Equanimity || @charismatic-thief
Drip, drip, drip.
The feeling of warm, sticky blood on his hands was not by any means unusual, but Killua never did get used to it. The small child was quick to wipe his hands on his jeans, leaving bloody handprints all over the previously-pristine material. Oh well. It wasn’t as if anyone cared if he got his clothes dirty — if anything, his family would just ignore the blood and congratulate him on a job well done.
It had been a long and difficult job. Tracking the mafia boss down, observing his movements and habits until he’d pinpointed a time where he was separated from his bodyguards, then- bam. Checkmate. The last part was easy; it’d taken him no effort to knock the man’s gun out of his hand and stab him in the heart. But trying to find an opportunity to sneak past his bodyguards? That was admittedly difficult, even for the gifted young Zoldyck. Killua had never seen someone so incredibly well-guarded before and wow, this guy was paranoid.
…But apparently not paranoid enough. He’s dead now.
Sparing the corpse a final impassive stare, Killua turned to leave. If anyone was to see him in the dark alleyway, it would be quite an image — a small child no older than eight, with hair as white as freshly fallen snow and eyes as bright as sapphires. If not for the crimson handprints on his jeans and the drying blood still caked over his right hand, he would look absolutely angelic.
