Spotless
Summary: As Rita washed the blood from her hands, she thought about purging the impurities from the world. An experiment.
An experiment with an OC. I do not claim to be a master of character creation, but I had to write this before the idea slipped my mind.
Swish swish...
The woman's face was completely impassive as clear liquid pulsed at the dark stain on her long gloves and wore it away, dark red washing down the drain as sharp brown eyes watched it disappear into the deep oblivion.
Her long hair was tied tightly into a closely fixed bun, but if it were let loose, a curtain of velvet black hair would spill over her shoulders like an ebony waterfall. Straight and sleek, and very eye-catching her hair was, and Rita possessed neither the patience to cut the locks away nor the desire to draw any unnecessary attention to herself. Dark, caramel colored skin produced no contrast between what showed through her heavy black clothing, unmarred and unstained from the woman's near-infamous concern for cleanliness and hygiene. Brilliantly green eyes were hidden behind oval-shaped tinted shades; a shame considering how much she loved that color. Rita held all of her foreign qualities very dear, yet necessity demanded discretion and secrecy, and she had no desire to fight such a thing.
Adjusting her long coat, Rita wiped the last vestiges of grime from her elbow-length coal dark gloves and returned them to her slender fingers, never lacking them for long. She was used to the feel of warm blood lapping at her clothes and straining against her gloves as though to rip them off and sully the skin that lay waiting beneath. She was used to seeing prone corpses through the tinted vision she possessed, all tangled limbs and life liquid pooling outward along the floor, strongly exuding the all too familiar stench of death. She used to reaching forward and undoing her large suitcase to reveal the complicated tools within and moving with practice, caution and precision to clean up the mess. Especially familiar was the saw with its jagged edge, perfect for adjusting the relative size of her target.
Rita had first "cleaned" after her abusive uncle died—in an unfortunate accident ironically, and the girl herself had not lifted a hand to put it in motion—wiping a disinfectant along the floors when the man in black clothes had forced his way into her house, intending to kill the man and not knowing he had already met his end. The young girl showed neither fear nor defiance, and likely would not have even moved to run had the intruder brought out his gun. Instead he had smiled in a grim little way and even clapped a few times in appreciation, and though at first Rita had not understood, she accepted his offer of help and left her uncle's house burning as they departed.
She was bestowed with a new name—ironic all those years ago when she was underage—and given a mission so well suited to her specialty, and that was to fix up the messes that other agents would leave behind. They knew her as "Margarita" and the woman subsequently shortened the title. Even if she didn't command the level of fear or respect other agents did, Rita saw the usefulness of remaining on the background, out of sight and out of mind. But they all knew well how skilled she was with a saw.
Sometimes, no one cared if the body was left behind or wanted it to be found and sometimes there was no time to accomplish such a thing, but Rita obtained plenty of opportunities. There was no hurdle to overcome, she was never scared of the sight of blood and the unpleasant smell barely caused the woman to bat an eye.
However it was her only real skill that was held to be valuable.
Rita's marksmanship with a gun wasn't nearly as impressive as Gin or Korn, and she didn't know enough about poisons or medicines to be helpful to the scientists either. What she did know was cleaning and she was the best at it; the dark-skinned woman had no illusions about this and knew the advantages of her job. Rita was aware that should the crime ever be solved, the one on which the blame would fall would be the one who pulled the trigger, and few would suspect a Cleaner of helping.
She was intelligent but never drew attention to that skill; even if Rita was fully capable of taking observations and drawing conclusions from what she saw, the Cleaner never mentioned it. She did not act on her own and fulfilled what she was tasked to do, but never any more than that. This was exactly why Rita paused uncertainly when she stood over the young boy's unconscious body in the grass, wondering what could have caused such a miscommunication with her superiors.
The Cleaner had been asked specifically deal with the corpse of a teenager, which this clearly not and obviously not dead either. Rita could deduce many different scenarios from this situation, but it did not matter, she would act upon none of them. It did not matter if the pair had given her the wrong location or gone completely senile, nor did it matter if this boy was not what he appeared to be.
She had been asked to dispose of the body of a teenage detective. But there was no corpse here. No such mission could be fulfilled if the requirements she was given could not be met and Rita did not kill.
Her gloved hand, which had been resting on the clasp of her case with the preparedness to pull it open fell down to her side and relaxed instead, glancing around for any approaching police or watchers from afar before disappearing into the darkness.
It wouldn't be until much later that Rita would come to understand the significance of this night, and how her organization made an enemy that would not give up.
(A/N): This character was produced purely from my own imagination. As I said before, Rita is an experimental character. I likely will not write her again unless requested to.
Review and let me know what you think-