Old School

It had been a pleasant autumn. There remained a steady influx of work, but disasters on the job had been few - for the most part, everything was running smoothly. The weather veiled a hint of cold if one was determined to feel it, but the skies were clear and the wind tame.

Rizuka appreciated all these things as she enjoyed a rare moment of quiet. She lifted open a window by a table in her kitchen on her way to the large wooden stove, above which hung several cauldrons, pots, and beakers ranging in appearance from ominous to appetizing. With a looped metal rod, she unhooked a steel kettle from its hanger, cautiously pulling it back toward herself and tilting the rod upward, tipping the kettle's spout. Hot coffee rushed out of the spout into the mug with a satisfying gust of steam.

"Coffee, Midori? I'm surprised to see you consuming something that isn't rice or tea."

Iron Shatters Oak remarked on this afternoon's beverage of choice with some skepticism as he entered her cabin. Rizuka was not startled by his entry, silent as it was, nor would Oak have expected her to be - the two assassins had spent inumerable years creeping, crawling, and sneaking; one would expect to find that they had no surprise reflex at all.

Rizuka shrugged as she replied, "Mesa's got me hooked on the stuff. I've grown indulgent in my old age." She hung the kettle back on its place above the fire and took a seat at the table. The wise woman let a smile slip as Oak moved past her, toward the stove. Monastic as she was, even she was not completely immune to Oak's charm - he had a certain abstract, masculine quality Rizuka, try as she might, couldn't recognize in the males of more recent generations.

The two had known each other for several human lifetimes - Oak was quite comfortable helping himself to Rizuka's provisions and entering without knocking; she was too polite to reciprocate the behavior but never stopped him or expressed displeasure when he did so. Oak, barehanded, took the kettle from the stove with one hand as he reached for another ceramic mug with the other. A lifetime at the forge had hardened his hands to even the most extreme temperatures; he barely noticed the nearly red-hot steel in his hand. He let the coffee spill into the mug and replaced the kettle, then settling into a chair across the table from Rizuka.

Oak stared blankly at the coffee for a moment before digging into the pouch at his side. He produced a flask of bourbon, looking up to Rizuka with a grin.

"May as well do it right." He uncapped the flask and spiked the coffee with a prodigous helping of whiskey. He then tilted the flask toward Rizuka in an unspoken offering. She raised her eyebrows in surprise at first, but again shrugged. She slid her mug forward with a sheepish grin.

"Why not."

Oak smiled and treated Rizuka's coffee to a similar quantity of bourbon. He slid the mug back to her and stuffed the flask back in his pouch. Rizuka rarely ever drank alcohol - although Oak poked fun, she took her nutrition regiment quite seriously. Critics would call her uptight, but the same critics, estimating on appearance alone, would place her age hundreds of years short of its true value. She raised the mug to her lips, blowing on the steaming liquid gently before taking a sip. The pair sat in silence for awhile, listening to the breeze and the wilderness. This was common of their encounters - over the years, they'd covered nearly every conceivable topic of conversation, and unless there was news, frankly, they had little left to discuss. The silence was comfortable, and persisted indefinitely as the pair sipped from their mugs. Rizuka finally broke the silence.

"I heard a funny thing the other day. Mesa took a spear to the chest trying to off a Chayan arms dealer. It was a completely reckless move, so of course I told him --"

Oak cut her off, chuckling a bit. "We've all heard your usual admonishment, Midori. It never works," he said, taking another gulp from the mug, then continuing, "Spare me." He smiled - despite his steely visage, crows feet at the corners of his eyes betrayed an underlying sense of humor.

Rizuka laughed softly as well, shaking her head. "Very well, then. Anyway, while I was patching him up, Mesa and I got around to some arguing, all in good humor of course, and he called me 'old school'." After another sip, she set the mug on the table on and locked her hands behind her head, leaning back in her chair.

"I know I'm a veteran member, but I don't know if I'm old school."

Oak laughed outright, finishing his coffee and folding his hands on his lap as he, too, leaned back. He grinned as he replied, "You don't exactly come off as hip."

Rizuka smiled, letting her chair fall forward again, though she remained leaning against its back, hands behind her head.

"Has that much changed? Are we outdated?"

Oak chuckled while standing up. He returned to the fireplace, mug in hand. As he took the kettle and poured himself another cup, his grin persisted.

"We? Nobody said I was old school. But to answer your question, yeah, I'd say so. A lot has changed. We're a big organization now. You remember when you and I were new members - we barely had a full circle. We didn't even live on the range."

Rizuka wordlessly requested a refill by gently sliding her mug across the table to Oak. She replied while he poured.

"True, we were a smaller group back then. Being a Grass-Spider wasn't a full time job - lots of took contracts on the side or had other skills to make a living. Still, even then, we were bound by a code of honor - the idea was always to provide a clean solution to messy problems."

Oak shook his head, returning a full mug to Rizuka and sitting down with his own.

"It had more to do with loving with the job. What an assassin should be. You don't see artists who hate painting getting any commissions. Why should people who don't love the work be doing it? All of this honor stuff fell out practicality - you might have made it your moral crusade, but our rules are simply to keep the authorities out of our hair."