A/N: This one's gonna be a little bit of everyone. It's probably going to be a mite long, mostly just getting some of everyone, although I may write an awfully long bit on Siegfried's part, I think. It's 'cause they're picking up another ally, so I'll elaborate more.

Also, by the way, there is going to be some very obscene language during the latter part of this chapter, so watch out. Not for the faint of heart, and it's one of the reasons I'd originally put it in the M section.

AaAaAaAaAaAa

Both Eris and Amarantos had been strangely understanding to the plight of their children. The involvement with the demon sword, how it managed to hold Sophitia in its service against her will by threatening her child, and the interference of the Spanish Inquisition. What they didn't understand, however, was why the Catholic Church would think it had any sort of authority in Greece. Of course, the Inquisition could have entered under the pretense that a dangerous religious artifact was located there, but it seemed unlikely that the local authorities would have allowed such an infamous organization inside its boundaries. The fact that their grandchildren were free of Soul Edge's curse was reassuring that things could still turn out for the better, but it would require much effort from everyone.

That evening, Sophitia had been seen standing atop the hill on Amarantos' land, basking in the dusky twilight. A rock pigeon cradled in her hands, she gave the iridescent bird a kiss atop its head, whispering, "It is for Taki; make sure she gets it, alright?" before releasing it to the skies. A small note was tied to its leg, barely visible as it soared to the horizon.

Cassandra had watched the entire scene, from too far a distance for her sister's words to be audible. Her curiosity had been piqued at who exactly Sophitia could be writing to, and she could think of hardly anyone that would come to help them. There was that German man, the knight with a huge sword, and he was probably near enough to send something by pigeon; although, why she would desire any help from such an unstable character was beyond Cassandra's understanding. Maybe she wanted to lay down a burden of regret she may have had after receiving his help and breaking the curse of Soul Edge flowing through her veins. But to actually come by personally to help? No way. So, who else did Sophitia know...?

Perhaps Raphael? Cassandra had met him a time or two, and he wasn't too bad. Sure, he was a creature of the night, but the young Greek had managed to warm up to him enough, and at least they weren't particularly hostile towards one another. What kind of help would he be, though? Hell, she was certain that the Inquisition would end up turning their attentions to him, and he'd end up as more of a liability than an asset.

There was the slight chance that Sophitia also knew the location of the kunoichi she'd talked about. But the utter unlikelihood of Sophitia actually trying to send a letter so far made it a ridiculous prospect, and so Cassandra pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she approached her elder sister. "What's on your mind, Sister?" she asked suddenly, making Sophitia jump in surprise. "Something has to be getting at your nerves if you're sending out letters and trying to keep them to yourself."

Sophitia looked to the horizon again for a moment before answering, "I am requesting help from an old friend. I am sure that they will be able to help us with our situation and aid us in reclaiming what the Inquisition took away."

Cassandra nodded, still unable to develop a probable theory about just who this friend could be. "So, what do you plan to do once our help arrives? Wage a war against them?" she asked, devoid of seriousness.

Sophitia let a sigh. "I plan to infiltrate their forces and humiliate them. They stole any sort of pride we had, leaving us to fend for ourselves after we made our escape. We will beat them and their cruelties away, and leave their leaders humbled by a few who don't even follow their beliefs. The mockery of their power will demonstrate their unreliability, and prevent them from further hurting others."

Sitting down next to her and cocking her head slightly, Cassandra asked, "Who's this friend we should be expecting, anyway?" to which Sophitia replied, "Don't worry; you'll know her when she's here."

Cassandra's head and back snapped straight. "Who the Hell is this 'she' you're talking about?"

Sophitia had a soft, almost unnoticeable smile. "You'll find out later."

LlLlLlLlLlLl

The Inquisition and what remained of its troops had already begun to make their way to Spain, and were about three days into their trip. Yesterday they had crossed the Burgundy River, and made great progress by sticking to the flat lowlands rather than trudging through the hills. The day before, Aeon had received his punishment for assaulting the soldiers: a lashing with a steel-tipped cat-o'-nine-tails that sliced into his flesh. He had healed overnight, so there were no scars, but the pain had been horrendously agonizing. He would never wish it on anyone, and give them the mercy of killing them quickly instead.

Thoughts of Cesar would run afresh each morning, for he still had not left the carriage of Ambrosio and Romero. He just knew that either they were corrupting him with Soul Edge, integrating the sword's remains' energy inside him and warping him into some foul beast. Aeon wished with all his heart and soul that he could break in and stop them, but he would be killed, and Cesar would either follow a similar fate or worse. The effort would be a complete waste of time and do nobody any good.

There was very little conversation of any kind of substantiality, mostly occurring between the cruelest soldiers thinking of ways to torture the 'satanic wretch' that they'd captured in Paris. The ideas were gruesome in their own right, but it was when they actually acted on it that the pitiful vampire would be delivered shockingly disturbing amounts of pain and grief. Raphael had been placed in the same cage that Aeon had ridden in when he had first been captured by the Inquisition, shackled tightly to the bars with cuffs and chains that were made of steel, but coated with silver. During the day, one could see the cuffs of his bindings begin to lightly smoke, his weaknesses from the sun's poisonous rays being exponentially effective. Aeon would attempt to show sympathy for him every night, sharing his portion of the night's kill and feeding it to him through the cold-wrought iron bars of the carriage-cage the vampire was bound to. He saw a little of himself- or, to be more precise, his circumstances- in Raphael's situation, the only difference being that Aeon was released merely out of his usefulness. He assumed that Raphael would only attempt to escape and kill as many as he could if he were to be let free of the cage, and was also sure that he'd end up being thrown back into the cage himself, and probably starved the rest of the way, so releasing the poor man was not an option.

The orange and gold of twilight had begun to aid Raphael in enduring the pain, his flesh no longer burning in direct sunlight. He plead for night to come, and couldn't have wished it to be sooner than it was approaching; every passing minute seemed to be an hour, and the last of the glowing aura that emanated from the sunset moved at a pace that made Raphael wonder if it was being spiteful to him. He groaned helplessly as his torture continued.

Aeon, who had been walking nearby, looked in Raphael's direction at the sound. Expressing his mild concern Aeon stepped to the cage, keeping pace with the carriage, and did his best to muster a look of worry. All it seemed to do was irritate the man further, who stared at him with resentment. "If not for you, my fille would be at 'ome, waiting for ze evil to be removed from her soul," he snapped.

Keeping his patience in check, Aeon cupped both of his hands and held them in the air like a set of brass scales, moving them up and down to clarify that he was referencing the concept of choice. Holding one hand high, he first pointed at Raphael and wrapped his hand around his wrist. He then held his other hand higher than the other, and held his free hand as though he had placed it on the head of a child. Aeon then did something very grim: he drew a finger across his throat. I had to choose, either you would be shackled, or she would die.

Raphael got the gist of what was 'said.' He retorted, "She would not 'ave been in such a situation, except zat you and zis bunch of mongrels 'ad to show up."

Aeon 'harrumphed' as best as a lizardman could, and then proceeded to sign out more 'words.' First, he gestured to all of the nearby soldiers, and then pointed at his own chest. Finally, Aeon clasped his hand over his wrist again. I am a prisoner as well.

A spiteful, crooked smile twisted its way to Raphael's mouth. "You are not'ing but anozzair slave to ze shit'ole zat is Spain." He spat at the floor of his cage before continuing, "Zey use you, you know. No matter how much you do for zem, you will still be killed. Executed. Murdered."

Looking at the ground, a solemn expression on his face, and sighed through his nostrils. The Frenchman was right, Aeon figured. His abilities were simply being utilized, while he would face a brutal death, most likely preceded by insurmountably painful torture. He did not lose that last glimmer of hope, that shining optimism, that he could still escape such a terrible fate. Perhaps striking back when they would least expect it? Yes, that seemed to be the best path, although it certainly wasn't very sound. But what else was there for him to do? Sit in the cage with Raphael and waste away for the rest of the trip? There was no way he would let himself sink so low, if only to prevent Raphael to gain any kind of satisfaction. Aeon then began to think of any sort of method that would give him a little room to work with, some sort of edge if he were to escape.

Raphael seemed to be a good candidate for the attempt, save for his current condition, wasting away as he starved to death, withering to dust in the sunlight. If he were to find something to restore the swordsman's strength, and perhaps arm him, he would be an excellent ally… were he not to attack Aeon instead. It would be risky, but it was a chance Aeon was willing to take. Reasoning with himself, he assured himself that Raphael would be able to see their mutual goals, and aid one another.

He turned back to face Raphael, what could be interpreted as an expression of deep thought on his face. Raphael raised a brow. "What is it now?"

Aeon placed a curled finger and thumb to his lips before walking away, mingling and soon disappearing in the unorganized crowds of the Inquisition's troops. The vampiric man watched until Aeon was out of sight, and then made a short, quiet laugh to himself. Whatever that beast had on his mind, it was most likely suicidal, and it had to do with him. Wondering only for a moment what ideas had been running through the lizard-freak's head, Raphael made a wheezing cough before falling into a pitiful slumber, his body going limp as he closed his eyes and sank to his knees.

SsSsSsSsSsSs

Although in all reality the trek was short, it seemed to take an agonizing length of time before Siegfried, Amy and Tira reached the mansion. Siegfried had been completely silent, staring ahead as though on some sort of vigil, making sure that nothing would even consider approaching them. He constantly gripped Soul Calibur, the cool shard's energy seeping through his armor and keeping him at a regular temperature. The air about him was unsettling; it was like he was a dead man whose body continued to move in spite of the lack of a will to live.

Tira couldn't help but fidget nervously, seeming to be paranoid that something would leap from the shadows and kill her in some horrific fashion. Amy stood at her side, holding her friend's hand inseparably tight while attempting to soothe her with calming, reassuring words, but it was all for naught. Amy's voice would crack, quake and tremble with each and every pitiful syllable, for she herself feared that Siegfried would probably stretch his last nerve too far, and squash them like minute insects under the flat of his zweihander. Nobody, it seemed, could find comfort of any kind to allow them to travel without the overbearing depression and gloom.

Upon reaching the gates, Siegfried finally broke the seal of his pursed lips. "Ve are to take only vat is needed. Food, drink, a change of closs and vun horse each. Am I understood?" He turned to them, those chillingly blue eyes piercing them to the soul and forcing them to submit. As he took their nodding of confirmation, he turned back around and opened the iron gates, saying, "You only need to bring enough to last two, maybe s'ree days. Ve are going to meet a friend of mine, perhaps vun you vill recognize," treading down the path swiftly.

The manor was even quieter, emptier than his last visit. The servants tended to the various needs that were needed to upkeep the house. One of them, a maid with black hair and tired eyes looked at the group with worry. "Where iz Maître Raphael? 'E iz not wit' you, what 'as 'appened?"

Siegfried answered darkly, "He is a prisoner of se Spanish Inquisition, and ve are going to rescue him. Ve need supplies, enough to reach England."

The maid said with a panicked tone, "Surely you do not mean to bring Madame Amy wit' you? She cannot leave-"

"She vill come vit us. She is a more san capable fighter, and she vould be in no danger vhile in my care. Raphael himself vould be more san understanding," interrupted Siegfried.

The maid stiffened and walked away, knowing that Siegfried would have his way regardless of what she did.

The supplies were gathered quickly, taking no more than a half an hour to collect what they needed. Tira had to take the clothes of one of the maids, as nothing Amy had that could be worn in travel that would also fit her more womanly physique. Once they had everything, they went to the stables, and each mounted a horse. Siegfried was greeted with that same horse he'd ridden from Metz to the mansion. He snorted, and the horse mirrored him. "Damned horse. You never learn to stay avay, do you?"

The horse whinnied and shook his head. Siegfried sighed, and the very ends of his lips curled upward, unnoticeable to all but himself. "Very vell. But if you get hurt, it is your fault entirely, eh?" he warned, to which his ride nodded.

Flinging his leg over the saddle, Siegfried spurned the creature onward, followed by Tira and Amy.

After two days of travel from the outskirts of Paris to Calais, it seemed as though Siegfried had lightened his mood. He was not cheerful, oh Heavens no, but he was at least talkative, and did not act like an automaton. It was mostly to his horse, but he would occasionally check on the two girls that followed him. Soul Calibur had yet to utter a single word, though, and that fact worried Siegfried. He did not know whether or not she was angry with him, or simply too weak, and would be for a time before she could recover properly.

Either way, when the trio had reached the port town, they had a terrible time as they weaved in and out of the crowds, making their way to the docks. Siegfried would grumble, and once even swore violently in German at a man who'd tried to shove the knight and his horse out of his way. The man did not answer.

The next boat had a lengthy waiting line at the dock, thick with people and impatience. Amy and Tira waited restlessly, watching as Siegfried's expression slowly turned from neutral into a fearfully irritated snarl. It looked like his face was reddening to just as dark of a reddish pink as his scar, the man obviously bottling up what seemed to be limitless amounts of frustration at how slowly the line was progressing. The crowd did not help either, bumping and pushing and cursing at one another, one or twice even falling into his horse's path. He had resisted the urge to simply trot over the man and step on his face, but only by a hair's breadth.

It was three excruciating hours before they finally reached the loading bay, and Siegfried was fuming, barely able to restrain himself from roaring out to the world that he wished to smash his head into a wall. The man at the bay held out a hand and said, "Douze francs chacun," his voice very formal and apathetic.

Siegfried dug roughly through the pouches on his belt, withdrawing a total of thirty-six francs, twelve for each of them. They each slid off of their horses as soon as they were boarded, holding them by the reins and leading them about the deck. They remained near the boarding area, if only to not have to go through that ordeal again. Siegfried propped himself by his arms on the gunwale of the ship, and took a deep, relieving breath of the salty air. His anger faded with each exhalation, and soon he was calmed again, able to relax. The two girls merely sat by their horses, holding the reins while they rested on the wooden, splintering planks of the deck. Amy looked up at Siegfried and asked demurely, "Who is it zat we are visiting?" her head cocked a little to the side to express her curiosity.

Siegfried turned around and only looked down with his eyes as he answered, "A… very, very good friend of mine. Ve have known each osser for many years, and she is more dan villing to help us rescue your… pére, as you call him."

Amy's eyes lit up, hope glittering profusely in her shiny orbs. "You are cairtain?"

Siegfried made a small, yet warm smile, unable to remain so grim at the sight of the girl's face. "Ja, I am very certain."

The rest of the trip across the Channel was uneventful, Tira only making an occasional yawn at the slow passing of time. When they landed at the English port in Dover, Siegfried clapped to get them up and moving, taking hold of their horses as they led them down into the city. It wasn't until they were clear of the docks that they mounted the horses and slowly tread through the winding streets, surrounded by people. Looking back at Amy and Tira, he said to them, "Ve are going to stop and have a small meal before continuing. London is a short distance avay, no more san a half a day's ride. Come, I can find us somesing dat von't make you sick."

Siegfried led them through town, taking only a short while to reach a tavern that wasn't particularly run down. It was certainly dirty, but it was nothing that they hadn't seen before. They tied their horses to a post at the side of the building, and stepped inside, the eatery dusty and reeking of stale beer. Amy's face wrinkled up as the rancid smell hit her, sweaty and dirty men stinking to high Heaven. Tira wasn't faring well either, getting several suggestive looks from various customers. Even Amy was getting a few disturbing glances from the more vile looking individuals about the place. Siegfried, however, was getting the most stares. They looked at him with disdain, some of them with worry, and even a few of them looked on with fear. It was not the fact that he was a knight; other nobles, although of the lower class, were there as well, if only staying separate from the rest of the patrons.

It was that great, massive blade that hung over his back that drew the attention. If he wanted to, Siegfried could have demolished most of the building with that thing, save the stone walls, and even that was questionable. Siegfried found the three of them a small, out-of-the-way table, and had Tira and Amy sit at his sides while he was facing the rest of the tavern. He placed Requiem in the corner next to him, and waited for one of the bartenders to approach the table. While they waited, Amy leaned towards Siegfried and whispered softly, "I zink I am already becoming sick, and none of ze food zat is most likely just as sickening would be necessary."

Siegfried cocked his head just slightly in her direction and reassured her, "Do not vorry, just because de tavern is dirty does not mean anysing about se food. I vas here on my last visit, and it vas a satisfactory meal."

Amy sighed and sat back in a normal position, suddenly becoming interested in the many cracks on the worn table. She obviously did not believe Siegfried, but she would have to trust his judgment on this one, as he was the one who was paying.

Tira's eyes continually darted around at all of the drunken men that were looking back and forth between her and their fellows. She was more than capable of beating the Hell out a few of them at a time, but a small posse of them would probably overwhelm her, no matter how incompetent they were. Of course, there were Siegfried and Amy to protect her, especially with that fierce rapier that Amy's father wielded. But Tira would never just flat out rely on her comrades to protect her, for she wished to show just how independent she could be. The fact that the rest of her had been exorcised from her mind did nothing to help; at least she was never alone when they were around, and the only people she could talk to were more likely to scold her or complain rather than comfort her.

As for the meal, Tira had no qualms about it. She was used to eating rodents and stray animals, unseasoned, and most of them undercooked. Something with flavor that was made for her was a pleasant change, especially considering what her diet had consisted of before.

Finally, after a considerably lengthy wait, a short, greasy, balding man with horrendously misshapen teeth stepped to the table and asked, "Wot'll i' be today, sir?"

After stroking his chin for a moment, Siegfried replied, "A slice of corned beef vit' cabbage vill do, vun for each of us. I can smell it in here, and I like it very much."

"Anyfing t'drink?"

"I vill have a pint of pale ale, and se ladies should have some vine, nossing too strong, hm?"

"Awright, you'll 'ave i' in just a tick."

The man walked off, and once he was out of earshot, Siegfried leaned forward and told Tira and Amy quietly, "Amy, do not speak vhile ve are here, and it vould be vise for you to remain silent yourself, Tira. Se English are even less fond of se French visiting dem even more san you are of dem. Sey are already suspicious because of me being German, and ve need no more trouble vit' anybody. Understood?" They both nodded curtly.

Only a few minutes later the man returned with a large platter, three nice slabs of pink beef over a pile of cabbage, decorated with mustard seed and drenched in broth. Each of them were handed two knives and a plate, along with their drinks. Siegfried was presented with a pint in a brass mug, while the other two were given their dilute wine in tin goblets. They used their knives to hold the meat and lay it on their plates and scoop up bunches of the shredded, boiled cabbage. While Amy was the only polite one, Siegfried would take large mouthfuls of meat and cabbage, while Tira slurped and ravenously stuffed food into her maw. Amy was even more disgusted, and after only a few bites, she pushed away her plate, deciding instead to sip her wine. She nearly choked on the stuff, unprepared for the sour, bitter taste that came with it. This, however, was at least bearable. Raphael had kept a plentiful storage of alcoholic drinks in the wine basement that were far too strong for her to even so much as smell them. On that plane of thought, Amy steeled herself for it and sucked the drink down with gusto, wishing to simply get it out of the way while cleansing herself of the thought that she would end up drinking that acrid fluid that burned like liquid fire. She cringed and made a small cough as she set the goblet down, but was thankful that Siegfried hadn't ordered hard liquor instead of such light fare. She certainly didn't want to know what kind of filth would be put into such a drink.

Siegfried took a large gulp of the ale. It tasted more like grog to him, although it wasn't as bad as what was served at some of the cheaper bars he'd been to. He took note of Amy's reaction to how foul the wine most likely was in comparison to what decadent beverages she must have sampled while under Raphael's care. He sat down the mug and said, "I know it does not taste very pleasant. It is vat ve can afford, so do not too picky."

Amy sighed, watching as the others downed their food just a tad quicker. By the time they both had finished, Siegfried had to take off his gauntlet to wipe his lips, and Tira's face ran with juices, using the front of her blouse to get herself clean. They left almost as fast as they'd came though, Siegfried leaving the few schillings needed on the table, and were soon on the road again, nobody talking very substantially. The only thing that seemed to hint that anything was being said was that Siegfried's horse would snort and shake his head unusually frequently, as though he were making conversation with his own thoughts.

Half of the day had been gone by the time that they left, and it was another half by the time they reached the gates of London. The night had begun to fall, and the city's lights sparkled in the twilight, a light gold being cast over the buildings by both the setting sun and flickering flames that were being lit. Siegfried looked on with a determined face, while Tira and Amy watched as they drew nearer to the city, both enthralled and fearful of who or what strange things resided in such a place. Although they had both visited large cities before, Amy having lived in one for most of her life, the only one of the three that had reasonable amounts of experience with London was Siegfried, Tira only having been there once, and Amy never even so much as seeing it, let alone being in it. They knew it was going to be much different this time around, and so they braced themselves while they still had the chance to.

IiIiIiIiIiIi

Work, work, work.

Have just enough of a break to make sure that no one starved to death or got dehydrated, and then back to work.

Again, more work.

Hours had passed, Ivy having begun her research and experimentations early in the morning and almost ceaselessly continuing from there. Scurrying about her basement, the alchemist fettered over every single aspect of her project, mixing various concoctions and infusions in glass beakers, crystal vials, and boiling them in a bowl of iron. On the floor was a pentagram of silver dust, and in the middle, lying in a peaceful coil, was a large adder, still alive and flicking its tongue to taste the air.

Stress rolled from Ivy's face almost as profusely as did her sweat. The coat and shirt she wore, simple and expendable, had started to moisten around her neck and underarms, not to mention the backside of the tight skirt also getting slightly damp from her exertions. Finally, after laboring the entire day over the experiment, the weight of it seeming to be more like a week's worth of work, Ivy drew forth the final product of her mixing, blending and simmering of chemicals. To most, it was an unidentifiable vial of a lavender chemical that was deathly toxic for all they knew, but Miss Valentine knew better. What she had made was a sort of drug for enhancement of the soul, to fill it with excessive amounts of energy that, if used properly, would also keep itself reserved enough to not make its recipient burst into flame or disintegrate in a flash of light.

Holding the vial just above the head of the adder, Ivy let it dribble over the snake's coils, running over and adhering to every scale it contacted. At first, the snake began to writhe and hiss, agony burning through it from its head to the very tip of its tail. Then, after what was most likely fifteen seconds of living Hell for the poor creature, it fell to the floor, appearing to be very much dead. Its back had begun to smolder from contact with the chemical, searing a line that trailed across its flesh. Disappointed greatly with the results of her experiment, Ivy swore aloud a stream of words that would make the weaker-hearted drop into a dead faint, and then went to her desk, littered with parchment and paper. A quill, dabbled with ink, was drawn towards a clean sheet of paper, on which she scribbled: 'The potion was unsuccessful. Perhaps I need a larger, more durable test subject, maybe a wolf, or even a human. I would not wish to expend either and kill them as well. If only there were some other way to test its effects without setting the subject's insides on fire…' and then set the quill down. She sighed and furrowed her brow in frustration. What her next victim- ahem, tester of hypotheses, would likely to be going through was not an idea Ivy was particularly fond of, but she knew that if she was to augment her own spirit's strength, she would have to see it work on something else before she was to down the stuff. After such a sweat-inducing endeavor, Ivy decided it was time for a bath and a change of clothes, and so she left her basement and made way to her bedroom.

The outfit she'd chosen was a tight, lilac undershirt, along with a red wine, velveteen jacket and matching breeches that also hugged the skin, a lacy scarf to hang just above her breasts, and tall boots of the same color as the shirt. Gathering the said outfit and a rag and towel, she then made her way to the bathroom. Making use of a modified beer tap that was suitable for water and connected to a large tank, she let it run for quite some time to fill with warm water, as she'd built the wooden tank near her chimney to help make it more time efficient than filling several buckets with hot water, going back and forth from the bathroom to the kitchen. She knew that the tank would have to be refilled often, considering it was only the size of a keg of ale, but it would suffice for about two or three baths before she had to go to utilize the well.

Once the tub was filled to the necessary depth, Ivy sprinkled in a crushed sort of rock salt that smelled of tea roses, stripped herself of the foul clothes, grabbed her rag and stepped inside the bath. It was at first a bit of a shock to her spine, as the water was much warmer than her body at the moment, but after lathering the rag with scented Castile soap, she was adjusted to it, running the rag up and down her arms after dipping her entire body into the tub for a moment. She started with her arms, fiercely scrubbing herself down from her underarms to her hands, and then went across her chest and then over and underneath her ample breasts. Her stomach, back and backside, then her legs; Ivy had left no part of herself untouched, using the soap in her hair before rinsing it all away. She stepped from the bath, pulled the plug to drain it into a pipeline that connected to the local sewer and dried herself off, being especially thorough on her hair, which she combed strait and free of tangles. After donning her chosen set of clothes, Ivy threw her clothes in a nearby hamper to be washed later, and then followed the hallways to her pantry thinking of what to eat. Rolled oats and coarsely ground wheat seemed appetizing at the moment, and so she dumped a portion of it into a small bowl, warming a sufficient amount of cream before pouring it in, mixing in only a minimal amount of spices. As wealthy as she was, Ivy was in no shape to fetter her funds away on those rare spices that were shipped to Europe, this time delving into a jar of cinnamon that had been shipped to England and France. It had cost her a fortune, considering how little she'd gotten for the price. Although she also had sticks of it, she decided it more appropriate to use the finely ground dust of the spice.

Once the oats and wheat had swelled with the cream, Ivy took her bowl of porridge and a spoon, walking to her lounge and sitting down to enjoy her meal. She had just finished it when the peace of her home was disturbed by her door knocker's thundering signal that someone was at her door. Standing up and licking her teeth clean before answering the door, Ivy wondered at just who it could be, considering she was a bit of a recluse that rarely left her estate, only doing so when necessary. The only friends she had were from hundreds of miles away and therefore anticipated some sort of wandering merchant to bug her with what was most likely useless junk.

What she had not expected was to see a knight dressed in steel and a cloak, accompanied by two young ladies. She recognized the girls, one of them was an assassin she'd defeated in her journeys, and the other… Raphael's foster daughter. Whatever could she be doing with Siegfried, who, as far as she knew, was utterly hated by the Frenchman? Siegfried greeted Ivy with a nod and a sigh of relief that she was home, and she in turn returned the greeting with, "Hmph. I take it you've run into something drastically important if you're coming back here to pay me a visit?" planting a hand on her hip.

"Ja. Se problem has to do vit de Spanish Inqvisition. Sey vent after Raphael and abducted him."

"And I suppose you, German dog, expect me to help you get the homosexual bastard back home?"

Amy frowned at Ivy deeply. Siegfried simply laughed it off, replying, "Ah, sat vould be de only reason I vould employ a conniving bitch like you," smiling mischievously.

"Dirty mongrel." She leaned closer just a couple of inches.

"Mad vitch." Siegfried too leaned in.

"Bastard knight."

"Whore."

"Murderer."

"Cunt!" Siegfried barked.

"Dog fucker!"

"Shit-eating loon!"

"Ass-licking vagrant!"

By then, the two were face to face, their noses almost touching, only off by a few centimeters. Ivy whipped out her hand and grasped Siegfried by the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of his soft, golden locks, while Siegfried gripped Ivy by the jaw, and they planted their lips together, tongues snaking about furiously in one another's mouths. Tira looked on with a raised brow, and Amy gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

They parted, and Ivy smiled. "C'mon in. I'll get you all some tea."

As Ivy again hustled towards her pantry, Siegfried led the others into her lounge, each of them taking a seat; Siegfried undid his armor before he sat, undoing the leather straps on his plackart and the segments below first before working on the spaulders, gauntlets and greaves. While the three guests began to relax, Amy looked at Siegfried curiously. Her voice laced with uncertainty, she asked, "Why… why did you do… zat? I 'ave nevair seen a kiss like what you and ze woman just did. You would not 'appen to be… erm, to be lovairs?

Siegfried pondered for a moment before answering, "In a vay, yes. Ve have known eachosser for some time now. Ve met four years ago, and have kept in touch vunce in avhile. Se relationship de two of us developed has grown to a sort of fondness, aldough I do not believe ve are to marry anytime soon."

"Ah," Amy replied, having no idea of what to say. The subject in general was confusing to her, and she didn'twant to think about it any longer.

Blessing came to her disturbing tension in Ivy bringing out a teapot and four teacups with an egg-shaped brewing container, and she poured their cups full of boiling water before sitting next to Siegfried on the couch that was more a cushioned bench than anything else. The other two girls were in their own separate chairs, sipping down the piping hot tea very carefully. Breaking the silence, Ivy inquired Siegfried, "So. Wot's happened that brings you to my humble abode?"

Getting directly to the point, Siegfried said, "Raphael had summoned me by a message bird, and so I followed to his new house just outside of Paris. I vas to help purify him and Amy, but ve vere interrupted by a certain friend of Amy's."

Tira coughed lightly.

Siegfried continued, "From sere ve attempted to catch Amy and Tira in Paris, who had run avay, and se Spaniards had arrived also. Sere vas a quick fight, many of de Spanish being slain, and Raphael and I took on a lizardman who held Amy hostage until se fighting stopped and Raphael vas captured. By se looks of dings, it seemed it vas desperate to end se scuffle, and did so vit an eqvally desperate messod. It vas cruel, but it vas probably all sat it could dink of at de moment."

Ivy took a sip of her tea. "So, Siegfried," she said rather casually, "What's it you planned on using anyway?"

Siegfried reached into his pouch and drew forth the spear of crystal that was Soul Calibur. Ivy's jaw dropped, and she said, the awe and disbelief clear in her voice, "Is that… what I think it is?" to which Siegfried nodded.

"Yes."

"What." Her flat voice expressed how confounding the find was.

Shifting in her seat uncomfortably, she asked, "You don't plan on using that anytime soon, do you?"

Siegfried shook his head. "Nein. She has been unresponsive as of late, and I don't sink she vill be anytime soon."

"Wait… did you just call it 'she'?"

Siegfried nodded. "Her voice is very feminine, very much se opposite of vat I heard from Soul Edge."

Ivy put a hand to her forehead, using her thumb to rub her temples. "I think… I think we're going to have to sleep on this one. We should rest up a bit before we start explaining how it got itself like that anyway. Come, I'll show you the guest rooms."

IiIiIiIiIiIi

A/N: Hope it wasn't too harsh with the language there. Definitely not safe for the little chiddlers. As always, please read and review.