Author's Note PLEASE READ! ~ I try not to do these often, but I wanted to apologize about the late update. I wanted to get it out last weekend, but my beta was away on vacation (which I'm jealous for). So, congrats to her - and as a result, you're getting a double update. Yay! Just a quick warning, Chapter 9 is self-beta'd. It should (hopefully) be re-loaded and fully beta'd soon, but I wanna give my beta a quick break to re-coop.

Disclaimer: I claimeth no ownership-eth of Assassin's Creed-eth.

Warning: Major language. Anima finally snaps.

His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man
I'm going to show him what a little girls are made of
Gunpowder and, gunpowder and lead.

"Gunpowder and Lead" by: Miranda Lambert

Thanks to my beta, Believe in Fairy Tales!

Chapter Eight: Bitch Slapping is an Assassin Thing

The next day I woke up in a really bad mood, to say the least. So it really wasn't a surprise that when walking down the corridors with a bad expression on my face that most of the other male assassins slipped through any open doorways before I got within 20 feet of them – my bad moods were infamous throughout the Order. The combination of a bad mood and lack of sleep meant I had developed an extremely short fuse with anyone who was unlucky enough to cross my path. Of course, the Levantine Assassin's missed the memo - or rather, just one assassin in particular.

I was stomping down the hallway, my loud footfalls serving as a warning to anyone around me not to stray into my path or face the consequences. I was making my way to The Mentor's office to see what we could do with the girl Raan and I rescued the night before, when a group of more experienced assassins - along with the Levantine assassins - stepped out of the office. One glare to them and the local assassins were backing up and giving me space. Unfortunately for Altair, he happened to be standing infront of the crowd.

"Why don't you wear the armor I worked my ass off for?" I snapped at him. He seemed surprised. Well, emotionless with his eyebrows arched.

"It is of no use to me."

"I worked for years gaining that money to buy that armor for myself. Instead I spent it on you after I saved your life and replaced your armor! Which, by the way, you never actually thanked me for!" I yelled, my rage growing by the second

"I see no need to thank you, girl." The distaste in his reply sent my whirlwind of emotions over the edge.

I raised my hand and slapped him as hard as I physically could. His head whipped to the side so fast that you could hear the joints popping in his neck. My palm stung from the impact. The entire corridor echoed with the sound of that slap - a slap that I am still quite proud of to this day.

"You know what, Altaïr? You can take that armor and shove it up your motherfucking ASS!" I screamed at him, one step short of punching him right in the gut. One of the local assassins worked up the courage to try and drag me towards the Mentor's office while I struggled and cussed out the Arabian.

"Learn to swallow your fucking pride you goddamned bitch, you no good bastard! No wonder nobody wanted you, you thankless piece of shit!" I screamed while making every rude gesture known to mankind at him. My vision was tainted red, the insults pouring from my mouth. "If you ever pull that bullshit on me again, so help me Gods, I will slap the shit out of, boy!" My voice was hoarse from screaming, and I dimly heard the sound of a door closing. I realized it was the door to The Mentor's office.

"Anima. If you would please calm down." The Mentor stated patiently, giving me a stern look. I took a deep breath to rein my emotions back in. I roughly shook off the assassin trying to restrain me and slumped against the wall, running a hand roughly over my face.

"Now, I'm going to overlook this incident because we are both too busy for this right now. I need you to go down to the gardens and talk to the girl you smuggled out of the church last night because she isn't talking to anyone at all. Hopefully you can get something out of her." I nodded, satying silent unless more of my pent-up rage decided to show through again.

"Good. Now leave."

I made my way to the gardens without a backwards glance. There, I saw the girl from last night. She was curled up at the base of a statue, crying softly. Silently, I sat down beside her. After a couple minutes she sniffled and looked up at me. I could tell she was younger than me by a couple years, but not by much. Her face was oval shaped and a smooth olive color, if not a little pale from too much time indoors. The most surprising thing by far were her eyes, which were sea-foam green

I decided to start the conversation. "I'm Anima. Your grandmother was the one who told me to get you out of the church."

"Thank you. I am Amelia." She paused, taking in my features, "You're not from around here, are you?"

I paused for a moment. "Originally, no."

Another sniffle. "Your features are too light to be from this area. You also have a slight accent."

"I'd assumed my accent had faded a long time ago." I shrugged.

"You can't really tell if you're not listening for it. How old are you?" Her questioning caught me off guard. The Master had said she refused to talk to anyone – maybe it was because I was a girl she felt she could relate to.

"Seventeen. How old are you?"

"Thirteen… father said I either get married or join the church. I thought that being married was like being a slave, little did I know the church was the same." The bitterness in her voice surprised me.

"I don't think we can guarantee you a nice life here, but you may work for your keep and we'll ensure that you protected and looked after. If not, you'll have to leave or take to the streets – we can't afford to have freeloaders in the Order. You'd also have to promise not to breathe a word about us."

Amelia was silent for a few moments, weighing up her options. "What would I do here?" she sighed eventually.

I shrugged, "You're too old to start assassin training, even if the Mentor would allow another female assassin - but I'm sure that we can find somebody to teach you to read and write so you can manage the library. Or you could join the other women in washing the laundry and cleaning the bureau. Though, I suppose you wouldn't like that."

She gave a slight smile. "I think the library is up my alley - that is, once I can read or write."

"The man running the library is going senile and keeps nagging for an apprentice. Unfortunately, all the men around here are bumbling Neanderthals and can't do a damn thing. I'm sure he'll gripe about your presence, but he'll teach you all you need. Come, let's speak to him now." I rose to my feet, beckoning Amelia to follow.

We headed to the library. It was in a state of disarray, with books and tomes scattered all over the place. Some lying in piles on the floor, some tattered and gathering dust. The only organized volumes were the ones lining the shelves.

As we approached the old librarian, we bowed in respect. He squinted at us, "Who is this?" he gestured towards Amelia.

"This is Amelia, sir. She's here to be your new apprentice," I answered carefully.

The old librarian huffed and Amelia shifted awkwardly, but held her ground.

"Can you read or write?" he asked curtly.

Amelia shook her head.

A deep sigh came from the senile old man. "I suppose that I'll have to teach you those. And if you learn it well enough, you can work for me. It's better than any of the other idiots that barge through the door anyways."

I smiled at Amelia and she smiled back before following the librarian off to some far corner of the building. I went back to The Mentor's office for work.

"No, I will not be taught by a woman!" The boy spat.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, sir." I voiced my opinion. The assassins that had the uncanny ability to be in The Mentor's office whenever I was stood by worriedly, not wanting another relapse of what happened yesterday morning.

"Kinja, son, you have no choice in the matter." Al Mualim snapped. The sexist little boy who didn't want to be taught by me looked at the glaring assassin who I learned was named Malik. Kinja's eyes were pleading.

"Anima, you have no say either. I want to see it done, so it will be done." The Mentor commanded.

Al Mualim released a deep breath, "So it is official - Kinja will be Anima's apprentice."

Kinja, who was standing right beside me, turned towards me and spat right in my face. I slowly wiped it off and glared at him, restraining my temper.

"Be at the training ring tomorrow by sunrise." I ordered coldly.

And, for the second time this week, I was slapped by a sexist, Arabian assassin. Except this time the Arabian assassin was my twelve-year-old, just-passing-puberty, whiny little annoying apprentice.

I flexed my jaw. The little boy slammed the door while retreating – descending - out of the room.

"What is it with you Arabians and rude-boxing me constantly?" I sighed, running a hand irritably through my hair.

It was Raan who replied. "I wouldn't be talking after this morning, Anima."

I glared at him, then Altaïr, who stood in the shadowy corner of the room. "Oh, at least he deserved it."

"And you didn't?" Raan jested, his tone teasing.

I crossed the room in a huff and backhanded him (not as hard as I slapped Altaïr, though) before exiting the room – he was an assassin, Raan could live with a little tough love.

When I got to the training ring to start with Kinja the next morning, he wasn't there. I waited, and waited, and waited until about three hours had gone by. I started looking for him. Imagine my surprise when I found him in the whorehouse. Note the sarcasm.

I pulled him out by his ear. "What are you doing? I paid for that, you know!" He yelled at me, flailing about like an idiot.

I snorted at him, "You've barely hit puberty, they're probably just faking it. Anyways, you're a what – apprentice? Level three?"

"Novice." He snapped.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, lever four - you're really raising the bar there." I drawled sarcastically. There was a pause and I looked him up and down. "Run to the southern city wall and back."

He turned around and walked away. He didn't even bother to return.

Over the next three days, the same thing happened. Finally, I got fed up and went to talk to Al Mualim and explain my situation.

"He's just wasting my time, sir - and I'm not going to teach him if he's not willing to learn. He can stay a novice for all I care. I, however, can be running my missions and working on getting my own rank up too, instead of chasing after a boy who obviously has no intention to learn!" I threw my hands up in exasperation.

The Levantine Master Assassin sighed. "You make sense, child, and I see where you are coming from. However, I lament you giving up on him so soon."

A wave of guilt washed over me, and I backtracked a little. "Maybe… just maybe… if I could make him swallow his pride, will he listen to me?"

The old man smiled, "Your Mentor is a close ally and an even closer friend of mine - if he trusts you, I will too. Do what you wish to teach Kinja his lesson and I will support you."

I bowed gratefully. "Thank you."

A/N: A little more humor. Don't worry; I'm not about to turn anybody into an abusive bastard/bitch any time soon. I just thought it was necessary for Anima to put the boys in their places… and what better way than a nice big slap across the cheek?

Oh, and Raan and Anima are close friends, so she didn't hit him that hard and they aren't really mad at each other.