ᴏғ sᴘɪʀɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴜʀᴀ.

“Golly, if I had legs like yours... well, I wouldn’t be ferrying to make a living, that’s for sure!”

The descent from her oar is a gradual one, ever the scaredy-cat Botan likes to keep a healthy distance from those at... well... gun-heel firing distance.

“Luck?” Hands curled into fists, knuckles bleaching as a grim taste filled his mouth.

It had been at his order that Machi had ended up in such state for starters. He was Hisoka’s target, but the clown made a target of the rest of them as well– and why? Because Chrollo was merciful enough to leave pieces behind. The violence in him gone like the wind as soon as the clown was assumed dead, beating up corpses never quite his Modus Operandi– but one Chrollo was now certain he just might have to grow into.

A dry laugh escaped him, hand reaching for the Spider’s dangling off the hospital bed to run a thumb along her bloody knuckles.

“I wouldn’t quite call it that.” He delivered, honesty bleeding from his words. “Luck, like gospel, is for those who look after it… It’s never saved any lives. It’s never taken them either.” 

Giving the limp hand a small squeeze, the man placed it back on top of the bed and shifted his gaze to the chairman, only then realising the characteristic dog snout poking out from the tip of her nose. 

“If she hadn’t known me, it’s possible she wouldn’t even be here in the first place.” Standing up, the man towered over the tiny chairman. Hands in his pockets, he suddenly looked very distracted. “There’s something on your nose.” His words were tentative built on apathy, but tentativeness didn’t show.

Had she been in any similar situation, perhaps she would be just as obtuse when it came to words of comfort. The grieving -- and at risk of grieving -- had little to gain from honey coated words. But Cheadle was nothing if not outwardly cordial, especially when she was pitying someone.

Oh you poor, poor, poor...

She may have even found the young lad’s humility and tender gestures towards his friend to be touching, even... up until he had to go and ruin it with that crass remark.

poor → Brat.

The dog would clamp her jaw tight to maintain even a semblance of a neutral expression, when she would like nothing more than to bark. “Yes. That something would happen to be my nose.” Keep your calm, this is likely a feeble attempt to keep his composure... you’ve dealt with worse. Surely! “Feeling restless? You are welcome to stretch your legs and take a walk → however much is available in this infernal lockdown...” 

A smile.

“. . . That card.” 

To the behest of his silver haired companion, Gon was entertaining the games of a machiavellianistic jester -- not without something in return, of course, otherwise he would likely make good on his word and stay as far away from Hisoka as possible. But his word isn’t nearly as flimsy, compared to the other. 

It truly spoke to the boy’s one-track mind -- and detrimental curiosity -- that he would trust the scoundrel to do as promised and show the secrets to the card trick if he chose correctly. 

He’d been watching the shuffling like a hawk, too, so surely he couldn’t get it wrong... 

The boy’s step, fainter than freshly fallen snow -- he does not intend to hide from the father, it’s certain he knows better than to try. But there is apprehension in their step that earns belated stares of lupine eyes. 

“Kalluto. You may come in.”

Fists brush into the beast’s matted hair -- he’d always been so fond of his hounds -- he needs not look over his shoulder to know his child had walked a little straighter this time around. Gained confidence in his time away? But none enough to stifle the deeprooted caution that came with addressing the father of the home.

“Have you seen your mother? She will be pleased to know you are well.” He says, at last releasing the hound to move towards his seat. He gestures for Kalluto to take a seat before him. Any joy Kikyo may have to offer is lost on Silva -- he is stern and icy as usual as he finally looks upon the second-to-youngest. And it couldn’t be more obvious why... 

it’s not my fault you dress like a dog.

#in fact that's kinda cute for a woman your age :^)#thank god the kurta isn't dressing like a rat hahahaha...#i mean he doesn't have to#that mousy blond face of his does half the job

A miscalculation spurred by his thirst for blood culminated in the death of the Troupe’s members. And one by one, Hisoka delivered them to him bruised and broken– if not dead. Yesterday it had been Bono’s head. Today, Machi, who’d flayed her own skin as not to bear the fucking clown’s bloody mark, losing consciousness soon after.

Chrollo hadn’t been in the mood for delays, and not unlike the trail of treats in Grimm’s Hansel and Gretel, the man had left a trail of his own behind. One less sweet than candies, damned in nature.

In the wake of his steps, death followed. Honour among thieves had no room wihen his mouth was full of bloodlust.

Stepping into the medical wing had brought him comfort no mother ever had or could have, and although Chrollo didn’t recognise them, some of the wounded he’d shoved out of his way could be found in the same ward, shied away when landing their eyes on him. It was rooted to the woman’s bedside that he waited, until a tiny woman neared them with some comforting words which felt so foreign and…

Staged.

For the first time that night, the man teared his eyes off his companion and shifted them to the woman, meeting not a doctor, no… But the Hunter Association’s Chairman. Its new one. Chrollo hadn’t forgotten the election video – all were encouraged to watch it – and how that Pariston fellow had dealt a punch on the woman’s pride.

“That’s comforting to hear.” The man replied, the softness in his voice in stark discordance with the grim look on his face. “I’d like to watch the procedure, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t trust doctors. Didn’t like them either. Chrollo could barely remember the last time he’d been to a hospital.

In her approach, and an adjustment of her specs, she better confirmed the gentleman at her patient’s side was indeed fairly young. Unassuming in appearance, for the most part, but he could certainly cut that interpretation by haunting stare alone. Those whose anger are stifled by silence were exactly always the sort to be wary of.

His suggestion reinforces such suspicions. Her brows are taught in contemplation. “...I will not fight you on it. Though I will have to offer an obligatory warning that the procedure will not be for the faint of heart.”

Already she takes to moving about, checking her patients vitals and surveying the status at a closer vantage. Though the cause of the most prominent injury remains to be seen, there are signs of struggle Cheadle is privy to -- the kind that hint mutual altercation. She’d seen patients afore with such signs on this trip, leaving the chairman to wonder if there is more to the ship’s nameless killer’s motive than has been let on.

Saving her deductions for another time -- perhaps when she were not being watched like a hawk -- she gets to work on the woman. Cleaning the surrounding flesh to offer a cleaner canvas to work on. Though the patient is her prioritized focus, she is keeping her guest within corner vision. It was clear he was distressed to some degree when he arrived, but she hasn’t seen him wince, not once, at the sight of ravaged flesh.

“Just don’t do anything reckless, boar → please.” It would likely be the last he hears from her for a long time, her voice already being muted under the sounds of sirens blaring. 

Cheadle couldn’t have been separated from her student at a worse time. Their deck well within lockdown come the discovery of more bodies -- well outside of the succession war’s range, prompting mass panic. It would be a lie to say that her nerves were not rattled, but for the sake of the mission it was in her best interest to keep it together.

What would Chairman Netero do...?

Unable to hear one another anymore, she concedes and hangs up on Leorio. There are orderlies asking for her assistance -- another body found, heart still beating. Alive...? Alive! The best news she’s heard all day. She had a job to do, and unlike her anxieties that was something tangible to focus on. 

You are the Chairman now. So act like it.

By the time she rushes into the room she’s halfway between strapping her facemask on. Her eyes instantly lock on the patient before her -- a young lady, barely breathing, and a young man close at her side.... it is not the blood nor carnage that startles her, rather the ghastly expression on his face. This is why the orderlies called her -- this fellow was not happy. 

“I don’t think we should talk. So you’d better go.” 

The last encounter at the auction told Gon not to worry too much about this man--and maybe he’d set aside his grudges... just a tiny bit! Supposing that this guy was any bit as decent as Pakunoda before she... well...

“Huh...? What’s this?” The boy had been poking around the soil in search of fishing bait--but rather than a squirmy worm to meet his touch it’s... hair. A long and dark strand of it. 

“Kurapika, could you hold this?” A metal handle is slotted into their hold--it’s a pail with.... something... moving inside of it. “Now follow me.” With fishing rod in tote, he proceeds to march off the path into the woods.