//------------------------------//
// Assassin's Deed 
// Story: The Tailor and her Recurring Customer: Part 1 
// by Dancewithknives 
//------------------------------//

Assassin’s Deed.

Istallia, there's no place quite like it.

The ancient marble architecture had survived the ages and stood in a stoic and distinguished manner above the city of Penance. The setting sun made the white buildings look as if they had been water painted a light orange color while the watery streets and canals of the costal paradise reflected the last of the light back up towards the sky.

While the city’s beauty was captured in perfect form in this particular moment, the nation’s equally majestic leader was also in rare form. 
From the stair access of the building, Princess Cadence walked through the open door and onto the vacant rooftop patio of the building. Her mane was curled and tied tightly around her head in a fashion that her hair looked to be a tightly wrapped maroon, violet, and yellow candy cane. Her dress, if it was appropriate to call it that, hung on around her form like a transparent silk toga, the only evidence that it was there was the distorting effect that it gave off when focused on. The garment showed off her flank, body and curves magically as she leisurely strolled past the empty lunch tables, under the piano that hung by the rope and supports left by the moving crew, and stopped at the stone rail and gazed out at the crystal clear blue harbor and the sun reflecting off the water.

As she stood and looked out at the water, another figure exited out of the same stairway access. This individual, wearing a white cape, suit, and had a hood pulled tight over his head, stopped in the middle of the roof. 

He pulled his hood down, showing his horn and the scowl on his face. He opened up one of the many slips on his shirt, revealing a shocking amount of knives, swords, and other weapons that would make one wonder how he ever got past the army of security and general police officers in the city.

He pulled out a sword and levitated it in a fashion to point the tip at the pink winged unicorn. Clearing his throat, the stallion said, “Hello! My Name, is Ringo Del Dingo, Mal mino, Ro Lingo, Ka Raziona Das Fettuccini; Mounter of Mares, Slayer of Stallions, Virtuoso of Swords and the unbeatable blade.” He stopped and closed his eyes, focusing his anger and refining his hate of the Istallian Princess. “You… you killed  my mother, by brother, my sister, my hamster, my ROOMMATE! PREPARE. TO. DIE!”

He opened his eyes, and prepared to attack the Princess, but stopped when his target was not doing as he thought she would do. Normally, when he would begin his epic and grandiose monologue, the prey of his hunt would scream, run away, or call for more undertrained and uninterested guards which he would cut down while they tried to hide in a corner. But instead, the pink winged unicorn had just turned around and was staring at him with a sly smile on her face. It was a pitty, Princess Cadenza was quite the mare, one that he would have tried to bed if not for the fact of the blood feud that he embraced. During his travels, he had learned that he was quite the lady’s stallion. But then again, not many stallions could use “Hello, I am Assassino.” As a pick-up line.

Slowly, Princes Cadence began to chuckle, and then her chuckle escalated into a laugh, which made the armed stallion’s face begin to turn as red as the sun as he pointed at her with his hooves and shout, “You! Why you a’ laughin with tha’ words, and the mouth? You shudda you face, huh! You shudda your face when Imma threaten you!”

Princess Cadence’s silk wrapping glowed green and reformed as a dark grey weather-resistant coat. Shortly after, her body had a green wave, which made her pink body change into a navy blue stallion.

“Who the fuck a’ you?” the Istallian swordspony demanded.

Calmly, the stallion in a light jacket stepped away from the railing and towards a winch on the side of the rooftop which held a tight coil of rope.  “Oh, you know,” He said as he put his hoof on the handle. “A real fucking assassin.” In one swift motion, he pulled down the lever, releasing the tension on whatever the rope was holding up.

While Ringo Das Fettuccini may as well be the warrior his ego claimed him to be as the great lover of mares, the defeater of a thousand stallions, and the unstoppable assassino of an ancient order. But unfortunately none of that particularly mattered when the Stineneigh piano positioned above his head was released from its suspension rigging.