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There's a pair of assassins in the rafters today.
Cata's leaning against the wall; Sam, meanwhile, is a bit further out over the room, facing her. There's a pile of papers between them.

Sam picks one up and makes a series of interesting faces as he reads. "Were we this dense as firsties?"

"I certainly don't remember being this bad," Cata says. "And to think, this is the second time they've written this particular assignment."

"...Are you sure you can't lose this set as well?"

"It would probably be a bad idea. Though believe me, if the next assignment's no better on the first try, I'm making them do it over."

Sam sighs, and decides to take out his frustration on the paper by making it look like it was subject to a particularly bloody contract. (From the look of the second pile forming next to Cata, she's taking a similar approach.)
They do say misery loves company.

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Moist looks up from his seat when a drop of blood drips onto the paperwork he's creating,

"Be careful, you're lucky I wasn't wearing my good suit,"

Since he made a rather nice profit from his trip with David, he's looking relaxed in tweed as he puts together some forged documents to have at the ready.

It's not blood - just red ink. Not that the firsties are likely to find that out.
"It'll wash out," Sam says, without looking down right away (administering poison by ear? What do these kids think they're working with?).

Cata does look down. "Probably. And it doesn't appear to have done that much damage."

It hasn't, Moist is working on a draft of a mine claim so its not on the good paper but he feels its the principle of thing,

"Out of paper?"

Cata snorts. "I only wish. This far along, you'd think the firsties would have absorbed something."

"If they haven't, they won't be your problem for long, one way or another," Sam points out.

"True."
But that doesn't mean she finds the work any more pleasant.

"You're both teachers?"

Moist asks upwards as he tucks the paper away, their conversation is rather interesting.

"She is," Sam says. "I sort of got dragged into helping grade papers for the night."

"We're both assassins, though."
(Even though it's been a couple years since Mizzamir's shenanigans wore off, Cata's still enjoying being able to say that.)

Now they're given a much longer look by Moist to see how they match up with what he knows about Assassins,

"Ah, I work in investments."

Cata raises an eyebrow. "Do you? What sort of investments?"

Sam crosses out a few more things on the paper he's currently reading, and sets it aside.

"Various sorts of things, wherever I see an opportunity,"

He prefers to be as vague as possible, it simplest.

Sam considers that, finally having a look down as he does so. "I think I'm familiar with that kind of investment."

"The sort that gets you rich quick, but not necessarily anyone else?"

"Well, when one is on the road and requires money for an inn, one might have to cheat at darts a bit." (And have a frankly bizarre encounter with a whitewashed onetime-colleague, but that's neither here nor there.)

Moist's face is a picture of innocence and blankness because while what they're both saying is true, it feels wrong to admit it,

"Sometimes you just need to create opportunities and everyone gets something from it."

"This is true." Even if what the other people get isn't necessarily what they signed up for, but Cata's not one to judge.

"How is business, then?" Sam asks (also not judging; his other best friend used to run the Thieves' Guild). Never hurts to know what somewhat like-minded people are up to, after all.

"Comfortable, the Sto Plains are quite prosperous,"

And he's good at what he does.

"The where now?"

"Not on Earth, is it?" Cata asks; it's not a name she's heard before, but her experience with Earth, while more than Sam's, is still fairly limited.
(You know. To oddly specific battle zones. And an orchestra, that one time.)

"No, on the Disc. Have you heard of it?"

They might but he's not expecting them to know it.

"I don't believe I have." But that's not entirely a surprise (the surprise is that it's not another Earth, if anything).

Sam shakes his head. "If our world's got a name, other than the one Mizzamir tried to give it, I don't know it."
And he's certainly not using Mizzamir as a worthwhile reference.

"What does your world look like? The Disc is flat and carried on the backs of four elephants who ride a great turtle through space,"

Its always nice to meet people not from an Earth.

"Nothing quite that grand, to be sure." Sam can say that with a fair amount of certainty; it would have come up somewhere along the line, and from a source he actually trusts. (These things happen when you're well acquainted with a Druid.)
"It's got a bit of everything, in terms of natural features, depending on where you go. Though I... didn't exactly see most of it at what you'd call a representative time."

"That bad?"

"Do you happen to remember how light it was, toward the end? Even though it was nearly winter?"

Depending on Moist's vantage point, he might catch the rare sight of Cata looking faintly alarmed. "Now that you mention it, I do remember that. Fates, he was an idiot."

"That would be the Mizzamir you mentioned? Was he a wizard? They're good at finding new ways to almost destroy the world."

Cata scowls. "Oh, you don't know the half of it."

"He was a wizard," Sam says, looking no more pleased than Cata. "He decided he couldn't be having with anyone who disagreed with his particular moral code, but rather than having them killed, he forced them to agree with him."

"I spent seven years perfectly content to be married to a farmer."
She has nothing against farmers in general, and the man in particular seemed fairly inoffensive - but the fact remains that Cata never would have looked at him twice if she hadn't been whitewashed.

"That's horrible. What goes on in your head belongs to you,"

The thought of someone deciding who he is terrifies Moist.

"That it does. Not to mention, he was on the point of destroying the world in a puff of sweetness and light."

"Do you think he was aware of that?" Cata says.

"He must have been. And he probably thought that was preferable to all those unsavory people mucking up his perfect world."
Hello, sarcasm, how are you today?

"The world needs edges under the respectability. It would be far too boring if everyone behaved,"

Though Moist does appreciate the people who expect everyone to be what they seem, it makes his life easier.

"That it would," Cata says. Really, she's just glad to be in her right mind and plying her trade again.

Sam... well, you can technically call that expression a smile, but it's not a terribly pleasant one. "He's dead now. A longsword thrown at one's neck will do that to a man."

"It will when you throw it, anyway."

"I'd imagine it would. I've tried to keep violence out of my business as much as I can,"

Mainly because he doesn't like getting hurt.

"Well, investment is not by its nature a particularly bloody business."

"And when it is," Cata adds, "they call us."
Any other way of going about it would just be... messy.

"It can be but I try to make sure it isn't,"

Moist has yet to have the Assassins called on him, that's mainly because he's very good at leaving.

"Does the Disc have assassins as well, then?" There are many reasons an investor of Moist's stripe would be careful not to leave a bloody trail of devastation in his wake, but there's something about the way he said it.

"What, you mean most worlds don't?"

"I have yet to figure out how they expect people to settle their disputes."

Sam makes a face.

"Yes, there's an Assassins' Guild in Ankh-Morpork and apparently they're not that common. Usually guards are called in, Assassins are expensive,"

Though tar and feathering can be cheap.

"Well, naturally. It's not as though just anyone has aptitude for the work."

"It's not as though just anyone has aptitude for surviving the first year," Cata says, eyeing her paperwork.

"I'm sure few people are as good as both of you,"

If she's teaching at the school and he can throw a sword accurately, they must be some of the best.

"Especially considering we're rebuilding the Guild nearly from scratch." That's the only reason she's teaching at all; she doesn't have the patience for firsties, and as soon as someone's up to her standards, she'll gladly fork them over.

"I was the last assassin in town for a while, if not the Six Lands," Sam says. "And while I'm glad to have company again..."
(He does have an unusual advantage, when it comes to projectiles. But that's not the only reason throwing the sword actually worked.)

"That must be challenging for you. How many Assassins remain your world?"

"I... haven't heard any exact numbers. Cata?"

Cata considers that for a while. "Well. There's twelve of us teaching, another five or so who only take contracts, you come and go depending on your girl..."

"Make it sound sappy, why don't you," Sam mutters.

"So assuming there's anyone else who hasn't come back for one reason or another... twenty-five, maybe? Granted, that's only Bistort."
But Bistort's Guild had the best reputation of the lot, before.

"Ah, I see, so your job could be harder?"

"It could. I'm not calling it easy anyway - I'm far from a natural teacher, especially when it comes to fundamentals, but I'm not about to let them learn about poisons from a substandard source."

"Speaking of," Sam says, "you might want to talk to whoever's handling anatomy. More than one of these people--" he waves a hand at the papers - "seem to think you can successfully poison someone by ear. Perhaps with a very strong acid, but not the sort of things they're talking about."

Cata rolls her eyes. "That said, people have at least resumed using our services, and we have students at all. It bodes well, if any of them can manage to finish."

"You wouldn't want to pass the failures. Most of my teachers weren't really teachers so much as people I could learn from,"

It made it work better for everyone involved.

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