One

What would you do if you knew you had roughly a matter of months to live and then you would die (permanently, body dies, soul goes off wherever it goes, etc)? Assuming you'd be fairly mobile and healthy until the end.

Completely hypothetical, not to be interpreted as a threat...

Kill a king.

Any one in particular? Or is this just for larks?

Yes. A particular king.

Why don't you kill him anyway, if your organisation wants him dead?

I don't have an organisation. I'm a freelancer.

And it's just a thought. I won't kill him unless I know I'm going to die before him. But if I know I'm going to die, I might as well die happy.

In the eventuality that he would already be dead... not telling.

There might still be heirs to mop up. [nods]

But it is not the heir's fault the king in question deserves a painful death.

Oh... so it'd be a purposefully slipshod job. I see.

I'd grumble and whinge and spend half the time trying to weasel out of it.

The rest of the time, depending on continuity, I'd be frantically training up more generals or frantically publishing all the research I've been hoarding and sending my contemporaries a lot of source code.

Weft: You are scared of death?
Suitov: [yep, he is] Who said scared? Inconvenienced, yes. It's almost certainly going to be a spoilsport.
Weft: So... what, spoil your fun? Interrupt your oh so terribly important work? That's it?
Suitov: What else?
Weft: Immortal soul?
Suitov: Don't believe in them.
Weft: All... right, but don't you care how you die?
Suitov: I already know, remember? I'm under exclusive contract as of a year and a bit ago. [at blank look] Do I have to remind you of everything? Sometime after the battle at Bulrora, we agreed nobody gets to kill me except you.
Weft: Oh. Yeah. [looks proud] Stabbity.
Mutt: That's what you two think.

...

Aw, so cute. ^_^

Thanks. You too.

I would behave exactly as I normally do, since I try to spend my time in ways I'd be proud of looking back.

Besides, if I ran around gratifying myself and selling off all my organs and then by some chance I didn't die, how stupid would that look?

Oh, and the same principle applies to deathbed declarations of love. Not a good idea.

It's the old cliché, isn't it, that there'll always be a healer waiting in the wings when you don't want there to be...

It's a repeating cliché.

It's damnable ingratitude, and I do mean that in a literal sense.

And that sort of behaviour is unfair on the affection's object.

Someday when Mutt gets bored, Weft, we're going to roleplay out The Big Conversation about religion. 'Til then, lighten up.

I agree on the unfairness though. It couldn't possibly do the poor, confused survivor any good; not unless we're merely talking about a broad "Goodbye my friend(s), I wub you".

(Good job neither of us is likely to have a prolonged deathbed scene, innit?)

Re: the first question.

I'd go on a crusade, get stinking drunk and never pay my tab, get into fights (usually in the same place I don't play my tab) and generally have a ball up until I try to kill something way too big or powerful.

And I'd laugh. Laugh!

So I take it you're not going to do anything to that weird smell of yours? You smell like... bird.

Eh? When're you going to stop stinking like... [looks like he's thinking hard for a moment] ...as anal as your personality.