I see that I have to make my story a little longer, since the first chapter came up a little short. I will do so, however. Maybe I'll add a little more of Ebizio's thoughts, a little more of his actions and more neutral moments between everything.

Also, I'm typing all of this on my phone, so don't get angry with grammar mistakes or typos. D8

Please review and give me critiques! Also, if you have requests, I'll most likely do them. No yaoi! Or yuri. Or whatever. XD

~ January 17th, 1570 ~

The day was cold, but at least the snow had stopped falling. Ebizio's breath billowed in front of his face, reminding him of puffy clouds in a sunny sky. Oh, how he hated winter! It coiled around you, made you hungry and made you shiver and mewl like a young babe. He rubbed his gloved yet freezing hands together as he looked ahead with his cold eyes. His boots crunched in the snow, and at times he sunk so deep into snow drifts that the bundles of white got into his breeches, and wet the inside of his thighs. "Ha! You look like you fucking pissed yerself!" Rodrigo laughed, walking beside him. Ebizio growled playfully and shoved him with his hands, and Rodrigo screamed and fell ass first into a huge snow bank. The older apprentice's limbs flailed like fish out of water as he squawked curses at him. "A-asshole!" Sartor cried, and Ebizio boomed with laughter.

"That's for bothering me all throughout the snowstorm." Ebizio wheezed as he pulled his friend out of the snow. Rodrigo's stubble was glazed with frost as he staggered to his feet, and he looked paler than ever. His teeth chattered and his blue eyes were wide. There was a soft rustle as he rubbed his arms and his gloved hands. Ebizio chuckled as he walked ahead, shoving his hands into his armpits. "... Where exactly are we going?"

"To a new brothel called the White Leaf. Surprised me, cause every brothel I've been too has the word rose in it."

A brothel? Christi would kill him. He had been caught by her once or twice, and it was horrible. Ebizio wouldn't eat for days. He would spend his time in the book room. Staring at those dashes and squiggles! Because of her! Grinding his teeth, he followed after his friend. Perhaps he could warm up a little. A whore under him would be very nice every once in a while. Unfortunately, not many people thought that way. Ebizio fell into a worried silence as they walked across the white blanketed town. It was a pretty thing to look at, he knew. It was times like these where the Creed grew closer together, and relied on each other more. Hard times raised harder people. At least that was what he thought.

Soon, they were upon the brothel. Ebizio pulled off his gloves as he walked in. The smell of incense hit his nose and made him feel better, especially when he saw the women. They were so beautiful, so precious. At least that was what his "friend" thought, and even then, he was starting to get a little uncomfortable in his breeches. The whores wore pretty silk dresses that clung close to their bodies, and even seeing them out in the streets made him want to take them right there and then. But that was inappropriate. No, he couldn't think of that. Although, as he thought of that, he found himself more and more wound up. Blushing, he tried to cover himself up, not wanting to be laughed at. Of course, that kind of thing was normal here, where you screwed women for a price. Casting his gaze to Rodrigo, Ebizio was not surprised that he had already taken a seat on a plush couch, and a woman was on top of him. There were soft, wet sounds coming from the couple, and it was obvious they were kissing. He wasn't one for going to brothels with friends... By himself, yes. He didn't want to see his friends get aroused right in front of his face; it was kind of awkward. Ebizio took a seat across from Rodrigo, and watched as his hands roamed up and down the ripe, young body.

"Hello." Ebizio looked up at a voice. As he expected, it was a young whore, not younger than him. Her eyes were a pretty shade of brown, and her lips were pink. At once he thought of her naked, and thought of himself fucking her. She was a sweet blond; her hair was almost silver. "... Are you with someone already?"

"No," Ebizio muttered casually, putting an arm on the back of the couch. He was about to say something else, but then the woman plopped on his lap. Hiccuping in surprise, he found himself feeling even more awkward in his pants. Oh God, she probably felt it, she probably felt it and Rodrigo would know... "A-ah, I don't know about this..." if Sartor did it, why couldn't he? But it was still embarrassing... Small fingers worked their way to under his breeches, and groped. "Hrrrrrrrrmmmm..."

At the sound, the girl giggled. Ebizio was sure that he was going to explode out of embarrassment. He was stiff under the girl's touch, while he heard Rodrigo's muffled moans from behind her. Never again... "... Are you shy?" the girl murmured, still gripping down there. "You don't have to do this, you know." there was a pitying smile on her face. Ebizio hated pity. Even on a pretty face like her's. With a shake of his head, the girl slipped her hand out from his pants and leant over to kiss him. Her lips were soft, and she tasted so much like sweet tea... He found himself relaxing, melting into it and falling limp. His heart slowed and he wished this moment lasted forever. But the girl pulled away all too soon. "... What is your name?" she asked calmly.

"... Ebizio..." he answered, out of breath.

"My name is Bianca." the girl murmured sweetly. Ebizio could tell why she was named so. Her skin was as white as snow, and her lips a pale pink. She was beautiful, but everyone said that about whores. Ebizio gave a weak smile as she kissed him again, and finally his hands roamed much like Rodrigo's. Between her thighs and down her bodice. Up and down her legs. To her stomach. His mouth to her neck. But after a while, he grew weary, and pulled away from licking and sucking at her ivory neck. The girl laughed louder. "Would you like a drink?" she asked. When Ebizio bobbed his head, the girl waved over someone. It was another whore, uglier than anyone he had ever seen, and she had bottles of wine on a tray. Bianca took one and handed it over to Ebizio. With a smile, he accepted it, and popped it open. "... How old are you, Ebizio?"

"Fifteen."

"That's a young age. I suppose I shouldn't complain. I'm thirteen."

Ebizio grinned. At least she wasn't older than him. That would of been awkward. And even more so if she was taller than him. He would have to be looking up! As he drank, he wondered how she got to be here. Maybe in a cold snap like two days ago, she was tired of being hungry? Whores treated each other like family, or so he heard.

"You're an assassin, aren't you?" Bianca asked, her swift and nifty fingers working their way into his pants ago. He spat out some of the wine when he felt her touch, and swatted her hand away. She giggled again, and tipped her head. Her eyes were locked on his face, but he was looking for Rodrigo. He wasn't on the sofa anymore. Neither was his whore. "It's okay. Assassins are partners with the whores. A lot of them come here. And I could tell from your cloak."

Ebizio shrugged. He supposed that he shouldn't deny it. He was dressed in the colors after all: red on white. He had the gray hood of an apprentice, but that was all the difference from a basic assassin. Bianca laughed softly, and traced circles on his chest. "Did you get picked up from the streets or were you born in the group?" Bianca asked with a soft smile on her soft lips.

"I was born in it." Ebizio covered up his frown with the lip of the bottle. He drank deeply, and by the time he was halfway done with the wine, he was drunk. It was much, much stronger than he expected. "Wish I wasn't though... You see, assassins born on the street have more respect than assassins born in the group. Street-borns know the suffering of a hungry belly, while the Creed-borns have always been suckling milk from their mother's breast. They have always been safe."

"I suppose I would be jealous too." Bianca said with a tip of her head. "But I would also be proud. I'd have more experience."

Ebizio smirked.

After a while, he was done with his bottle. Bianca rode up on him more than ever, and he swore that he was getting too loud. That was why Bianca took him to an empty bedroom. The bed was plush, a deep, blood red, and laced with silk and ornaments. Candles were lit here as well, mostly around the bed. Bianca pushed the drunk Ebizio onto the bed and undid his clothes...

~ January 18th, 1570 ~

It was a wild night, full of lust, full of want. After their endeavors, Ebizio was left panting on his back, and Bianca had curled up next to him. She twisted whatever chest hair he had on him around her finger, and Ebizio relished in her warmth. He could feel everything. He could feel his loins aching, and his hips burning with weariness. How she had straddled him, how she had experience, how she did everything and anything to make him shout in pleasure...

But now it was morning. Ebizio woke up on his back, and his groin burned with pain more than ever. He was sticky with sweat. But Bianca was still there, and she was snoring softly. It was kind of cute, but no smile came across his face. He looked down at her, and stroked her body, his hands coming up between her thighs again. She murmured something in her sleep and shifted position. Ebizio smiled for once, and got up from the bed. He tugged on his shirt, and pulled on his tunic. His body was aching and roaring with a warm, radiating pain.

He trudged down the stairs to the first floor, where the earliest customers had the first pick of the freshest whores. Ebizio looked about Rodrigo, and found him locking lips with the whore he had last night. Ebizio leant against the railing, head pounding with a hangover, as he watched his friend put the florins down the girl's bodice. The girl giggled all of the time he paid her. "Rodrigo!" he called. "Come on!"

The man grumbled a curse as he separated from the whore, and Ebizio left a bag of florins for Bianca. He gave it to the boss so she would not "lose" it, and walked outside. The morning was worse than the last, and Ebizio found himself shivering wildly. His teeth chattered and his knees knocked together. Rome wasn't supposed to be this cold! He couldn't wait for the warmth. Where the whores' dresses stuck closer to their bodies and it was like they were not wearing clothes at all!

His eyes traveled to the snow drifts, and found himself thinking of Bianca again. He wondered how she would be like in a hot summer day. Would you see every crease of her body under her sweat soaked dress? He was getting himself riled up again, and Rodrigo seemed to notice. The man was laughing, looking down at his pants. "You okay, Aguila?" Rodrigo asked with a smirk.

"... My... My body is acting weird..." Ebizio stated shakily. "It... It doesn't want to relax."

"Don't worry about it. I know the perfect way to fix it."

"And what is that?"

Rodrigo smirked more and brought him close, arm around his shoulders. He whispered into his ear. "Men usually relieve themselves when that happens, but this is a better way." Ebizio listened intently. "Cold bath!"

With that, Ebizio was face first on a snow drift, gasping in shock. The cold was on his face! It was so... It was so cold! He pulled his face away, but a hand gripped at his hair and shoved it back in again. He let out a "mmmph!" as he flailed. Soon, he was able to get Rodrigo in the snow as well, and the two hungover friends rolled about, punching each other playfully. Ebizio clung to his curly hair and Rodrigo hung on to his nipples under his clothes. They were making more noise than ever.

Ebizio found that Rodrigo holding on to his little nubs was more painful than he thought, so he ripped away with an over exaggerated cry. He rolled so he could get some distance in between them, and grabbed a bunch of snow. Grabbing Rodrigo by the hair again, he shoved the bundle into his face, and laughed loudly as he flailed and screamed. That was what he loved about Rodrigo. He was fun when he wasn't being an annoying asshole. The two grabbed snow and chucked it at each other, booming curses and calling each other names. Ebizio found himself grabbing a huge load of snow, but it was difficult to dislodge from the ground. He gave a heave as Rodrigo sent a snowball at his face, making his grayish hair dusted with the white, cold powder. Suddenly, with one last jerk, the snow came apart with a c-craaack! There wassomething hard in the bundle, and hebrushed off the snow to revealsomething grayish pink. Was that... "S-stop," he told Rodrigo, and the older apprentice, sensing his concern, paused. Ebizio furrowed a thick, dark brow as he brushed the rest of the snow off of the item, and gaped in horror as he sat what it was.

It was a hand. A severed hand.

The fingers were curled in such a painful way that it made Ebizio's own hand ache, and the blood had long since frozen. None leaked out into the snow, but the thing had such a disgusting smell on it that it made him gag. The forearm bones were sticking out at the end, painfully broken off the arm. Ebizio had done that, he knew, but there had to be a body under the snow. Even then, he saw the tinge of pink in the usual white fluff. "... I-I think there's a body down there," he gasped out to Rodrigo. His friend's jaw dropped, and the two went to the gap where Ebizio had torn out the snow. They dug and dug, and Ebizio's heart was working overtime. What had happened? Was it a man, a woman, one of their own down there? He didn't want to see their face. But as he thought this, they came upon the rest of the body. It was a man, his face awfully swollen. His eyes were gouged out, and someone had jammed rocks down his throat. Shame, he was young, with handsome brown hair that... "... Oh my God," Ebizio gasped, pulling away. "... It's... It's Friedrich."

Friedrich was Rodrigo's mentor of German origins. A heavy drinker with a golden heart. Ebizio had liked him, but... Now... Seeing him like this...

"Nooooooooo..." Rodrigo's voice was much like a dying howl. "Noooooooooooooooooooooo!"

Ebizio could tell that Rodrigo's voice was shaky. He threw his eyes on him and saw salty tears stream down his cheeks and melt some of the ice particles on his chin hair. For a moment, Ebizio could not believe that his friend was crying. But he was. "... We have to take him back..." he told his life long buddy, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him. His head lolled, and he looked dead himself if not for his screams and shouts of agony. A mentor-apprentice relationship was nearly unbreakable. Rodrigo had the right to feel that way. To act that way. His heart broke a bit as he watched Sartor, the friend that laughed and made him laugh with him whether he had a bad day or not.

When the guards stopped and began to grow suspicious, Ebizio knew it was time to go. He pulled Friedrich's carcass from the snow, and threw it over his shoulder. The smell was worse now, and with his hangover, it was hell. Ebizio made sure to take the hand as well, and lugged it off. He sure hoped that Sartor was following; he looked over his empty shoulder and saw that he was, at a distance.

After a few minutes of walking, Ebizio's face had turned sickly green, and he was holding back the vomit. Finally, they had come home after a day of wenching, but he was not as happy as he thought he would be. He stepped inside the headquarters, and the assassins stared at the body that he carried on his shoulder. He did not care for them, but he heavily minded the smell of the rotting body. They came up to him, screaming, demanding answers from the sick apprentice. Ebizio really tried to hold back the vomit, he swallowed it back down several times. But the last time it came it with such a force that he could no longer hold it back, and he spewed onto the ground. He felt weak, sick, defenseless, useless... The room was spinning, the screams and cries and shouts of disgust and mourning all crowded into one monotone voice. He dropped Friedrich's body, and collapsed face first into his own vomit. He felt the warmth and stickiness and wetness of it on the side of his face before he fell into a void of unconsciousness.