Read and review, as ever. Tried quite hard to get Teatime right, but I'm not sure how well he works-I have a tendency to make him too eloquent, which I tried to curb. These drabbles also led onto each other and present a further explanation to Downey wanting Teatime out of the Guild, before any dogs got nailed to the ceiling. Anyway...

Teatime was at a ball. Attending an inhumation, of course, as a dutiful, watchful apprentice. This was his education, and yet he felt he was far more capable than his teacher. He knew he was.

Teatime watched the dancing couples without the slightest inclination to join them. He was sure he could dance. He'd never tried, but the premise was simple enough. Too simple to be worthy of his attention, really. Instead his attention flipped back to Lord Ferwhe, who was currently occupied with a society beauty. They were dancing. This was not, as far as Teatime could see, contributing towards the fulfilment of the contract. Teatime would have to...correct him.

The path of correction lay across the dance floor. Teatime glanced around, grabbed the nearest woman, covertly and casually pressing his knife to her abdomen while whispering 'would you like to dance, madam? Doing so may improve your prospects. ' Louder he said 'my name's Teatime. What's yours?'

Teatime was not surprised by his skill at dancing. It really was quite insultingly easy. He wondered why anyone would be amused by it, as everyone else in the room appeared to be. With the exception of the girl in front of him.

He smiled at his coerced partner, and, in one graceful movement, flicked his knife away from her and into the back of Lord Ferwhe.

Teatime couldn't abide slackness. If Ferwhe was going to be inefficient then Teatime was determined to take over. Assassination deserved better. It deserved respect.

Teatime darted across the room, presented the customer with his surprise gift, in the form of a knife in the left kidney, and left, within a second.

It didn't occur to him that assassin's shouldn't kill their own. That was bad taste.

***

Dr. Downey was very nervous. He had heard about the boy. And Lord Ferwhe, which was why he now had to expel the boy.

If he could...

'I understand there was an incident last night.'

'Yes sir.'

'Lord Ferwhe was not the best of assassins, admittedly, but he was one of us.' And suitably rich, Downey added.

'He was inefficient sir.'

'But elegant.'

'Teatime put his head on one side. 'And is elegance more important? Sir.'

'It could be said so. The point is that you did not receive payment for him. It was murder. You must understand there are rules and...'

'Oh I do sir. I paid myself for him.' Teatime's stare was immune to wavering.

'Ah...'

'Please don't expel me sir. There is still so much I need to learn.'

Downey felt as though the boy's avid self-belief and honest demeanour (and it was terribly honest) were hypnotising him. The boy was strange...so perhaps it was better to keep him close and send him on the truly dangerous contracts...

'Perhaps, if you could work upon your elegance, and refrain from accepting contracts from yourself you could continue your education here.'

'That would be ideal sir. I can improve. All you need do is correct me. I would like to be corrected if you should see me acting...inappropriately.'

'Ah. Good. You may go.'

Downey watched the boy leave, mentally resolving to keep at least an eye on Jonathan Teatime.