What? TK has posted TWICE in the same month!? What is this sorcery? Well let's just say, I've been dying to write this chapter for God knows how long. That and I want to take writing this story seriously.

I hope you like it y'all!

The song in question is Breakthru from Queen, one of my absolute favorite songs.

Also mad thanks to redhairedmuses for being my second pair of eyes. Love you bestie! Ya'll should check her stuff out. It's pretty damn good stuff to read

Please enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I only own a small collection of OCs and this cobbled-together plot. Everything and everyone else are simply borrowed. So, in short, please don't sue. I'm poor.

Chapter Text

~*V*~

That Will Be a Breakthru

Much as Federico's words encouraged for him and his brother to head home for the night, they both knew they were as hollow as a crumhorn. Not five minutes after uttering them, he sat down to watch Ezio about to jump. While never saying it out loud— he found himself bursting with pride for how far his brother had come since the incident on top of Il Duomo, especially since he didn't have to push him off anymore.

Ezio crouched and duck-walked to the edge, peering over to the ground below. Probably for last-minute calculations. In one fluid motion, he proceeded to stand up and throw himself off into the night air. Although he had probably done it countless times by now, Federico still would always find himself holding his breath. A leap of faith had its risks, and only an arrogant fool would forget that. He exhaled softly when his brother landed safely in the cart below.

He furrowed his brows, though. His baby brother was usually quick to seek egress and given his apparent plans later this evening with that pretty Vespucci girl— why wasn't he moving post-haste? He saw movement from the corner of his eye and shifted his gaze.

Ah, that's why.

Federico resisted the urge to roll his eyes as a bunch of Pazzi strolled from the far side of the plaza only to stop a stone's throw away from the cart occupied by Ezio. It hadn't even been two hours and already they were looking for another scrap? The bastards just wouldn't learn their lesson! He did find himself worrying that he would have to rescue his brother again. Two times in one night would be a record for him, he snorted, preparing for a quick descent in case it got hairy down there.

No doubt, the sentiment was shared by Ezio since he wisely stayed put in his hiding place. The ringleader of the pack—of course it was Vieri— shouted something while waving his arm in a broad sweep. No doubt ordering his lackeys to go about and search. Federico had to quietly laugh as they scattered to the four winds— if only those idiots knew his brother was right under their nose!

About a minute passed before his brother's head popped out in a flurry of decaying but still colorful petals. He looked left, then right, hopping out when it became evident the coast was clear. With a quick wave Federico's direction, Ezio bounded off into the embrace of the night to find solace in the arms of his lover at the Palazzo Vespucci.

"Good luck," Federico chuckled, settling back against the metal rod. From up here, the world seemed so small. Little people going on about their short lives. About a dozen guards walked the streets, and he spotted a couple of keepers doing their rounds and lighting the lanterns for the night. Save for that, there wasn't much activity. He drifted off into his own thoughts, most of which were focused on the strange woman with red streaks through her hair. But, bah, what was the point of thinking of her? She was gone, and he doubted he was ever going to see her again.

When the slim moon started to peek its face over the nearby Tuscan hills, he figured enough time had passed to where he wasn't going to be harassed himself. That and it was probably time he should get home. His Father may excuse Ezio's late-night ventures, but the same could not be said for him. At twenty years old and as the eldest, he had "duties" and "responsibilities" to the family— as his mother claimed. A sentiment his Father also voiced. Except those conversations usually extended to other duties, such as banking or his future training for the Brotherhood.

He scrunched up his face at the memory of overhearing the word betrothal. He couldn't help but shudder as he stood and made his way to the wooden platform for his descent. God, he hoped that would not happen for a long, long time, if ever. Thankfully, it sounded like his Father had not exactly been warm to the idea. But who knew what the future held?

He jumped as if trying to outrun the rampant thoughts.

He slipped out of the cart shortly after, with only the sound of it groaning in relief. By this point, few people were in the square since most Florentines were sensible and were probably already home. Anyone else sticking around was either an underpaid guard, low life de' Pazzi, or idiots like him not knowing any better. Federico clasped his hands behind his head and started his trek home. If everything went well, it promised to be an uneventful evening— a pity considering the woman from earlier. He kicked himself once again for not managing to acquire a name for her. To pass the time until home, he tried to guess from a list of names. Predictably, most didn't fit.

He was on the thirty-sixth name when a towering figure materialized and blocked his path, He was a big man wearing the Pazzi standard. If he had to guess, it was probably some distant cousin of Francesco's. An ugly purple bruise was forming on the side of his head, and Federico recalled he had had a rather difficult fight with the man. He also had a vague memory of kicking him in the balls while he was down.

Unfortunately, his mouth decided to move faster than his mind's order to keep quiet. "Ah, I see that bruise of yours is coming in nicely," he observed. "Must say it does wonders for your face. Completes the ugly, monstrous look you have."

The brute sneered, crossing his arms. "Big words for a little man by himself." Then he turned his head and whistled.

Federico cursed when the cohorts appeared from the shadows. Idiot! He should have known there was never just one, for they were all a bunch of cockroaches. And as much as he hated to admit it, the Pazzi thug was right; he was alone, and while yes, he could put up a fight and give them a challenge, there were too many of them for him win this fight. Dammit, he swore again, followed by a string of other colorful curses as they advanced upon him, looking practically murderous as they smacked balled fists into their open palms.

He had no chance of beating all of these men. His eyes roved around the alley in desperation as he backed away from the goons. There had to be something to distract them all, right? Anything could work, and it didn't have to be much- there! His eyes snapped to the wall on the right, where someone had stacked crates for tomorrow's use of shipments. Without thinking, he grabbed the closest one and heaved it.

There hadn't been anything in it, and it was disappointingly light, but his aim had been true, and it struck the leader right in the head. For a brief period, the brute and his cohorts stared dumbly at him, but he had already started running. The chaos provided him plenty of time to get a head-start as fast as his feet could carry him. It did not take long until he heard angry yelling and curses behind him. They had taken chase, but he had enough of a head-start to weave his way through the alleys and streetways of late-night Florence. But he couldn't run forever. He knew that; so did his pursuers. Where could he go? Certainly not home. He'd never hear the end of it from his Mother and Father. Let alone his little shit brother who wouldn't let him live it down even though he started this!

He caught a sight of the Ponte Vecchio poking over the buildings, and he slowed as an idea began to click together. The bridge would be the last place they'd expect! All he had to do was find a hiding spot or even just a bench. He pumped his arms and took a hard right towards the main avenue that led to the Ponte Vecchio, promising a refuge he hoped was there.

Like the plaza, only a handful of people were on the bridge, making way for home. So he didn't cause too much of a fuss as he came barreling through the arches marking the entrance. His gaze immediately tracked to the nearest bench that overlooked the water and made a beeline for it. He made a quick assessment in his adrenaline-fueled sprint that the shape was probably a person. He didn't give it much thought, however, as he ran towards it and slid into the unoccupied spot. They would just have to deal with him temporarily so long as the Pazzi grew bored and gave up the chase.

He slumped into the seat, making himself as small as possible. He hoped the fellow bench-sitter wouldn't mind such an abrupt guest disturbing their rather peaceful night. Maybe luck would be on his side for once, and the individual would just be sleeping and not notice him.

Fate, however, had other plans it seemed.

"You again?" There was a scoff; Federico could feel the other person rolling their eyes.

Federico nearly fell off the bench in surprise as his head whipped in the direction of the person who spoke. The closest lamp's light was dim, but it still managed to catch the glint of grey eyes and a familiar face glaring at him.

He couldn't believe his luck! It was her!

But he didn't say anything. Instead, he put a finger to his lips in a shushing manner, shaking his head. Stay quiet, please. He pleaded— nay, prayed for her to understand. He could hear the Pazzi getting close to the bridge.

She huffed, a hand shutting the open journal she had been writing in. But she said nothing, for which Federico was thankful. She merely crossed her arms and leaned her head back into the bench, continuing to watch him, clearly exasperated.

His eyes ventured to the cap she wore. "May I?" He didn't give her time to answer before he snatched it and slapped it on his head, pulling it around his head and eyes, and slumping further into the bench. She gave him an understandably indignant look and even whispered, "Hey!" but he ignored it as the Pazzi's echoing footsteps came closer. And closer. He slowed his breathing, hoping he hadn't made an idiot mistake coming here and possibly dragging a hapless woman into the mix. The footsteps grew close to the bridge, and he let himself breathe easily when they faded into the night.

Federico pulled up an edge of the cap to look over his shoulder. In the faint moonlight, he could see the small gaggle of angry men running down the street, having completely ignored the bridge. "Thank you," he said as he pulled the cap off, offering it back to the woman.

"I didn't have much say in the manner, did I? But sure," she stuffed it in her bag. As she did so, she jerked her head towards the direction of the offending party, "Friends of yours?"

"Bootlickers and paid helpers, I'm afraid," he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face to stifle a groan. "They have a certain grievance with my family."

"Mmm, I can see that," The woman pursed her lips as she pulled out the book she had earlier. "Well, looks like they're gone now. You should probably head home or something." She started scribbling into its pages. "My suggestion would be to take the long way home, just in case."

"You're right, I should." He peered over, wondering why she wasn't doing the same. Had she no place to stay the night? Why are you even asking this? Your curiosity is going to get you killed one of these days. Perhaps, but it would prove to be an exciting way to go. "But, what if I don't want to?"

She didn't move her attention from the strange book, but her voice had an aggravated tinge to it as she replied, "I'd advise against that. In fact, I'd even heavily discourage the notion."

"Ah, I see." Federico hummed, resisting a frown. He reached down and rubbed at his ankles, acting as if they were tender. "Well, if you don't mind, I'll stay a tad longer to catch my wits after such a frenzied run.

She grunted while flicking her strange writing apparatus in his direction."That sounds like a you problem." At this point, it sounded like each word she was spitting out was like gravel between her teeth. The woman gesticulated further. "Besides, there are other benches for that."

He looked up, smirking. "But what if I like this one in particular?"

She slammed the book shut with a growl. "Oh no, you just lost your privileges, mister. Off my bench."

"Ah," he put his hand up, pointing at her. "Except, I don't see your name on it."

It dawned on him how she would have taken that statement. How she should have taken it. A rational-minded individual would pass the comment off as something as not to take literally—since it was nothing but an innocent remark. He hadn't even meant it. Then again, at this point, he could safely say this woman was anything but predictable or rational.

Her face shifted into that of annoyance, and in one swift move towards her boot, her hand suddenly had a knife in it. In his shocked state of mind, Federico briefly reflected that this woman had finally snapped and was going to stab him. Perhaps his curiosity finally had gotten him killed after all, but in the grand scheme of things, there were far much worse ways to die.

But the truth was far stranger than fiction, and he found himself reeling when she half-turned and proceeded to stab the knife into the back of the bench. Dumbfounded, he could only sit back and watch as she started carving.

After three crude letters: a T, R, and an I, she stopped with the point still embedded into the bench's wood backing. She turned, blinked owlishly at him, then back at what she had been doing, a scowl slowly morphing her face into an expression of outrage. At him? Herself? Who knew what was going on in her head.

"Hey, now wait a second," she glared, now aiming the knife towards him. Punctuating each word with a worrying jab.

He immediately put his hands up in surrender despite bursting out laughing. Federico quietly mulled that perhaps now wasn't the best time given she had a knife and all, but he couldn't help it. The woman in front of him had just pulled one of the strangest things he had ever seen! "My apologies, I assure you it was nothing more than a slip of the tongue. Although please do continue, maybe this time I'll finally get to know what name I can put to a pretty face such as yours." He couldn't help but wink.

A hissing sound met his ears. "Look here you little shit—" She stopped, did a double-take at the knife in her hand, and then at the bench again. It was quiet at first, but a laugh started to bubble out of her mouth. It morphed into the kind of laughter that possessed your body; shaking it, turning it into an uncontrollable mess. It must have hit her how absurd this whole thing was and eventually they tapered off.

"Wow, I am so sorry for that," she shook her head as she sheathed the knife back into its hiding place. "But I really needed that laugh."

It was then it hit him that the woman was no longer wearing her original yet strange garments. Instead, she wore men's clothes twice her size, and it was the reason he hadn't recognized her at first. Her hair, since the cap had been removed, looked absolutely frizzy and disheveled in its messy bun. He also wouldn't swear to it, but was it wet?

"What happened to you?" he asked quietly.

Her amusement dried up faster than a well in a desert. She straightened as she ran a hand through her hair in a manner, suggesting frustration. "It's embarrassing," she mumbled, turning away, letting the hand fall to her lap.

"I'm sure it's anything but, " he reassured her in a soft tone.

She was quiet, and although it was dark, he got the distinct feeling she was studying him with narrowed eyes. Finally, she spoke in a hushed voice.

"I fell into the Arno." She paused before letting out a dry bark. "Well, correction, I was pushed by someone into the Arno who seemed to be in an absolute hurry to get somewhere."

She immediately looked at him as if awaiting him to start laughing, but Federico only hummed in thought. What an unfortunate experience. However, he caught a sense of familiarity about the man she had spoken about; and thus, a seed of suspicion was planted in his head. He took a gander and outright asked, "Was he wearing red?"

Her eyebrows immediately shot up. "Excuse me?"

"His clothes," he pinched at the white undershirt he wore, hoping to gain a response. "Were they red?"

"Uh," She pursed her lips, then quirked a brow before slowly nodding. "Well, yes." She paused again and gave him a pointed look.

"Why?" she drawled out the word.

Federico shook his head with a sigh, knowing precisely what happened. She was lucky it hadn't resulted in anything worse than falling into the river Arno.

"Chances are, he was a courier. Most are well-respected, just in a rush to get letters to their designated addresses. So it's best to give them their space. But… those who wear red? They're funded by a powerful family. As a result, they tend to have fat purses and often believe themselves above the law and not to mention, tend to be…" He trailed off as words failed him; it was challenging to find a polite way to say, "fucking Borgia bastards."

"… assholes?" She finished for him since he had taken too long to answer. He supposed that was a good enough description, and he nodded in response. "It sounds like you have personal experience with these guys."

He loudly snorted as he leaned into the bench with tightly crossed arms. The memory was a sour one and the end result had been a nasty case of bed rest for what felt like an eternity. "To put it simply, yes. A courier may or may not have run into me. While we were both on a roof." He left it at that, despite remembering how vivid the pain had been.

She winced, having caught the insinuation. "No offense, but that does make me feel better about falling off a bridge under construction."

He knew of the bridge she was referring to. It was the one just downriver of the Ponte Vecchio. Although Federico found it very odd she had even been there. "Why were you even on that bridge to begin with?"

She shrugged. "Brain fart."

He sat up a bit straighter to face the woman and stare. "Pardon?"

"A brain far- Oh… right." The woman heaved a sigh, absently twirling a red-streaked strand around her finger. "In other words, I wasn't thinking straight."

"That seems… odd, to say the least."

She shot him a look of thinly veiled annoyance.

"My apologies," he put hit hands up in surrender again. "I didn't mean to make you upset. Nor do I mean to intrude in your business, but I can't help and notice that you seem so… Miserable."

"Well, that's one way of putting it," she dryly said before fidgeting slightly. "I guess…" She stopped, sighed, then buried her face into her hands. "Fuck, want the honest truth? I don't remember how I got here."

He raised a brow "I would assume you walked here."

She let out a grunt of frustration into her hands and then gestured angrily. "Here in Florence, smartass. The last memory I have was when I was walking home after having a few celebratory drinks with my friends. And then all of a sudden poof! I end up in some stinking alley getting smacked in the head by a coin purse. If that's not enough, I fell off a bridge, and this bizarre woman shows and directs me to steal these clothes. Then I ended up here. And I just—" Her shoulders slumped, "I'm at a complete and utter loss as what to do from here on out."

He stayed silent as he digested the things that she told him. It sounded… eventful, to say the least, but it explained a lot. Why she had been confused about being here in Florence and asking questions about the date. He couldn't imagine not remembering where he was, and for that, he sympathized with her.

Carefully choosing his words, Federico met her gaze and spoke, not once breaking eye contact. "I dare not ask if you want or need help, for I know the answer to that already. But, may I make a suggestion?"

"Oh, this is going to be great," she mumbled, lifting one leg to set on the other while turning to him. She proceeded to roll her wrist at him in the universal sign of go on. "But sure, I'm all ears. I'm kinda desperate at this point."

"I'll feign ignorance and believe that wasn't supposed to offend," he fought a smile, having noticed the playful tone to her speech. But then he grew serious."I won't pretend to know what's going on right now, and I'm sorry all of this has happened to you. Especially the... ah, 'coin purse incident.'" He rubbed the back of his head, feeling sheepish. "I hope to amend that and earn your trust. So perhaps, it would be best to find a place to sleep first and leave it for tomorrow, for it's too late today.

"Unless," he paused, gesturing around him in a show of theatrics. Not helping the situation was the grin on his face as he continued, "You wish to sleep here on this bench?"

She fixed him a look.

"Or perhaps even a room in my family's home—"

"Not a chance in Hell, dude."

He shrugged, having expected that answer.

"So as an alternative, there is a... well, I suppose you can call it a shack not far from here. It used to be a garden until its owner stopped caring for it some years back. My brother and I had repurposed it. Sort of used it as a haunt when we snuck out, but –"

"Hol' up." She put a hand up to interrupt him as she stared at him with an incredulous look, "Are you suggesting I sleep in your bachelor pad? Oh, please, for the love of God, don't tell me it's also your sex shack."

Federico had no clue what she meant by "bachelor pad," but the other term didn't take a genius to figure out. He sniffed.

"You think so little of me? I'll have you know I have never done such a thing—" He stalled for a moment, realizing what he had said as the woman failed to hide her smirk. "At least there!" He added with a huff.

Federico then turned his head, turning somber, "I was going to say it was to be a gift to our youngest brother before..." He faltered for a brief moment. "Before he fell ill."

It was subtle, but he heard her sharp intake of breath. "…Oh."

An awkward silence fell upon them, and it gave credence to the brooding thoughts that laid dormant in his head. No one knew what was wrong with Petruccio. And a part of Federico feared he would never recover from his ailment. He had already been pulled from tutelage and placed on bed rest with no signs of getting better. His heart ached for him, yet he felt helpless because he couldn't do anything.

He was drawn back into the present when the woman coughed. "I accept both your apology and your offer of hospitality. Perhaps it would behoove me to find better sleeping quarters. Benches are hard on the back and all." She emphasized this notion by cracking her back. "Lead the way," she said after picking up her things.

Federico nodded as he too stood up. He couldn't stay upset at her, for she hadn't known about Petruccio. Besides, her humor and personality made it difficult to stay mad at her. She was a strange one for sure, saying the oddest things like "brain farts" and whatnot, but it was apparent she had a heart. She was also quick with words, fiery, and had a wit sharper than any sword. He had no doubt she could take care of herself if the need arose.

Which made it all the bit more frustrating when he didn't even know her name.

The two of them had almost walked onto the street when she stopped abruptly. "Wait!" She patted herself, eliciting a rather colorful curse, "Go on without me, I forgot something."

Before he could get a word in, she scampered off towards the bench again. In the dim light the lamp offered, he could barely make out her figure as she bent over the seat, presumably looking for whatever she lost. He shrugged and went to wait by the end of the bridge.

It didn't take long for her to return, and soon he heard her stop just short of him.

"Shall we?" He turned. Although his brows threatened to disappear into his hairline as he spied a mischievous glint in her eyes and a smug expression. It was gone in an instant, though. It had been so fast, that he questioned whether he had seen things. It was dark and all with little lamplight in between. He didn't give it much thought, however.

Federico had not been lying when he said it was a short distance away; although, it gave the two of them enough time to chat. They discussed nothing in particular, but it was amicable all the same, a far cry from their first encounter. He couldn't help but praise the woman's Italian, however. For an English foreigner, she was unexpectedly very fluent in his language. He couldn't see the expression on her face, but her "thank you" sounded confused, but perhaps it was due to her mind being preoccupied with other things.

Soon they were by the building the shack sat upon, and he led her into an alleyway where a ladder had been placed, providing easy roof access. "Here we are," he tested the ladder to ensure its sturdiness before turning. "There usually aren't guards on the roofs this late, but keep an eye out all the same. They usually give you a warning, but it depends on the man."

She nodded in appreciation as she stepped forward and placed a hand on one of the lower rungs. "Thanks for the tip."

"Miss—?"

She stopped and turned to face him. He chewed his lip, debating. He suddenly found himself lost in indecisiveness. Should he say something? Or should they just say their goodbyes and he'll never potentially get a chance again? If he waited too long to decide, she was going to leave.

Before long, his struggle came too much, and he vented. "I'm sorry. By this point, it's probably an annoyance, but I still don't know your name, and I would like to refer to you as something besides 'woman.'"

"Oh shoot, I haven't told you still, have I? Silly me." She gave herself a light smack on the forehead, but there was that teasing, almost mischievous glint to her eyes again. Something that made him quite suspicious. She was, without a doubt, planning something—or had it been executed, and he was walking right into it? "Well, it's closer than you think."

"You don't make anything easy, do you?" He shook his head as if in disappointment. But in reality, he was trying not to grin.

"What's the fun in that?" She tilted her head, "You're a smart man. Besides, I figured you the type to want a challenge when it comes to the 'weaker sex.' Wasn't that the sole reason you stole that poor woman's coin purse? To spice things up? Or am I wrong?"

His hands clutched at his chest as he exaggeratedly stumbled, "Again, with the coin purse? I said I was sorry. Why must your words hurt me so?"

She laughed again, shaking her head as she made her way to the ladder. He watched her pause and then turned around to face him again. "I'll see you around, Federico." He must have made a face because she grinned. "What? I have a distinct feeling we'll run into each other again."

He blinked a couple of times before smiling with what he assumed was a stupid expression."I would like that," he replied with a smile. He'd like that a lot actually. Feeling the tiniest bit hopeful, like a child asking for sweets, he couldn't help but ask, "How would you feel about tomorrow morning by Il Duomo?"

For a moment, he was afraid she hadn't heard him; until she paused on the ladder and looked down at him with a thoughtful expression on her face. "We'll see," was all she said, resuming her task. Did she just wink? She reached the top, waved one last goodbye, and disappeared from view.

I will see her again, he told himself as he turned. I will. He felt drunk with how weightless his feet were and how giddy he was. He was nearing the bridge again, and his feet slowed to a stop as his head turned.

"I should really get home," he said out loud, despite the pestering thought chewing on what she had said.

Closer than you think.

That had been an intentional statement. He had already suspected she had planned something. Was this it? Before he knew it, his feet were going to the opposite direction of home and back onto the Ponte Vecchio. It almost felt like something was pulling him. He hadn't realized his gift had activated until gold met his gaze. It was brief, and his vision went back to normal, but he knew he had seen something standing against the wooden grain of the bench.

He drew a sharp breath as his heart started to hammer. It couldn't be.

Swallowing to keep himself calm, Federico kept his gaze forward as he seated himself on the bench. He couldn't bring himself to peer over; not yet. He was afraid it would break the illusion. But it didn't stop him from reaching out and brushing his hand against the back of the surface, fingers following the jagged curves as he spelled out each letter. There had been the first three from before. But now Federico noticed that four new ones had joined them.

He finally broke the spell and looked over. T-R-I-S-T-A-N. Tristan. That was her name. In a million years, he believed he would have never guessed such a name. It was strange, unique—just like the woman it belonged to.

"Tristan," he whispered as he stood up from the bench. He repeated it a little louder, and he broke out in a smile.

That beaming smile remained on his face the entire walk home. Even when he spotted his Father, waiting with a scowl on his face, he couldn't help but smile as the name bounced around his head.

Tristan.

If I could only reach you

If I could make you smile

If I could only reach you

That would really be a breakthrough

~*End*~

TK's History Fun Fact: Amerigo Vespucci, (Cristina's cousin), didn't garner much attention in the games besides a cute little mention in AC2's database. However, it's true; the Americas are named after him! He was an explorer, navigator, published writer, and was one of the first people to coin the term "The New World" for theorizing that Brazil was a part of a brand-new continent—or so he claimed. See, it's heavily debated nowadays whether or not he was the first. (He was kind of a braggart.) Regardless, by the mid to late 16th Century, cartographers began using his name to distinguish between North and South America.

Also, thanks to the powers of Reddit and internet search, I discovered that a crumhorn, also known as a cromorno, is a type of Renaissance-era woodwind! And boy, it's a bizarre-looking thing.

One way of getting the girl's name, right? ;D Although boo Trish ;( vandalism is illegal!

'Rico, in typical older brother fashion, can be an absolute dick to Ezio, but he loves his baby brothers. While he may be three years older, he's still an immature and lazy dude. Or at least that's my headcanon excusing any possible OOC-ness that may occur here. :P Ignorance, as they say, is bliss. *cackles*

Questions? Thoughts? Constructive criticism? Reviews are always welcome, but you can always drop a PM. Even if FFN STILL hasn't activated notifications yet.

Ahem, anyway; next chapter is gonna be a good one, folks. Hehehehhe *rubs hands together*

Arrividerci, mi amici! And until next time.

-TK