A/N: A quick little thing I whipped up in like fifteen minutes from a random idea that popped into my head. Enjoy!
As she stepped into the shower, the warm rush of water soothed her agitated spirit. It was always like this after she returned from a mission. She watched the blood swirl down the drain dispassionately. All she cared about was being clean for the moment. The blood would get scrubbed off her skin and out from underneath her nails only to be replaced days later. Especially with how high in demand her services were.
Her thirteenth kill…
Pale lips twitched up in morbid amusement. Most assassins didn't make it to four or five. The Royal Police Force was harsh in their punishments of assassins. With what they did to many of the citizens of the sprawling city, it made sense. Still, despite their efforts, new assassin guilds sprang up like mushrooms with each day that passed. She smirked, running now-clean hands through her tangled, matted curls. Sweat, grime, and just a hint of blood had them nearly turning into dreadlocks, like her beloved and feared teacher. The unique color had to be kept hidden. It wouldn't do for the Police to have a way of identifying her, now would it?
Oh, if only they knew that their vaunted leader was the one protecting her. Laughing at the universe's irony, she could just imagine their shock and horror. The Captain, protecting the assassin they hunted? Heresy. She might've been a relative newcomer to the murder stage, but her extensive training and varied knowledge meant she had quickly become one of the most highly sought after assassins in the city.
The Captain of the Force would never betray her. Not if he wished to see another sunrise. Plus, he should never have let slip that he had a secret lover. It'd been much too easy to find out her identity. Would she ever tell him that she knew? Of course not. She had to have blackmail to keep him from getting above himself. Heaven forbid he attempt to make a threat toward her.
No more blood remained on her body. Shutting off the comforting stream, she reached for a towel and stepped out into the cooler air. Methodically, she dried every inch of her skin, ensuring not a drop of blood remained. Scowling, she glanced at her clothes that lay in a heap on the floor. The pig she had gutted this morning had bled too much. Listening to him beg for mercy and attempt at bribery had been amusing but a nuisance. There was nothing he could say or offer her that she hadn't heard before. With a sigh, she decided the clothes might be salvageable. As long as her washerwoman would keep silent, she could remain alive. Her coat had been expensive, too.
She wasn't a brutal woman, the assassin reasoned, tugging on new clothing. She killed for money and, to be frank, boredom. No university would accept a woman and with her varied skill set and brilliant mind, she wasn't content to settle for being a housewife. Granted, most normal people wouldn't consider becoming an assassin as being a viable option but you had to break society's molds somehow. Besides, it was good to put her extensive knowledge of the human body to good use.
The bills had to be paid somehow.
Her weapons had been cleaned before she cleaned her body and it was easy enough to return them to their hiding places. With a final adjustment of her cuffs, she nodded at herself in the mirror.
Death had never looked so good.