the purple killer

He looked up, blinked, loosened up for a second, and straightened his posture. “H-huh?” he wheezed. He wasn’t hyperventilating as much as he was before, and if wasn’t for all that, he would’ve looked just as cheerful.

“‘The… type?’” Porfirio repeated. He narrowed his eyes at the space between them. Was he supposed to be offended? He shook that off and looked back up. Immediately, he was all smiley again.

“They… I needed to get rid of the things that got in my way, see.” Nobody ever did. “And they just thought they were so much… better than me. I do what I need.” It was more doing what he wanted, actually, but that was all the same to him. He shrugged, almost like he was making sure it was very clear he still had a weapon.

   “You know. The type that can actually follow through on killing someone." Sure, he could see him lashing out and attempting it, but Porfirio was definitely far too jittery for him to imagine him actually taking a life. Seemed the sort to chicken out at the last second. And yet, clearly, he had. People could be so full of surprises sometimes.

   His reasoning certainly was interesting. Could almost be a halfway justified motive, especially in his personal opinion. However... “If that’s all, then I’m surprised there aren’t bodies lying all over the place. Doesn’t sound exactly like the highest standard for killing someone.” Not if it was in comparison to Porfirio. As if he had any right to criticize whatsoever. ‘Because I could’ wasn’t exactly a much better excuse.