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[cephalothorax]

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[cephalothorax]

...all right.

[Narrows his eyes a little, and doesn't. let go.]

[debauchewy]

[...]

He cut my hand to show me something. Apparently he was a demon. [A slight laugh through his nose, smirking a little.]

[cephalothorax]

[...well that's interesting. Chrollo had, admittedly, never actually met a demon.]

And what is it he showed you?

[debauchewy]

[Tugs his hand a little, trying to get it from Chrollo's grip.]

Myself- apparently. Or part of me. [A down cast look, looking to his hand.] It seems he had an ability that allowed him to see my memories. [And- make him relive them too.]

[Annoying.]

[cephalothorax]

[Chrollo releases Hisoka's hand, sure. But he doesn't look away.]

Unpleasant memories, it seems.

[debauchewy]

Mn- [A light smile, pulling back his hand and turning it to look at the palm. His fingers spread- close- spread, and he keeps that smile, watching the new skin pull and wrinkle before he sets down the hand all together.]

['Unpleasant', sure. It was, that's why he didn't want to think about them, why he just let the past be the past. Still- even if he had a few enjoyable interactions after that little display, his mind went back to it. Like an old photo you always knew you had tucked away and when you finally take it out again you can't help but be surprised by it. Can't help keep looking at it.]

[It was maddening. To see himself back then. Young, and weak, and influenced. To feel the same thing he felt then for a moment.]

[His expression sours again, laying his head back against the seat back, staring to the side.]

[cephalothorax]

...ah. Or something more complex than unpleasant.

[Chrollo frowns a little, watching him.]

Another one of your stories, yet untold.

[debauchewy]

[Another sound comes from him, apathetic almost, staring off. Other than that he doesn't say much more. Something like this is unusual for him as much as it seems unusual to Chrollo. He's not used to reliving his past. Maybe that's why he doesn't talk much of it. Because most of the time? He doesn't want to. Doesn't bother to. Cat like in his bitterness he sits, teeming slightly. Staring off. If he had a tail the tip might flick here and there. His spine might bristle. But he isn't, so he's still. Quiet. Stares off in the dark room, flexing that newly healed hand.]

[He doesn't think to share more. Wouldn't that be openly acknowledging it again? Stories left untold because they're meant to. For him. Someone still for the most part useless saw something. He left his guard down purposely to appease his own curiosity.]

[It would've be better for that person to have attacked him. Sure this wouldn't put him out of mind in a way to confuse him. Nor would've it hinder his fighting ability should they have fought afterwards. But-

It didn't mean he enjoyed it at all.]

[cephalothorax]

[What a pickle, really. Should he ask again? Pursue his answers? It's...

tempting. But then again, it seems unnecessarily pushy to demand so much from someone who appears to be... troubled already.

Would discussing it help or hurt him? Hm.

It's difficult to say. At the moment, all Chrollo can know for sure is that Hisoka... doesn't want to be alone.]

...hm.

[He leans back on his palms.]

I might be a bit envious, actually. Perhaps.

I can't decide.

[debauchewy]

Mn- [Actually he smirks at that, closing his eyes.]

You would. [A chuckle.] He thanked me afterwards, how peculiar.

[cephalothorax]

Is that peculiar? Your life must have been interesting. And such a closed book.

[Even to him. they'd promised one another an exchange of stories once but... well. that was cut a bit short.]

[debauchewy]

He barely saw much of it. If anything at all.

[cephalothorax]

And yet here we are.

[And here you are. Chrollo smiles... very slightly. Softly, looking up at him.]

And I still want to know about you.

[debauchewy]

[Frowns, looking away.]

Hmph.

[cephalothorax]

Hisoka.

[He knudges Hisoka's knee a little.]

[debauchewy]

[Leans back further. Tilts his head up to face at the ceiling and thus- more away.]

[cephalothorax]

Ah, just like last time.

[debauchewy]

[The implication that he's predictable bothers him. It wouldn't really normally but, Chrollo saying that just makes him feel more annoyed with the night.]

[He stares up at the ceiling for a long moment before-

pulling in a deep breath.]

You sound so disappointed. [Sigh.] Your curiosity- perhaps it's as bad as mine. [Considering he allowed this to happen due to it...]

It was- far away. Does it matter anymore- [Another pause, breathing in deep through his nose.] When I was a boy.

[cephalothorax]

[Is it even curiosity, really? He frowns a little, but lets the question float away.]

Does it matter? I don't know. Does it have to?

Even if it's irrelevant... I still want to know.

[debauchewy]

When the second person that took care of me died. [Stares up, his face blank.]

[Irrelevant- why would he then. Ah- but then- doesn't he do the same? Idle chat and all. Why is he relenting this information. He doesn't really feel anything saying it, he has no desire to share. But the more he feels those eyes on him he can't help it. They don't oppress him, make him feel like he needs to.]

[Maybe he's starting to enjoy the way they look when he pleases the other man. When he's focusing on him.]

[cephalothorax]

...ah.

[Of course that's unpleasant. Chrollo tips his head up a little.]

Of course you would have caretakers... [although, oddly enough, he hadn't thought of that.] Hm.

[debauchewy]

[He would've had to, having arrived in Meteor City as early as he did. Most infants that found themselves thrown away with the rest were accepted, just as the trash was. Families that weren't families, blood disconnected. But anyone that grew from Meteor City had to be tended to for a while.]

[Even if a short while.]

Not for very long. I was seven.

[Seven when the second one died. They were old. Of course they died, they were weak, just like he was a that age. Sigh.]

I think.

[Somewhere around six. Younger than those boys.]

[cephalothorax]

[It makes sense, of course. And, rationally, he knows it would have to be true. And yet somehow, he just never....

...thought of it.

Maybe because he doesn't remember his own caretakers. As long as he can remember, it was him and his circle of friends.]

...such a loss. I'm sorry?

[A question because he's not sure how welcome the sympathy will be... and he's sure Hisoka won't be willing to admit that it troubles him.]

I can imagine it.

[debauchewy]

[He only remembers them because they started it. Started this constant need to stay away from weakness. Those two people. Rotting when they found him, rotting when he had the mind enough to even acknowledge them, rotted away and weak and pointless. Worth nothing- no, worth only due to their place getting him of age enough to handle himself before they died.]

[He hardly remembered them before, not till that memory was yanked up from under him. And even the small amount he had kept in his mind, it was only there to remind him. Remind him that he wasn't like them. Wasn't like that trash heap. Why he never looked back, why he never acknowledged it, because it had nothing to do with him.]

Hn~ [A smirk, glancing down, eyes wide.][Pulling his smirk wider, a grin, eyes bright.]

I lost nothing.

[cephalothorax]

[Chrollo kind of. Looks at him. Stares, even. And then...]

...you would say that.