make it look like much of a bump was there, but it certainly implied one.

It didn't seem that the man had really seen her when he'd been talking to Altair, so that would help sell the bit.

"Excuse me." She lowered her voice, going as soft as she could make it, keeping her eyes down. "I am terribly sorry to bother you after my husband was so rude. It's just that we're traveling for Damascus to see his family, and we've some very exciting news to tell them."

She made sure to rub her belly for emphasis, "And he's worried about how such travel might cause stress."

She had no idea if the man spoke a word of English, but he didn't need to. By the size of his eyes, flashing from her belly to the man who stood an imposing figure in the middle of the road, he got the gist of the message. He waved her to follow him, a careful eye flashing to the assassin. Whatever Altair had said had certainly made the man wary, despite all physical appearances of the stable master being able to hold his own.

Behind the stable stood a gray mare. While past her prime, she seemed sturdy enough to at least last the trip to the next available barn.

The stable master motioned to the mare, spitting out what was probably an apology or something, managing in shaking English, "For great need."

So this was his backup horse, in case he need to make a hasty retreat, evidently. It made her wonder if the stable master might also moonlight as a horse thief. Regardless, wherever his moral compass pointed, it evidently included providing a ride no matter the cost to himself to a poor pregnant woman. Emma almost felt bad for duping him. Almost.

There was no denying the smug satisfaction she had in riding the horse out to Altair; the stable master refused to allow her to remain on her feet a moment longer, and insisted on helping her into the saddle. Thankfully she'd done a brief stint with the mounted patrol in the city so knew the gist of riding, even if she wasn't very comfortable or good at it. It was totally worth it all, to see the look on his face. Ha.

The stable master appeared to attempt haggling with the assassin, but he was handed a chump of change without so much as a grunt to send him on his way. He glanced over the horse. "I paid twice what she was worth."

Emma rolled her eyes, "It's better than walking, she can at least get us part of the way."

With any luck they could sell her in Damascus and pick up another horse that would get them the rest of the way. Or perhaps even a second, who might carry her wherever she wished. As much as she wanted to get away from the assassin, get to familiar ground, she had no idea how, or where that even was. England would probably be the most ideal, but that was across hundreds of miles of unknown terrain and a water channel. Womanly wiles would only go so far in the wild. Still…..wasn't Acre by the water and held by the English at this point? She wasn't the best at history, but she vaguely recalled some of the major cities during the final Crusade. At least she was pretty sure a potentially imagined outlaw did a stint in the military there before he went home.

She glanced at Altair, who had resumed his trek towards the big hill. Why couldn't she have landed in that tale?

Something ticked at the back of her mind, bid her to turn and look back towards the gate. There didn't appear to be anything unusual there, the number of guards had certainly increased, and a group was now patrolling outside of the gates and the opening market stalls there. Still, it could be worth the headache to make sure. Squinting, she forced the world to fade into shades of gray. While most of the guards were varying shades of red, three in particular stood out vibrantly. As color snapped back into focus, they noticed her, and more importantly, Altair.

"Get on the horse." She spurred the horse to jump forward, putting herself between him and the would-be killers. Hands didn't go for their swords, but instead went to the inside of their uniform jackets. She didn't believe for a second that they would forgo a shot for what looked to be a simple civilian. Not after the shot they took in the plaza. No, they had only seconds to make their getaway, before the area was filled with gunfire.

He turned to glance at her, a brow raised at the command. They so did not have time for this. But then he turned his gaze past the horse, narrowing his eyes. He saw what she did, and sprung on the horse before the men had cleared their weapons from their clothing. His heels dug into the animal, and with a squeal, she launched herself into a sprint. His good arm wrapped around Emma to steal the reins from her grip, leaving her little but the mane to hold onto.

While the gunfire was still muffled by the suppressors, she could hear the bullets whiz past. Altair's bad arm came around her as he leaned forward, creating a smaller target of himself as much as shielding her. Whatever animosity was there, Malik had been right, the man would get her to Masyaf alive.

To her credit, the little mare wasted no time in putting distance between them and the city, charging up the hill like a mustang broken loose. Whatever her age, her training must have been to escape quickly, no matter who was in the way. The early hour meant few were on the path, but those that were quickly found themselves forced to dive out of the way of the charging animal.

By the time they crested the top of the hill, the mare was panting and the sun had crested the far horizon, bathing Jerusalem in a golden light. Altair sat up and pulled the animal to a stop, allowing her to catch her breath, and the both of them to judge the distance of their pursuers.

They hadn't even made it halfway up the hill, and it didn't appear that they were going to attempt coming any closer. The horse outmatched foot pursuit every time.

Emma knew this wouldn't be the end of it. They would be waiting in Damascus, or wherever the assassin was sent after that. Eventually he would have to face them. She couldn't fathom why they cared so much about him, what made him so special that Abstergo would create a machine to travel eight hundred years into the past just to kill him. He had to do something that would drastically alter the course of the future. Maybe one of his future kids would be famous, it certainly didn't seem like anything positive would come from this guy.

She blinked as she actually looked at the city, at the landscape surrounding the walls. While it had begun to sink in that this could all actually be real, seeing it on such a scale, the city as a whole and the untouched wilderness beyond. There was no denying, this was the past. The actual, god-forsaking end of the 1100's, in a region steeped in conflict where the main weaponry was swords and longbows. This was the past, and there was potentially no way home.

Altair said something, but she didn't catch it, too lost in the hugeness of it all, at the repercussions. Was there any way back for the men chasing them? Or had they gone into this, willingly sacrificed the rest of their lives, for the duty of killing someone? There had to be a way back. And yet…sending someone back was miracle enough, would they not need some sort of similar technology to send them forward? And how many places, time periods, had she glimpsed before landing here? Three? Four? Had it actually been a success or had something gone wrong? Even if there was some way to build the machine here, she didn't know if it would be worth the heartache to attempt to go home only to find herself in the wrong time again. What if she ended up in the 1940's? Or god-forbid she went too far forward, past the point where everyone she knew had passed?

She pressed her fingers against her temple, her head pounding against all of the confusion and strain. She just wanted to go home. See her brother, hug her father, and slap Eliot for ever suggesting she go traveling.

The horse began moving again, slower than their mad dash up the hillside, but still at a decent canter. He wanted to put as much distance between them and the city as possible. Not that she could blame him, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in her head, or the one growing in her chest. Perhaps deep down she had known that it was all real, but this view, seeing beyond city walls and into the hills and undeveloped landscape, made it sink in just a bit deeper.

Weren't adventure stories supposed to end with the hero going home? Wasn't that how all of Eliot's tales ended? But this wasn't a story, and she wasn't a hero.

They didn't keep up the pace for very long. While the mare could probably go some distance with a single rider, two was exhausting her. There were a good few miles between them and Jerusalem now. The people they passed became only a few traveling merchants as they left the farming homes that surrounded the city. The mare slowed to a walk, and Altair slipped off.

"We should give her some rest."

Emma nodded, following suit. Her knees threatened to dump her on the ground when her feet hit the dirt, but they blessedly held. It hadn't been a long ride, but it had been years since she'd been on a horse, and she was feeling it now.

They walked in silence, the horse between them. The sun worked its way over the horizon, and quickly turned the landscape into an oven. Shade was hard to come by, as the few trees littered only the banks of a distant river. There was little to look at and less to be distracted by. Emma desperately wanted something to distract her, to take her mind away from the idea of being stuck here for the rest of her life. Away from the thoughts that she may never see her family again. Dad, Matt, even Eliot.

Did they even know she was alive? Or were they looking for her, thinking she was missing? Would one day they announce her dead, hold a funeral and move on? Emma clenched her fists, attempting to force the thoughts away. No. She was a Harp, and Harps did not go down without a fight. She would find a way home if it was the last thing she did.

Where to start with that, she had no idea, but she was out of the city, so that was something. From here, well, she'd have to figure it out as she went. Which would eventually mean ditching the assassin, but she supposed that could wait until after they exchanged the horse, preferably for two animals this time.

"How did you know?" The cop jolted as she was ripped from her thoughts by the first words the man had spoken in at least two hours. The sun was high and hot, threatening to bake her exposed skin. The robe was shed in a poor attempt for relief, but she was already sweating too much to want to put it back on. Instead, it had been stuff under the straps of her bag, serving as padding for her already sore shoulders.

"Know what? That he had a spare horse?" She shrugged, "Men who deny they have anything that much usually have a little something tucked away somewhere, in case of emergency."

Usually that was in reference to drugs in her case, but really, men hadn't changed much in hundreds of years. They still tried all the same tricks.

He rolled his shoulder stiffly, though at least there seemed to be no blood, so their mad dash hadn't torn any stitches. "No, that the guards were the ones who shot me yesterday."

Oh. He'd noticed that.

Emma glanced up towards the sky, watching the progress of a large bird as it rode the thermals ever higher. "They went for their coats instead of their swords, I knew something had to be off about them."

The look he shot her over the mare's neck stated plainly that he didn't believe that was it. "You had already moved by that point, you noticed them before. How?"

She made a point to keep watching the raptor overhead, getting smaller and smaller. "I'm a cop, I notice things."

If Altair rolled his eyes or made a comment under his breath, she missed it. He already thought her crazy, no need to attempt to change that to insane.

The travel was uneventful, though Emma could feel the last month and a half of sedentary living catching up with her. Her boots were stifling in the heat, and she could feel her skin baking under the unforgiving sun. The robes the assassin wore were beginning to make a lot more sense. It wasn't to hide his identity, it was to provide the only protection from the damn sun that could be found in this god-forsaken place.

To go uncovered was to be a baked lobster by evening.

Still she was unwilling to put the robe back on just yet. This was the first time since she'd 'left' New York that she'd been able to walk around outside in her tank top. She wasn't ready to give up on it so early. Perhaps when she went her own way, she'd put it back on. It would certainly be easier to pass unnoticed with it. Although, she was beginning to wonder just how easy it would be to get away. While the land wasn't entirely flat, the rolling hills were tree-less, and the only brush was scraggly and short. There would be no hiding or easily disappearing out here. They had passed only a few people in the last few hours, so blending in with crowds or a passing group was unlikely to be granted even the opportunity.

This was not the place to make her escape for England. While she was fairly sure that Acre was English-held at this time, all she knew was that it was on the coast. North or south of here? Well to that she was clueless.

Why couldn't she have been dropped in any other time or place? Italy! France! Hell, she would have taken revolutionary America, at least then she would have been on home turf. No, she had to be dropped here, in the middle of a major conflict where her very hair color gave her away, with a man who preferred silence.

At least Malik had thought ahead enough to get her two water bags, though she'd already drained one. With any luck, they'd find a water source soon. She wasn't sure how long she could keep going like this. Or for that matter, the horse. While they hadn't ridden since dismounting that morning, the old girl looked desperate for a drink. Altair, of course, didn't look bothered at all.

Add that to the list of reasons to dislike the man.

A break did not come quickly.

Altair mounted the horse again, bidding her to do the same, though behind him this time. Emma scrunched up her nose. Walking suddenly sounded much more pleasant, but he didn't give much of a choice. She did give her best effort to keep from touching him, barely resisting the urge to attempt shoving him off. No doubt it wouldn't go as well as it did in her head, even with the injured shoulder. So she heaved a sigh and bore with it. He hoped to trade the horse in for a fresh one come midday tomorrow. It was the only words he offered for the remainder of the afternoon.

Emma would be the first to admit that she was no horse expert, but by evening, the mare looked ready to collapse. The cop felt much the same. The travel was not something she'd ever done before, not like that. Everything hurt, and when he finally bid her to get down, her stiff legs failed her. She let her back hit the dirt and didn't move, content not to even so much as twitch for however long he allowed them to rest. The sun was sinking finally, and with it came blessedly cool air that kissed at her over-exposed skin.

"We will camp here." He looked down at her, his expression blank in the failing light and sweat beading on his forehead. So he was affected, though it seemed to stem more from pain in his wound than exhaustion from the journey.

Emma would have loved to flip him a bird, or anything, but somehow even her arms were too sore to move. How was she supposed to slip away when the time was right if she couldn't even lift a finger? She wondered if that was all a part of his plan. If it was, then he was smarter than she gave him credit for, which would only make things harder for her.

Eventually she did find the strength to move to a smoother patch of ground, tucked under an overhanging rock. Here there were no obnoxious rocks, so she lay out the thin blanket that served as their version of a sleeping pad. Any hope for a fire was dashed again, as the assassin only pulled out tough strips of jerky and tossed it to her. There would be no fire, no light to see by as stars quickly reclaimed the sky.

She wasn't great at gauging distances like they had been traveling, but it had been at least a hard twenty-five to thirty miles. Certainly more than she'd ever done in a single day in her life. Sleep might come easy, but morning promised to not be pleasant.

And indeed it wasn't.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Otto stood with arms crossed, one hand lightly stroking his beard, his gaze on the cityscape spread out beneath him without seeing it. As it turned out, the Harp men were beginning to become more of a pain than he had anticipated. The nosy cop that had been the first pain in his side had worked in his favor with her brashness. Her male relatives, however, were more trying. They were not going to send a car through his lobby and waltz in that way, oh no. They were sneakier about it, acting as delivery drivers, lunch services, and the like. Never hanging around long enough to be suspicious, but coming and going almost as they pleased, collecting little bits of information, becoming familiar to the staff down there. The brother was the easiest to spot. Even in long pants, the metal detectors blared their offense every time he entered, to which he would respond with a grin that had the female secretaries nearly swooning. He would strike up conversations with them, and while they knew nothing of worth to let slip, some of those walking by didn't always mind their words. And almost too late did their firewall detect an anomaly and smoke the flash drive the young man had managed to slip into their computers.

The eldest Harp was the biggest issue. He blended too well for a retired cop. If Otto didn't have every available piece of information on the man on his desk, he would have said the man was an Assassin. Despite having the Eagle Sense that would have made him an excellent one, the man was just a retired cop. He had no idea what he was meddling in, nor, it seemed, did he care. He was after his daughter, and nothing, not a bomb in his mailbox, not cut brakes on his car, seemed capable of swaying him. That sort of loyalty could be admired, if it wasn't so bloody annoying.

The Harp men weren't the only trouble brewing. The cop's partner had begun snooping as well, though he was doing it through the legal channels. Drawing up warrants for unimportant data, requesting logs. None of it would mean anything to him, and their lawyers stood at the ready for the moment he came for something Otto did not feel like sharing. He had not anticipated that the woman would have so many allies willing to go to war on her behalf, nor did he count on those allies having their own backing. He hadn't missed that all of their standard delivery drivers had been replaced by retired officers, nor that his secretaries were suddenly all being taken out on lunch dates by ex-military. No doubt there were more covert ops going on that he hadn't yet heard the details of, but he trusted his men to handle it appropriately.

Of all the cops in New York City, the one that broke into his building had to be the one with a veritable army to come looking for her.

Otto grit his teeth. This annoyance was threatening to turn into a headache and a potential threat. So much activity was bound to catch the attention of the Assassins. If they managed to get involved, or god-forbid teamed up with Harp's search party, things could get messy very quickly. This had to be shut down, now.

But it also had to be handled carefully. It would not be as easy as he would have liked. Any attempt to present a false body may be found out, as they had yet to identify exactly which Senses the two men had. One slip in attempting to close this thing up could motivate the men to dig harder. Otto also understood the type they were. They would not be threatened into backing down. In fact, every failed attempted seemed to only push them further. Attempts to appear helpful and open to the search was met with suspicion. The Grandmaster wondered if part of David Harp's Sense was the ability to detect a lie. The brother was still a wildcard.

Otto dropped his hands to clasp them behind his back. So far there was no evidence that Operation Firewall had been anything but a failure. He was tempted to send another group of his men, including Cross. Kevin said they should give it more time.

Ironic.

Of course, it was all dependent on Robin fixing the machine first. An unexpected power surge had blown several fuses and melted through wiring. Another headache. There was no intel on where their men were, or where the cop was. The men had been instructed to head to a specific location once their mission was complete. They thought it was to be brought home. Really, it was for Otto to know it had been a success, in case nothing on their end of the timeline changed.

With any luck, he would awake tomorrow morning and not know what an assassin even was.

He glanced out at the city streets, lit up to face the coming darkness. His office was too high to see any of the cars below, but he knew across the street sat a plumping van, full of cheap surveillance equipment. They would get nothing from Abstergo, and if they did…well….there were other projects that needed test subjects.

Turning on his heel, he abandoned the view of the city and marched out of his office. Perhaps it was time to pay a little visit to his techs. Their false trails had not been holding the attention of their annoyances for nearly long enough.

"Otto, we have a problem." The man raised a brow, turning to face the only one who talked to him straightforward without an ounce of disrespect.

"Jacobs." His greeting was as much a demand for the answer.

"This was taken twenty minutes ago." The head of security and Otto's best sane Hunter handed him a tablet with a still from a security camera somewhere in Brooklyn.

His fears had come to fruition. Their ability to get work done unmolested was about to get many times harder. Otto growled. Heads would roll for not stopping this nonsense before it got to this point.

"Gather your men, we must be the first to act." He tossed the tablet onto a filing cabinet and walked with Jacobs down the hall. There was much to be done before sunlight touched the city again.

The tablet continue to glow with its clear display, showing off two men speaking as they entered a pub together. There was no pixilation, no mistaking the visage of David Harp and William Miles.


Captain: Mwahahahaha! So, some excitement, some not exciting (but very hot) traveling, and then more excitement! While the modern bit is turning into its own side story, I do promise there is a point to it all, and it will eventually tie in together! Hehehehe... Until next time, lovelies!