Chapter One
She watched as Hisoka gasped for breath. Each sinewy wrist tied to a banister. Each ankle secured to the floor with chains. He stood in the middle of the room like DaVinci's Vitruvian man. The razor wire dug in to his throat with each deep gasp. Lavish, opulent drops of blood trailed down his blanched chest. His amber eyes drooped to look at the crimson that traced its way down.
Her eyes followed those droplets racing down his abdomen, past his hips and she watched them weave into his pubic hair. She sighed.
"What am I going to do with you, Hisoka?" she asked. Her voice a whisper. His head bobbled and he let out a lazy groan in answer. She had forgotten about the muzzle. She drifted in thought.
…
Her name was Cerulean. Like the sky, she was endless. A deep, fathomless being without direction.
It was easy, methodical learning how to kill. Cerulean could neutralize her targets with great ease. It came naturally. It was her inheritance, after all. Passed down to her by birth, the markings of the furies ghosted her thigh. Her birthmark rose up her leg and traversed over her hip, her gossamer reminder of her birthright. She vowed at a young age to bring honor to her ancestors, to those who came before her.
Now, she couldn't find the time to care for such trivialities.
While she still had her own sinister hobbies, she much preferred working on her own. Teamwork was never really her thing. Any job she took with another usually ended in a superfluous body count and an angry boss. But at least she didn't have to split the payout with anyone in the end.
She made sure to take her time between jobs. Indulgence came to her very easily. She took pleasure in the sluggish way life moved for most. She sipped her coffee in the morning languidly. She took it with only cream. She spread the churned butter on her warm toast and she licked the oily residue and crumbs from her fingers after. She never blocked the sunlight from entering through the windows. She watched the shadows dance on the floor in the morning light and she reveled in the growing heat. She scraped her fingernails over the upholstery on the sofa as she sank into the cushions. She let her eyes close, without a care for the time of day or any outstanding responsibilities. She could handle everything tomorrow.
Rested, well fed, and completely indulged, Cerulean would start the new day with an eagerness akin to bloodlust. She craved the work. Needed it. It was a sort of release, in a way. She would watch as the targets' life faded away. It made her body hum with the awareness of her own vitality.
On this day, her job was to simply monitor a target for a client. A man had been wronged. She sat at the streetside café in Yorknew and sipped her espresso slowly. Cerulean wasn't surprised. A man dealing in illegal goods, stolen wares and bad attitudes – he was bound to be ripped off. So Cerulean watched.
Her target was a man known for his caustic nature and his eye for priceless artifacts. Chrollo Lucilfer was notorious, and that's putting it lightly. Cerulean had heard the stories. It was odd that her bosses even agreed to go after such a high-profile client. Cerulean knew her own strength, but she had no wish to test it to the fullest. Even someone of her ilk would cower under Chrollo's abilities. There was just too much of the unknown.
But she agreed and here she sat. It wasn't likely for Chrollo to be out, meandering the streets of Yorknew. She knew he would be hiding and nestled amongst his spiders, if he was even in the city at all. But her client meant to lure him in. So she watched.
An ad was placed in the paper, indecipherable to most. A priceless artifact, a historical gem – on display in one of the city's many galleries. Ripe for the plucking. Cerulean would admit that her client veered on the side of grandiose with the embellishments describing the historical piece. To her, it sounded like a trap. She just hoped Chrollo would come check it out anyway. This would be a very boring trip if he didn't.
Night fell and Cerulean paced the streets of Yorknew. The air was brisk. The wind was sharp. It was perfect. She lit a cigarette across the street from the gallery and let the breeze whip at her loose hair.
"Bum a smoke?"
Cerulean turned her head to the left. A man stood a few feet away, grinning. His chesire smile gave her butterflies in her stomach. Maybe this would be an exciting trip afterall? She could feel the faintest bloodlust rolling off the man. She handed him a cigarette and her lighter. He leant with his shoulder against the wall, facing her.
"Thanks for the smoke, kitty cat." He said. Cerulean could hear her heart beat. His aura stretched out, encompassing everything around her. She felt sticky. She felt stuck. She smiled.
Cerulean blew out her last puff and snuffed the cigarette under her shoe. Time to play.