#charismaticthief

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.

"Where does a child hide in a small town like this?" Chrollo asked thoughtfully, while he had his head lowered slightly and looked toward Feitan, waiting the man answered his question.

    Hues shifted their attention from where they had been focused on the open pathway ahead of them to glance towards the other individual. "There are only few places. After all, they are as familiar with this place as we are. We should begin with the busier areas before they locate someone willing to assist. The sooner we get this game of hide and seek over with the better."