Another side story! Let me tell you, I have been writing like a crazy man these last couple of days. Today alone (okay, yesterday plus today, because it's like 4 am as I write this, which is technically a new day) I've written more than seven thousand words. ...That's a ton, at least by my standards. And the scary part is? I'm still technically a little behind. Once I get A House Divided updated, I'll be back on schedule, probably... but man, this writing is eating up a ton of time. I remember when I used to play video games for fun... what, two months ago? Then I went and started a fic like an idiot =P I don't really think like that- I enjoy games, and wish I could play more, but I love to write, and since other people can enjoy my writing as well, that's definitely higher priority.
This side story is... well, okay, I'm gonna toot my own horn here. I think it's awesome. I think it's easily the best one yet. And I think by the end of it, you're gonna be like "Holy shit Six, I can't wait to see what this will mean for AR!" Hahaha, maybe it's just because I'm hopped up on Mountain Dew at four am, and thus I'm full of myself. Don't mind me. I do really think you're going to enjoy this, though. Jeremiah Gottwald IS Orange. Summer 2010.
Reviews! Tpolich comments on my usage of periods of ellipsis (aka "..."). Yeah, it's actually something my teachers always gave me flak about, because they thought I overused it, but I think it's very, very important. It's a great way to indicate when a character is stopping to think, or taking a breath, or just sort of trailing off into silence. It does a wonderful job of showing you not just what they're saying, but how they're saying it. I love em. And maybe I do overuse them a little.
sakurahanaalice and Melamori both caught my little slide-in reference at the end there... honestly, it's just such a fantastic video, and a fantastic song, I just couldn't resist. Also, since Gaspar is Catholic, it seemed pretty appropriate. I'm going to take a moment to go on record as saying that I use religion to indicate how a character thinks. I'm not trying to convert you- not everyone in my series are Christian, not all of them even believe. To me, your beliefs say a lot about who you are, and I try to subtly make that part of the fiction. I'm not going to have Karen shouting about how great Shinto is, but if it's ever relevant, maybe she'll say a short shinto prayer before charging into battle. I like to keep it low key.
Specterman626, Teucrian and nanoman79 all request that Karen's side story (or, at least, her first one, since she'll likely have a couple over the life of AR) be lower-key, mostly her thoughts about things. Sounds good to me. I think there's a lot of interesting stuff going on in her head, and I'd enjoy exploring that. Not sure if it will be the next chapter, but we'll see.
Finally, Gaff Gafgarion takes a moment to note how disturbing it is that Gaspar actually broke a kid's arm at the age of twelve. Yeeeaaah... Gaspar has some anger issues, and some control issues, you may have noticed. Though I'm sure he'd disagree- "I don't have a control issue. I have no control, sure, but that's not an issue." Heheh. It's actually really, really satisfying to write a protagonist who is kinda crazy. Like seriously? Sane people are so boring to write. They are so predictable. Gaspar just flips out, and it is lots of fun. You have no idea how many chapters end differently than I plan, because I start writing and then realize that Gaspar wouldn't negotiate (or whatever), he'd just stab them.
Anyway, enjoy the chapter!
Jeremiah Gottwald - Around the Time of Chapter 18
The Tower of London. It was first built as a palace, in the eleventh century, but by the twelfth centry, it saw use as a prison, and all its other functions fell by the wayside. It became the largest prison in the world, housing all manner of dangerous and important inmates. In the eighteenth century, the failed revolution in the Americas saw a massive influx of prisoners, and the Tower was filled to capacity. Then came Napoleon.
That the young Frenchman actually took their homeland away from them was a source of much bitterness for the Britannian people. They had not forgotten France's efforts to aid America in its attempt at revolution, and they had not forgiven it, either. When London fell, one of the most impressive feats they managed was to get all the prisoners from the Tower of London out. Some escaped in the process, certainly, but none of the imprisoned revolutionaries were at the Tower when Napoleon showed up to free them. They were carried across the ocean, and after much hardship, ended up in America.
Now established in Area One, the Britannians were faced with a huge problem- they had two nations worth of prisoners, housed in one. Even the Tower of London would not be able to house this population, if they still had it. And so, in memory of their old homeland, they build the Towers of London in Pendragon.
It was a facility that was beyond immense- nine buildings, each the size of the original structure, connected by bridges and walkways. It was right in the middle of town- a looming, forbidding reminder of the consequences of crossing the Emperor. And even up until the time of this story, the year 2017, the number of people that had escaped from the Towers could be counted on one hand. Four. Only four, in two centuries.
The nine buildings were each referred to as a numbered Tower, with Tower One being the a replica of the original Tower of London built nearly a millennium ago. Tower One was dedicated to nobility and such- lords (ladies were Tower Two) of the land that had committed a crime, and ended up in jail. Most of them had committed lesser crimes, like theft or fraud, but there were a few that were bigger than that.
You see, Britannian Penal Code, the law that dictated the treatment of prisoners in jail, was complex. It was staggeringly complex. Depending on your crime, there might be different provisions for you- murderers weren't allowed to have cellmates, thieves weren't allowed metal utensils, rapists had to shower separately from the other prisoners, and this was just the tip of the iceberg. Social status, martial status, age, gender, psychological profile, sexual preference, all these things affected how the guards had to treat you. It was impossible to keep track of it all. So the Towers had come up with the color-coded jumpsuits.
It was pretty simple, really. Your jumpsuit was color-coded based on your crime, with a special shade for security risks. Any other important factors were part of the barcode on your jumpsuit, but as far as the law went, what crime you committed was the most important thing. A thief or other nonviolent criminal was green, unless they were a security risk, and then they were blue. Moderately violent criminals- robbery with a weapon, threatening, assault- were brown, unless they were a security risk, and then they were grey. Violent violent criminals- murderers, rapists, and all manners of unpleasantness- were black, unless they- well, you get the idea- were white. And traitors were red... unless they were orange.
In all of Tower One, there was only one orange, and he was just being released from solitary confinement back into the regular prison world.
The guard pulled out his key, and stepped up to the lock, then hesitated. "...You guys have your stun batons ready, right?" he asked nervously. The two guards on either side of the door nodded, and the man took a breath, and unlocked the door. "Hey!" he called into the dark room. "Orange! Isolation over, time to go back to your cell."
Jeremiah Gottwald lifted his head, and smiled faintly. "You know, I thought I wouldn't like it... but I actually kind of like the sound of that. Orange. It's a good color."
"You earned it sending three of my friends to the hospital!" snarled the guard. "I dunno why you're so damn proud of being a tr-"
One of the other guards grabbed him by the mouth. "Don't say it!" he hissed quietly into his ear. "Don't say 'traitor'! He goes berserk! You wanna end up in the hospital too?"
The man hesitated, and gently pushed away the other's hand. "Yeah... good call," he whispered. "Thanks." Louder, he said, "Come on, Orange! Gotta cuff you so we can take you back to your cell!"
Jeremiah rose to his feet, and walked toward them slowly, noting how the guards flinched with every step. "I will be no trouble. Relax." He held out his hands to be cuffed.
"Uh-uh," said the guard, shaking his head. "Hands behind the back. It's the law for an orange." Jeremiah shrugged, and turned around, putting his hands behind him. It was actually a rather practical law- cuffing someone's hands in front of them really doesn't limit them that much. They can't do individual hand motions. That's it. They could still steal, pick a lock, choke someone, use a gun or a knife... and for that exact reason, prisoners tried to get cuffed in front whenever they could. If they'd behaved themselves, the guards would go along with it- unless they were an orange or white. The law was very clear on them.
They cuffed him, and then the two guards with stun batons got behind him and to the sides, while the guard with the keys led the way. Well-run prisons like the Towers were always pretty quiet, with discipline pretty strictly enforced... but when Tower One's only orange jumpsuit was walking through the hall with his armed escort, an even deeper silence fell. It was the silence of hundreds of inmates praying that he didn't get put into their cell. The silence of the dozens of guards suddenly looking away and trying not to meet the eyes of the man who had beaten three baton-equipped guards senseless with his hands cuffed for an insult.
It was, in other words, the sound of everyone being scared shitless.
It was particularly enjoyable to Jeremiah Gottwald, who, frankly, was fed up with prison. There were, believe it or not, pluses to being in prison. The exercise program was actually pretty good. There was a library with an impressive selection of books, and as a former member of high society, Jeremiah got to be in Tower One, which had pretty decent food and beds. Not as good as he'd gotten when he was one of the best Knightmare pilots in Japan, but... well, if you saw what they ate in the other towers (which he had) then you were very grateful for what you got. And if you wanted to think, it was a great place to do thinking.
Jeremiah Gottwald had a lot of thinking he wanted to do. He wanted to think about the military, who had faked and rushed a trial to get him thrown into prison. Who had interrogated him, painfully, on quite a few occasions before determining that he really, truly did not know anything, and had been set up. And then locked him away anyway.
But mostly, Jeremiah Gottwald thought about Zero. The man who humiliated him, upstaged him, framed him, and, Jeremiah was convinced, even messed with his head somehow. He'd done a lot of reading on it, actually. Psychological conditioning, behavioral modification... he read all sorts of books on the subject, and though there were some slight hints, for the most part, he still had no idea what the hell had happened to him. He'd blacked out, and started... behaving very unlike himself, apparently. Commanding his men to let Zero go, and when some of them did not comply getting very enraged about it. It was bizarre, it was a mystery.
And Jeremiah was certain that Zero had done something to him to make it happen, though he was damned if he knew what. Maybe some piece of Eleven technology that brainwashed people. It would explain his sudden rise to power, as well. But that was as much as he'd figured, in two weeks of research. He didn't have much hope that he would learn anything more.
And to be fair, what would he do even if he found an answer? What could he possibly do about it now? He couldn't break out of the Towers to rush to Area Eleven to take his revenge. He had no way out. No one escaped from the Towers, anyway. Even the few that had, had escaped before the Towers were in their current state- cutting-edge security and significant budget. The Towers of London were a symbol of the Empire's power and pride. They wouldn't let it be anything but the best in the world. So he was screwed.
The guard in front of him stopped, and so he stopped walking as well. "...Well," the guard sighed, "looks like it's your lucky day, Orange. You get your own cell. All the benefits of being out here with the civil people, but none of the hassle of a roommate." He shook his head. "Hands."
Jeremiah held his hands out in front of him, and the guard took the handcuffs off him, pushed him into his cell, and locked the door.
It wasn't until five minutes later that the guard realized that Jeremiah had somehow gotten his cuffs out from behind his back while walking down the hall, without any of his three guards noticing.
"Hey, Orange!" called a voice. Jeremiah set down his book, and looked up. A man in a brown jumpsuit across the way was standing at the bars of his cell, staring at him "Orange!" he said again, and pushed up his glasses with a finger.
Jeremiah stood slowly. "What do you want?" he asked irritably. Most of his fellow prisoners were either scared of him, hated him, or both. He had tired of it very quickly.
"I just... look, man, I was military too. I'm on your side here. I just wanted to give you a heads up- I bet the other guys don't really tell you the news."
Jeremiah shrugged. "Not so much. What's happening?"
The man leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know that Eleven that took over that hotel?" Jeremiah nodded- some Japan Liberation Front scum had taken over a hotel, and held everyone inside hostage. And then Zero had freed them, the son of a bitch. (It didn't make a difference to Jeremiah that Zero was doing a good thing. He resented him for doing anything other than just lying down and dying.) "Well, get this... he's transferring here. To Tower Seven."
Jeremiah allowed himself a grin. "Tower Seven... well, that's going to be a short stay, isn't it?" Tower Seven was reserved for Numbers who had betrayed their Empire, and everyone who stayed there was on death row. And unlike other nations, when you were on death row in Britannia... you died, fast. They didn't spend too much time on appeals, for better or for worse. Certainly for worse if you asked those on death row.
The man grinned. "Name's Maximillian."
"Jeremiah... but Orange is fine," he told the brown with a smile.
Maximillian looked wary for a moment. "So... I mean, what's the deal with you, exactly? I mean... shit, I knew your name when I was outside. You were a good guy in my book. What happened?"
Jeremiah looked away. "I was framed."
The other man bore an expression of honest doubt. "Sure you were."
Jeremiah turned to face Maximillian, his face furious, and the other man flinched. "I. Was. Framed," he snarled.
"Jesus, man... okay, I believe you. Not many people can fake that kind of anger... but he got you pretty good, didn't he?"
Jeremiah took a deep breath, calming himself. "He did. But one day, they'll bring him here... to the Towers. And I don't care what Tower he ends up in- One or Seven or even Nine. I'll do whatever I have to to get in with him... and I will beat him into nothing with my bare hands."
Maximillian shuddered. "I know what you mean, man... if I knew there was one guy responsible for putting me in here, I would make them miserable before I finally killed them." He shook his head. "But that ain't really the case with me, alas."
Orange raised an eyebrow. "What did you do to get in here?"
He laughed a little. "Oh, I got caught embezzling funds from my company... and when the cops came for me, I fought 'em off with a sword." He grinned. "It was actually going pretty well until one of them tasered me."
Jeremiah couldn't help but let out a laugh of his own. "With a sword? You must have been out of your head!" Maximillian shrugged with a grin, and Jeremiah smiled to himself. He may be a little crazy... but it's nice to have someone to talk to, at least.
"Tower One, atten-shun!" roared a guard, and everyone leapt to their feet. There was only one reason that a guard would yell for attention. There was a member of royalty in the building.
It was one of those things that the guards drilled into your head the first day as being incredibly important, and then slowly faded into memory. It was a prison. Royalty never came there. Why the hell would they? This was a prison. If you were a friend of royalty, and you got sent to prison, guess what? You weren't a friend of royalty anymore. So you shouldn't expect a visit.
Somehow, though, Jeremiah Gottwald found himself caught up in his own imagination. Imagining Princess Cornelia, or maybe Euphemia, walking by, stopping, and saying, "Lord Gottwald! What are you doing in here?" And then they would explain to the military that they couldn't possibly keep such a loyal, skilled pilot in prison any longer, and he would be free.
He hadn't realized until that moment how much he wanted to be out. How he longed to just walk on grass, breath the fresh air, and not have to worry about a dozen guards constantly watching him, about all the other prisoners keeping their distance, about expectation. To be able to just be, to relax, and not be faced with the prospect of being pushed back into a barred cell in a few minutes.
He stood stock-still, and he heard footsteps headed this way. Guards, making sure that everyone is up and at attention, he thought. But instead, it was a pair of guards, pushing a prisoner in a red jumpsuit. Red. A traitor. He stared at the man, and froze. Eleven. The prisoner was an Eleven. Was it that JLF dog they had just been talking about? Jeremiah didn't know what the man was supposed to look like, but he certainly looked like a former Japanese soldier. Like he'd been fighting since the war, as most of the JLF had.
And then his heart stopped as Prince Schneizel el Britannia stepped into view. "Now, I want a good cell for Colonel Kusakabe. He's done me a great service today, and I-" he began, and then cut off abruptly, staring at Jeremiah's cell. Staring at Jeremiah. "Good lord, is that Lord Gottwald?" the prince asked, raising his eyebrows.
Jeremiah's heart thudded, and he automatically dropped to one knee. "Yes, Your Highness!" he intoned reverently. Is this really happening? Have I gone mad, or has Prince Schneizel actually recognized me? Actually stopped to talk to me? He could barely believe it. No, scratch that- he couldn't believe it. He was really beginning to believe that he had lost his mind. That he could no longer tell the difference between his imagination and reality.
Schneizel glanced at the guard that was with him, who was wearing a look of absolute disbelief. "Can Lord Gottwald have visitors?" he inquired.
The answer, of course, was no- an orange had no rights at all, save for the bare minimum. One did not simply tell a Prince of the Imperial Family that they couldn't visit someone, though, so the guard froze for a minute, and then said, "O-of course, Your Highness!" in a weak voice.
Schneizel nodded with a smile. "Wonderful. If I could see him in the visitor's room, then- the nice one, please," he added, his face apologetic, "then that would be great. I'm sure we have a lot to talk about." Then he gave Jeremiah a smile, and walked away.
The guard turned slowly to Jeremiah, and asked in a conspiratorial whisper, "What in God's name does a Prince want with an orange?"
Jeremiah's eyes were wide as he gently shook his head. "I really, really have no idea."
Schneizel el Britannia sipped his tea with every sign of enjoyment. "You know, I don't think I've ever had this blend before. It's a little... rough, but it's nice." He set the cup down, and smiled. "Have they been treating you well, Lord Jeremiah?"
The answer, again, was no, but you didn't say things like that to the prince, so Jeremiah simply nodded, and said, "Y-yes, Your Highness."
Schneizel smiled. "They haven't, have they?" he asked, tilting his head. "That's a shame. You're a good man... and I fully believe that you are innocent. I wish the military saw things the same way... but they wanted a scapegoat. They didn't want to admit that in truth, they have no idea what happened, and that Zero has them completely beat."
Jeremiah twitched at the name "Zero" involuntarily, and hoped that Schneizel didn't notice, but it was clear that he had. "You met him, didn't you? Zero," he asked.
Jeremiah nodded slowly at the prince. "Yes... Your Highness. I did." He didn't add, and please don't mention the name again, but he certainly thought it. Every time he heard the name, his jaw clenched, and he felt his blood begin to boil.
The prince glanced up at the guards posted inside, and stared at them pointedly. After a moment, they bowed, and stepped outside, leaving Jeremiah and the prince alone. "I'm sure you won't do anything, Lord Jeremiah. You're a good man. I trust you." He leaned forward in his seat. "And since I trust you, I am going to let you in on a secret." He smiled. "I'm on his trail."
The prisoner blinked. "On his trail, Your Highness?" he repeated. "What does that mean?"
"It means I am making real progress in determining who he really is. Most assume that he is male- I have confirmed that, of course- but did you know that he is not an Eleven?" asked Schneizel.
Jeremiah all but gasped. "Not an Eleven, sir?" he whispered, forgetting the proper title in his disbelief.
Schneizel didn't seem to mind the slip-up. "Indeed. Colonel Kusakabe actually managed to get some of his blood, though he did not realize how valuable it was. When I discovered this, I was able to get it from him, and rewarded him appropriately for the information. He would have been on death row, otherwise... but now he's to be set up in Tower One. The first Eleven ever to be housed there, I understand."
"But, Your Highness... where did he get the blood?" asked Jeremiah, still puzzled.
"When Zero captured him, his subordinates did not tie him up properly. He managed to break free, and went at Zero with his sword. Zero took the sword... but there was some of his blood on the Colonel's uniform. The Britannian Army saw the blood when they took him in, and didn't think much of it- they aren't very thorough sometimes, I'm afraid- but I noticed that his medical examination showed no injuries, and so I thought to ask the Colonel where the blood came from."
Jeremiah gaped. "You... read the report, sir, without knowing beforehand that something was off?"
Schneizel smiled in a comforting sort of way. "I have something of a fixation on Zero... and stopping him. I think we are somewhat alike in that way, really." You're damn right we are, thought Jeremiah. "I read most reports having to do with Zero, though they rarely offer such gems as this."
The green haired man considered this. "Your Highness... you said he wasn't an Eleven, based on his blood." The prince nodded. "Could you... could you tell what he was, sir?"
"I narrowed it down," nodded Schneizel. "He is either from the European Union... or he is pureblooded Britannian."
That one really threw Jeremiah for a loop. "Britannian, Your Highness?" he exclaimed, shocked. "He really could be Britannian?"
"More than could be... it's about a 63% probability," answered the prince. "There is a decent chance of him being from the EU, but more likely, he is Britannian." He sighed. "He's not in our DNA database, but all that tells us is that he's not a convicted criminal nor law enforcement, which is very little to work with. He is between five foot seven and five foot ten, of light, muscular build like a runner, and has raven black hair."
Jeremiah was in awe. "Your Highness... how did you ever discover all this?" he asked, stunned.
"Truly, Lord Jeremiah?" asked Schneizel, sipping at his tea. "Work. Lots and lots of work." He smiled wearily. "Pouring over every photo, every piece of footage, every line he's said, sending people to every scene he's shown himself at... I know more about him that anyone alive, save for himself, and those of his men that he trusts with his identity... if any. It has been very, very difficult. And even after all of this, I have only narrowed him down to a few million people in the world." He shook his head. "This is not nearly enough."
"Your Highness... I think I may know why you wanted to talk to me," hazarded Jeremiah, "and I am truly very sorry to disappoint you- very sorry indeed, your lordship... but I cannot remember much at all about Zero. I... my memories regarding the event are very spotty."
Schneizel studied the man for a moment. "Have some tea, Lord Jeremiah. I still want to ask you some questions, of course. If you can't answer them... well, I understand. It is a very hard thing you've been through. Whether you can help me or not, I will talk to the warden on your behalf. Any victim of Zero's scheming is an ally of mine." Jeremiah hesitated, and then picked up his cup of tea, and took a sip. After two weeks of water, and occasionally milk as a treat... my god, this is amazing, he thought, suppressing a moan. It tastes incredible...
Schneizel set down his cup again. "Well, for my first question... what do you recall about his voice?"
Jeremiah nodded gently. That was a question he could answer somewhat decently. "Well, I'm sure you've heard it on recordings yourself, but... it was very echo-y, Your Highness. Very resonant, and artificially deep. I believe he wears a voice modifier, for it does not sound natural at all. It sound..." he began, and then hesitated, not wanting to say the word. "...Well, it sounds somewhat overdramatic, I suppose, Your Highness. Like Zero wants his voice to intimidate people."
The prince sipped more tea. "So it is not just an effect of the recording, then... interesting. I had hoped as much, actually. It tells me more about his personality." He nodded to himself. "Did you ever see him slip up? Use a more regular voice for a moment, perhaps, see a bit of his hair, anything like that?"
Jeremiah began to shake his head, and then stopped. "Something..." he said, concentrating. It was there. It was right on the edge of his memory, but not quite in. "I saw... something... right before it went blank... there was... something." He leaned forward, and pressed his hand to his forehead. Think. Think. Think. What was it? What did I see?
"Jeremiah Gottwald, I have shown proof for every claim I've made thus far!" exclaimed Zero, and he threw his arms out, gesturing to the crowd who roared in response. I trembled at the words... what was he going to produce now? "But, it is as you say. I have not proven you to be the spy yet. I could do so, but time is short. So you have two options- stand here and be proven a traitor and a terrorist, or release Suzaku Kururugi, and I will leave. What will it be, Jeremiah?" demanded Zero. "Face your judgement like a man, or-"
Blackness. It just stopped there. But it shouldn't! There should be more! "Face your judgement like a man, or-"... "or-"... "or-"... He struggled, trying to get my mind past the block, and his head began to hurt. "or-" he demanded, and then suddenly his goggles faded to transparent, and his eyes could be seen. His eyes. His violet colored eyes. And then nothing.
"His eyes!" exclaimed Jeremiah triumphantly. "Your Highness, I saw his eyes!"
Schneizel's eyes widened, and he began to breath quickly. "You did...? You actually saw them?" he asked, his voice faint. Jeremiah nodded enthusiastically. "My god... what did they look like?"
"They were... they were so intense, Your Highness," declared Jeremiah, as that instant, that millisecond of memory came back to him in full detail. "They were violet, pure violet, sir. And they were young eyes, but behind them, you could see his anger, sir. His anger, and his hatred, and his pride. He was drowning in them."
Schneizel leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and for a few moments, he was absolutely silent, not even breathing. "Lord Jeremiah... this is a break the likes of which I could not have dreamed of. Height can be disguised by your outfit, as can your build. Your hair can be dyed, and your nationality only gives us so much. But eyes... you cannot change your eyes. Your eyes are what they are, and you are stuck with them. And violet eyes, too... that clenches it. He is, for certain, Britannian... and likely nobility as well."
The prince stood slowly. "Lord Jeremiah, you have done me an incredible service today. I am now well and truly hot on the trail. I can catch him. Perhaps... I can even beat him." He shook his head. "I could not have proceeded without you. I will do whatever I can for you, Lord Jeremiah... I might even be able to get them to commute your sentence. I will speak with the warden, I will speak with my father." He reached out, and took the orange's hand. "Thank you," he declared, and it seemed to Jeremiah like the prince had never meant any words more truly in all his life than those.
Jeremiah dropped to a knee, and bowed. "Your servant, my prince," he said simply, closing his eyes. The prince's gratitude was wonderful, and his promise of aid invaluable, but from all of this, the thing that meant the most to Jeremiah was simply remembering. There was more to the scene, but he was sure now that he would never remember the rest, and that was okay. So long as he remembered those eyes... those violet, rage-filled eyes.
So he still gets his old nickname, "Orange"... but for completely different reasons. If you're curious, by the way, historically the Tower of London was a prison for a while, but they stopped that quite a long time ago. However, this is an alternate reality where there is no USA, so I think I'm allowed to screw with things like that a little. Besides, it seems so cool. To me. Maybe not to you, I suppose. Many thanks to everyone who wrote in to correct my mistake with the Code Geass timeline. Napoleon screws up everything, doesn't he? .
Schneizel, you may note, is getting pretty Zero obsessed. It may be a little bit unhealthy. Frankly, he's just starved for worthy opponents- he's been running around crushing everyone, and he just doesn't enjoy it. He wants to match wits with someone truly worth his time... and Zero most certainly is. So he's developing a bit of a fixation =P Of course, this fixation means he knows more about Zero than any of his enemies, pretty much. If he knew about his Geass, he could probably put the whole puzzle together, but he doesn't, and he certainly isn't going to learn any time soon.
Now someone's going to tell me that Lelouch's canon height is 5'5" or something and I'll look like a moron. If this is true, just message me (please), and I'll quietly edit it in. No need to call me out in front of everyone ^^;
Next time... well, I'm not sure. Either Karen or Nina. We'll see how it goes. Review, comment, question, and I'll see you later!