COUP DE GRÂCE

So it was Hisoka, not the chandelier, who had been the source of his unease ever since he set foot in the rundown palace… the infamous Number 4, whom Chrollo and Chrollo alone seemed to show a semblance of respect towards. All others could very obviously live without the clown in their lives. The Leader only hoped they’d start getting along someday, if only for the sake of their missions to come.

“What would I ever do without you.” He mocked sneeringly, having thoroughly planned to dodge the projectile at the last second, just the way the Leader left no openings when fighting another, whoever it may have been. “I don’t recall having requested anyone’s assistance… But indulge me, what is it you want, Hisoka?” 

There had to be a reason for all that stalking from the hotel to the hideout of an enemy Troupe– whose bodies Chrollo had just gotten rid of with his beloved indoor fish. Such useful little creatures, they were… Hisoka must have seen them, it surprised Chrollo he still approached. 

      “Well, technically speaking, you would be disabled,” Or dead. “Had it not been for my last-minute interference.” Was that a bit of ire he detected in Chrollo’s voice? The added effort was rather cute—endearing, even. A dark light overtook his gaze, and he hummed contentedly to himself. He could get used to this. 

      “For you to be safe and sound.” Hisoka repeated, smiling wider. The worst thing that could happen to him at this point in time, apart from unexpectedly passing before reaping his rewards, was the dreadful loss of such investments. If Chrollo died prematurely—not as a result of his actions and his actions only—Hisoka’s grief would consume him for at least an entire week. 

His roll to one side was both a dismissal of her presence and acceptance of her terms, which she thought was irritating, but not enough to toss him from the bed. 

She lifted the covers, without consideration to whether her unfortunate companion felt a chill. Raising a knee, she was just about to climb up onto their shared bedding for the night when he spoke once more, and her blood boiled beneath the surface at his words. It wasn’t anger that surged curses forward from her lips, but embarrassment. She could remember that lie quite well, and knew he could too. The glimpse of gold peeking over that broad frame of his only confirmed it. He spoke to get a rise out of her, and every time, she played into his hand. 

“Fuck off,” was her final phrase in an entire sentence directed only to insult him as she unceremoniously fell to join him in their covers. His body heat already warmed the bed a good deal, and it unfortunately reminded her of the last time she’d seen his back fill her vision like that - because this wasn’t the first.  “And you a pit boss,” she comments shortly from her side. Granted, that evening he’d never outright stated he was one, but his attire and the way he’d conducted himself had her thinking he was very familiar with the life of a casino. A disbelieving snort leaves her system, in direct contrast from the ache in her chest - her gut told her he wasn’t lying, she just preferred to not believe him. It made it easier to talk to him, if you just convinced yourself everything that left those lips of his was a lie. 

“I find that hard to believe. I doubt our… tryst was the first you ever undertook, or the last. You’ve had plenty to satisfy you in the meantime.” 

     “Did I really?” Of all the mundane false truths Hisoka uttered when a stranger attempted to pry, he seldom employed “pit boss” as his alternate job title; it was too close to what he once dabbled in. But even now, disclosing bits of genuine detail didn’t necessarily feel wrong. Perhaps her candid tendencies had influenced him. “I would have made a terrible dealer.” And if so, there was only one individual they could blame.

      Hisoka waited until Machi settled before turning to face her. Half the fun of their conversations was noting her shifts in expression. Most times, it seemed to change for the worse. “It was hardly my first.” he affirmed, chuckling quietly. Both became aware of that by the end of the night. 

      “Seeing you again was the last thing I anticipated.” Luckily, he had suppressed any instinctive outburst so as to ward off extraneous attention. She undoubtedly recognized him as well. They were guilty of the same crime. “You must be well-trusted among your peers.” Not just anyone would agree to monitor somebody like him. His established disrepute was no secret within their humble circle. They scrutinized him despite every unexceptionable collaboration—exactly as he would expect from their beguiling leader. So nonchalant, yet heedful. 

Kneeling down by him, they would summon Dr. Blythe, the huge doll growing out of their tail before hanging over the two. Pitou meanwhile would examine Hisoka thoroughly, and roughly. Despite what he had asked of them, they simple seemed to not care about it. After all, he was not a product of their Sire’s affection, nor were they all that worried about his pain.

“ I was under the assumption you did not enjoy gentle touches. ” Was that an attempt at teasing? Their deadpan smile and voice was always hard to decipher. And indeed, they didn’t bother putting him under as the doll’s fingers split into a million tools, beginning the procedure of stitching the muscle tissue of the severed leg. Making sure that he would not bleed out as his nen no longer held it together.

“ What manner of opponent was this? ” They asked him, no thought as to how difficult it would certainly be to talk whilst one was trying to undo an amputation.

      That was something you didn’t see every day. “Ah, I’ve been found out.” he conceded, gaze roaming the distorted, puppet-like extension originating from their tail. Even Hisoka couldn’t fabricate a discreet compliment in regard to its unfeeling appearance, delightful as it was for examining his flesh wound. His previous doctor might have at least scowled upon noticing him.

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      The negligible presence approaching Hisoka’s right scarcely diverted his attention away from assembling yet another house of cards. Tasks that demanded several hours of uneventful stillness preceding their most favorable strategic moment oftentimes caused him to reassess his approach for singling out a target. There were quicker, more rewarding pursuits which he could have embarked on if he chose not to lend assistance. Why this group obsessed over fleeting riches didn’t concern the magician—nor would it ever. 

      “Hm?”