Yesterday was a very, very good night.

Went to the Royal Albert Hall to see Snow Patrol. Not only was I with two of my closest friends (although one was missing, wish you'd come, although I don't think you love SP ;3) but we went to see one of my favorite bands at the moment.

The RAH was an amazing venue, too, and a new experience for me- I'd only ever been to concerts like the Killers at outside venues like Hyde Park.

We'd got standing tickets right at the top; best view, in my opinion. 'Twas rather high (had to hug someone even tighter because of this, didn't mind though). I have a feeling my mother wouldn't have liked it.

They started with The Finish Line and finished with one I didn't know, if I can remember correctly. Feel free to correct me, either of you xD Favorites among all of the songs they played were You Could Be Happy, Chasing Cars, You're All I Have and Run (of course). Also we were lucky, Martha Wrainwright had turned up on the last night of SnowPatrol at the RAH, the night we were there, to sing alongside SP for Set The Fire To The Third Bar.

They also sang One Day Like This by Elbow. (:

I'd like to say thanks to you both for tagging along with me and enduring my occasionally pointless babblings. Although I tried to keep it to a minimum. You're my new concert buddies; maybe I'll try and get tickets for us all for Elbow or Coldplay next year.

Right, so, yes, NaNo.

Home stretch, as I've said before.

So I think it's time for another preview. Sit down on the carpet, children, and hope yha enjoy it! (: Remember again that this is completely unedited. Its a whole chapter this time, I forgive you if you don't read all of it xD

Here goes.

Stoermer was beginning to be rather startled by the two children, which was extremely unusual for an SS agent like himself.

He had already been relatively surprised as he had followed Lorelie and her friend almost half way across the city of Berlin in a single day, before it even got dark. Where on earth were they going? Were they just walking randomly, trying to confuse the SS perhaps? Did they think Stoermer was following them?

Still far too many questions and few little answers.

Stoermer would just have to listen.

He could remember his lessons well.

He had been temporarily transferred to New York, America.

Stoermer had never had much experience with the Americas; nor the people who lived there. After three days in the city of New York, he decided that he didn’t like Americans.

SS agents were taught to judge quickly but rationally.

Saved a lot of time in the field.

Of course, the Americans didn’t know he was from SS; neither did they know he was even from Germany. They didn’t know he was here in New York for a rather special training course.

He was here on the MN Ausbildung, S7.

An assassin’s course.

Of course, being an agent in the SS didn’t mean you could choose what you wanted to be. You couldn’t just be an assassin; couldn’t just be an officer. You had a duty to be all these things; and more.

But because Stoermer had been specially commended, he came to New York with only one course in mind.

Stoermer was not surprised that the multitude of the training was to be spent sat in a lecture theatre, watching one of the SS Generals instructed at the front, writing with white chalk on a black board.

The instructor was not a typical SS General, however. Stoermer found him more engaging than any other instructor he’d ever had before, which was certainly saying something, knowing the SS’s reputation for teaching. He found him easier to listen to, easier to learn from; and certainly fascinating to watch him deal with certain aspects of the class.

The class was very small; which was usually good news for an assassin’s training course. Less people to deal with, less people to get in your way. But their instructor, Kosov, had narrowed his dark blue eyes and gazed at us criticisingly as they’d filed for the first time into his lecture theatre, tapping his pen seemingly absently on the side of the front desk.

The first question he asked was an odd one. And not just because it was in English.

“How do you listen?”

Stoermer’s class of five was instantly silent. They were seated on the front row of the theatre, looking straight ahead. Stoermer narrowed his eyes, mirroring his new instructor, and evaluated his appearance. After a few quick heartbeats he decided to wait before making any assumptions.

Stoermer could speak perfect fluent English- it had been one of his requirements for himself once he had joined the SS Youth, the Jugend. The Commanders hadn’t put it down on his form that he had to speak English; but he found it extremely beneficial.

He could also speak fluent Russian, French, Icelandic and could just about understand Czechoslovakian.

He was sat at the end of the row of five students. Stoermer glanced quickly down the aisle, assessing each of the other SS agents swiftly. None of them looked very dangerous; but once again, he decided to wait before making any kind of assumptions.

He did, however, evaluate their facial expressions and body language as Kosov asked this first fundamental question.

The three students next to him didn’t look very confused- one frowned ever so slightly, another tightened their jaw, and the other drew their lips together into a tight line.

However, the student on the other end of the row looked bemused.

“Sprechen Sie Englisch?” Kosov said kindly, focusing his gentle gaze on the end row student.

They shook their head very, very slowly.

“Then you do not belong here. You have no future in the SS unless you can listen.” Kosov continued coldly, his eyes abruptly turning icy, knowing this student couldn’t understand a word he was saying. “You are lucky that I do not shoot you with the pistol I sure have in my pocket. You are very lucky to be alive.”

The student continued to stare at Kosov with a terrified but still confused expression. Stoermer drew in his breath sharply, but only watched the student at the end of the row out of the corner of his silver eyes. The other students didn’t dare turn their heads either.

“The simplicity of it is that you cannot understand what I am saying. And therefore fail to listen.” Kosov spoke with a dark kind of finality.

There was a tense moment of silence, and the student opened his mouth to speak. Stoermer willed him to shut up, but of course he didn’t.

“Ich lernen kann.” he pleaded desperately. Stoermer did not feel any kind of sympathy for him- why should he? This student had no idea that Kosov had just saved him a very messy death. He had no idea that Kosov had dismissed him in the first minute of the first class.

I can learn.

“No, you cannot learn.” their instructor continued icily. “You cannot learn to listen. You either can listen or you cannot listen. You cannot listen. Therefore you are dismissed.”

There was another moment of tense silence. Stoermer could see the student’s hands gripping the side of his seat, knuckles turning white. Stoermer wondered whether the student had gotten the message yet.

“Bitte, ich verstehe das nicht.” he pleaded.

Obviously not. What a shame.

Please, I don’t understand.

Stoermer saw Kosov sigh deeply through his nostrils. It was a heavy, resigned sigh.

“You brought this upon yourself.” he said, sounding bored. “I did not want to do this to you.” he paused, looking with his head slightly tilted at the single student, who sat trembling in his seat, having now idea of what was going on. Stoermer swallowed.

“You could have been useful. It’s always the good ones.” Kosov sighed.

In a swift movement, before any of the students had time to react, their instructor drew a dark black pistol and a single shot was fired, echoing off the walls of the large lecture theatre.

Stoermer still did not look to the left, but he felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face.

“Look, now I’ll have to call the cleanup crew.” Kosov said, almost exasperatedly.

The situation was humorous for half a heartbeat. Then it wasn’t, all of a sudden.

Stoermer had no doubt that the student who couldn’t speak English was dead. Shot in cold blood.

That gave him some idea of what the course was going to be like.

None of the other three students moved their heads to look at the slumped body of the student who had been shot.

Kosov had already put his pistol back into his SS issue trench coat pocket with another small sigh through his nose. “How do you listen?” he repeated, as if nothing had happened.

Stoermer was beginning to like him.

There was one of those moments of silence. A new air of respect had entered the room.

One of the other students hesitantly raised a hand.

“Yes?”

“You listen by learning other languages so you can hear everyone.” the student said nervously.

Another tense silence.

Stoermer could see the student’s hands tense anxiously.

“Good answer.” Kosov replied mildly. The whole class seemed to hold its breath, hardly daring to believe it.

“But definitely wrong.” he added.

The student’s eyes widened slightly.

“Dismissed.” Kosov said coldly.

This time the student understood him. He swiftly stood and left the room.

Stoermer didn’t watch him leave. His eyes were locked with Kosov’s. He didn’t shrink under the hawk-like gaze.

“How do you listen?” Kosov asked casually once again.

Stoermer didn’t hesitate in replying. “You listen once you have watched and waited. You listen by knowing. You listen by asking. You listen by trusting yourself. If you can listen you can know yourself.”

There was the longest tense silence yet, and Stoermer kept his calm silver gaze on Kosov’s cold dark blue eyes.

“What is your name?” Kosov asked suddenly.

“Vonich. Stoermer Vonich, sir.” Stoermer replied evenly.

The two students who were left turned their heads simultaneously to look at Stoermer.

Kosov looked at him thoughtfully. “Have you done an assassin’s course before?”

“No, sir.”

“Hm.” Kosov scrutinised him. “I think you will do well.”

Stoermer didn’t reply to the praise, just kept his gaze steady. The two other students, a male and a female, were staring at him.

Stoermer sighed through his nose. He could tell this was going to be a long course.