"Petty thievesh", Jimmy Glue remarked, his speech impediment and an accent picked up after a traumatic encounter with the Nac Mac Feegle giving his voice an admittedly rich tone. "How original."
AND YOUR POST-MORTEM REMARKS WERE?
"Oh, don't you shtart, you shkeletal pshycopompoush arshe," Glue snapped as he turned to face Death, who seemed to be fiddling with some sort of tablet. "You robbed me of my afterlife."
YOU ROBBED PEOPLE OF THEIR LIVES, Death replied. It was more of a statement of simple fact rather than anger, but Death was a professional. Uttering post-mortem remarks was his shtick, but Death viewed death and life as sacrosanct. This killer did not.
"The shame thing could be shaid of Old Shtonefashe. Hish bloody deshcendant ish now running the Watch. How ish that jushticshe?"
SHAMUEL VIMESH...OH, DAMNATION, NOW YOU HAVE ME DOING IT! AHEM. SAMUEL VIMES HAS KILLED IN THE LINE OF DUTY, BUT HE KNOWS WHERE TO DRAW THE LINE. HE NEVER JOKED OVER THE CORPSE OF AN ADVERSARY. HE CERTAINLY DID NOT JOKE OVER THE CHILDREN. DO YOU REMEMBER THE CHILDREN, GLUE?
"That'sh none of your concshern. You're Death, not..." he frowned. "Ish there a deity for torture?"
Death ignored him. Spending more than a minute in the company of Jimmy Glue was more than even an anthropomorphic personification could bear. He had once considered doing to Glue what he had once done to a certain Mr Pin, but Glue, though expecting an afterlife or reincarnation, didn't even show a shred of false remorse. And Glue somehow got caught in the works, never moving on. Death found Indecisive Ian better company, if only for the fact that Indecisive Ian was an annoying, if entertaining, prat rather than a remorseless killer who condoned his master's...predilections.
Indecisive Ian had finished his daily exercise, not that he had any muscles to exercise. He had happened to drop into Dr Hix's office and thoroughly spook the current Egregious Professor of Cruel and Unusual Geography, who was an old acquaintance he had once bet that said acquaintance would not peer at a certain book. Rincewind had aged rather well, considering.
Finally, he went back into the Assassins Guild and wandered the corridors until he came across Jimmy Glue. "Hey, Jimmy. You look like death warmed up."
"Well, I don't have kidneys or a bladder anymore, but I'll try to follow those instructions to the letter." Indecisive Ian waved cheerily, heading to the library for his poltergeist practice. He hoped one day he would reach the speed of a .303 bookworm. There weren't that many of those in the Assassins Guild library, given the lack of magical books, but once every few years, one or two would get in...
Four minutes? That's ages! What if I get bored? I need a television, a couple of books. Anyone for chess? Bring me knitting.
-The Eighth Doctor, defiant in the face of death, in Doctor Who: The Night of the Doctor