An: To iron-shadow, tears are definitely a good motivator. Thanks. Merry Christmas. Or happy holidays. Whatever you want. Short chapter I know. But I figured I might as well getting something out. I plan to make up for this by making the next one a lot longer.

Desmond's mind was running through all of his options. Well, he truly only had one. And that was to get the hell out of village before he was noticed. If he had not already been. It had been obvious from the get go, of whatever you want to call this glitch in time, that templars were not friendly(or very bright). Even though they had yelled assassin when they first saw him, he knew he barely looked like an assassin. Key word there is the barely. Desmond figured they yelled it out of reflex or habit. Probably both.

Slightly pained by it, Desmond admitted to himself that he is a novice in the plainest since. He had the basics down. The running, the climbing. And even a little bit of the stealth. But whatever he thought, his face showed it. He may have watched Altair perform perfect assassinations among many other things, but Desmond did not do them himself. It was one thing to know how to do something and an other completely to implement it, without thinking about it. He did not want to find out how much exactly he did not know. Briefly, his mind fluttered on the fact that it may have been the cloths that alerted the Templars.

He took a deep breath as he again looked out of the three walled garden he was in. No sign of who ever was there taking out the guards. As calmly as he could, Desmond walked out of the garden. He made his way back to the marketplace at a smooth walking speed. His eyes flicked to the roofs around him as he walked. Still no sign of anyone. He would have loved to say that it made him feel better. Then he would be lying to himself.

The bartender made it to the crowded market place with no fowl. Hoping and praying that he was not being followed nor spotted, he continued on through to get to the other side of the village. How the village had been set up was with the marketplace directly in the middle, going all of the way through. It looked like an odd set up to him, but what could he say about it? Older times and it was a small village compared to places like Acre or even Masyaf.

Pausing for a moment he pretended to be interested in some necklaces that a merchant was selling. His brain was telling him that he needed to continue on, but his instincts were telling him to blend in more. The merchant, whom was speaking to a customer, gave him an apprehensive glance. Desmond lingered for a minute longer, all the while he was almost discretely looking around him. To any untrained eye, he was focused on the necklace in front of him. But to a trained one, he stuck out like a sore thumb. That much was obvious. The novice did not see the shadow that watched him from just across from the market. Chocolate brown eyes stared at him as they noted his tense stance and how he would turn his head ever so slightly to the left and right to watch around him.

Unknowing about the being watching him, Desmond turned from the jewelry merchant to continue on his way…Directly into a man who just stepped up to the jewelry stand. The bartender stumbled back one step as did the now very angry man. Immediately, the Arab started yelling at Desmond, getting directly in his face to do so. More than likely saying how much of an idiot he was with very vicious words. Unfortunately for the native and the novice, the latter only understood English. Whom of which was already cursing the apple in his mind in his own colorful words, again; mostly for being useless unless you wanted to travel thousands of years into the pass. Damn apple.

Desmond put his hands up in the universal sign of "Don't look at me, I got nothing in my hands". The angry native did not get out of Desmond's personal bubble even when he took a few more steps back. Still nervous about being noticed by anyone but normal citizens, the bartender decided to just high tail it away from the yelling psycho as fast as possible. Not to mention all they yelling over a little run in was starting to irritate him. He using his already up hands, the bartender(at heart) pushed the man back out of the invisible circumference around himself. He used the momentary surprise that showed on the native's face to get around him and blended into the crowd once more. Thankfully, the market was already loud as hell, so the man's yells did not bring too much attention.

With out any farther incidents, he made it out of the last quarter of the village.

-H-O-O-D-I-E-N-I-N-J-A-

The eyes had noticed the figure when he had first entered the village. But at the time, they paid no attention to him because of the job that needed completed. They were curious about him, as the person did not seem to blend in too well. What with the overtly plain cloths that were just a bit too much like an assassin's. With the job done, the owner of the brown eyes decided to watch the stranger for a little longer. Especially since it seemed like they were running from some thing…Or someone. The way they moved also seemed very familiar. It was particular and only increased his curiosity.

The master assassin's eyebrows furrowed slightly when the maybe assassin walked right into a citizen. It was an accident that anyone would, or should, be used to living in any city or town. Strangely, the citizen seemed to blow it out of proportion. He yelled obscenities to the stranger and got in his face about it. Something about it did not seem quite right. As the event played out in front of him, the assassin took the time to examine the yelling man better. At just a glance, anyone would say he was just a citizen. Looking closer, there were tiny but tale-tell signs that he was more than that. His skin was lighter than a normal native citizen, although it was still very tanned. Like the skin from one of the pale templars that had been in the sun for a while. He was dressed like any other normal person, but the key difference was that there was no dirt on his cloths. That, frankly, was highly impossible for commoners. More than any of that, what made him understand what he was seeing was the accent, slight as it was, that he could hear. That was an English accent.

With his keen sight, he caught the smirk that played on the Englishman's lips as he watched the possible assassin's back. With narrowed slits for eyes, he stood from where he was sitting to blend back into the crowd. He followed after the stranger while keeping an eye on the templar. The templar walked after the man he was just yelling at while raising his hand to the air. He made a grabbing motion twice before bringing it back down. Intrigued even more and a bit alarmed, the assassin continued after them. All the while his brain was processing the information at lightning speed. The Templars were after that stranger. And it seemed like the stranger knew it. Why?

He made up his mind to help the stranger if only to thwart the Templars. But there would be a price for his assistance. Answers.