Although he would have disagreed with the semantics of this description, Hisoka treated the shower as a kind of spiritual catharsis, where he cleansed his mind and body when the ghosts of the past nagged too loudly in his ear. Today was no exception.
Hisoka remained in stasis, head resting against the shower tiles, for over two hours. By the time he emerged from the bathroom, Ayako had fallen asleep sitting up in bed, with a book in her hands. From the look of it, she had apparently ordered a bottle of wine from bottle service, and had finished off the entire bottle by herself. Hisoka picked the book out of her hands and placed it next to her teddy bear backpack on the table, where he noticed another open, untouched bottle of wine sitting with a note at its base.
'Drink me,' it read. 'Maybe it'll help you stop being such a tightass.-Ayako ^.^ P.S. I waited-you paid.' Hisoka picked up the bottle to reveal the receipt, and quirked an eyebrow when he noted that she had indeed billed his account.
Hisoka smirked and shot a look at the pixie-haired girl, who was now snoring loudly. "Trying to get me drunk, hmm?" He wasn't a heavy drinker, and he'd already had a pint of Ambrosia Ale at the pub, but what the hell-he had already paid for the wine. He poured himself an overly full glass and sipped slowly after putting on a pair of silky pajama pants with red and cream stripes, and looked out at the lights of the city below him. After finishing the first, he poured himself another. He turned to look at Ayako.
"I'll admit, you intrigue me," he said, addressing the sleeping woman. "And I can't figure out why. You have no Nen talent to speak of, so fighting you would be absolutely worthless." He turned to look at Ayako, who had slumped over and begun to drool onto the pillow. He curled a disdainful lip at her and turned towards the window. "Although you certainly know how to get under my skin. Not many can do that." Not many would dare to do that, he thought. "That's not exactly a talent, though."
Hisoka finished off his large glass with a few gulps. He shuddered involuntarily, then poured himself another and began to pace about the room, enjoying the sound of his own voice. "And you throw yourself at one of the deadliest assassins in history, but even though you find me utterly breathtaking to look at-which I don't blame you for-you act as though you're afraid to touch me." He paused, then smiled wickedly. "Though I can't blame you for that, either."
To distract his mind from the frustrating woman, Hisoka reached for his deck of cards and started to build a pyramid. Although he had performed this activity so many times it was nearly robotic, he found himself distracted, and couldn't seem to steady his hands. He gave up after the third try in favor of his wine glass.
As an infrequent drinker, Hisoka's breakneck drinking pace made him feel as though the alcohol would catch up to him soon. He sat in a chair, pulling his feet up to sit cross-legged, and eyed Ayako suspiciously. Physiological attraction to an ordinary woman was normal, but, truth be told, Hisoka found himself more attractive than any other pretty face. The ones he really lusted after were the powerful ones. This woman didn't even register a number on his power-radar. And yet...
Hisoka felt his face flush, partly from the wine, partly from uncharacteristic embarrassment. "What's so special about you anyways, Ayako Ryoka?" Hisoka asked resentfully.
If he was to be honest with himself (an uncommon occurrence), he didn't really know what he was doing with Ayako. While he enjoyed and had no trouble seducing women, and basked in the attention-positive or otherwise-from others, he much preferred the simplicity of solitude. While alone, he could make up his own mind about things. He didn't have to compromise or argue. He created and lived by his own rules, sans the pull of loyalty or ethics. Simple was good.
In fact, that was why he enjoyed Gon so much. Gon was simple, straightforward, honest. A clear Enhancer; the very opposite of his personality.
Ayako meanwhile, was... well, he couldn't quite put his finger on her personality. This morning, he thought he'd had her all figured out, but after talking to Illumi, he wasn't so sure. Is it all an act? He thought back to her tongue, snaking out to capture that piece of popped bubblegum off her lip.
Why do I even care? Suddenly frustrated, he picked up the wine bottle and finished it off, slamming it back on the table solidly.
Ayako stirred at the noise and opened a bleary eye at Hisoka. "You...watching me?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Yes. Go back to sleep," ordered Hisoka.
"Uhummmm...Creeper," she yawned, turning over and falling asleep again immediately.
Hisoka narrowed his eyes, but did not respond. He finished the bottle of wine and set it on the table, then ran his fingers through his uncombed hair and sighed with frustration.
The shower hadn't helped him clear his mind, and the wine had only exacerbated the cacophony in his head. He had to maintain control of the situation. To quiet his mind, at the very least. He hadn't felt like himself ever since the flashback earlier in the day.
Hisoka walked over to the spacious bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping Ayako. He positioned himself carefully atop the covers and closed his eyes, fighting away the sudden waves of drunken vertigo that washed over him by breathing through his mouth. As his breathing slowed, he fell into a restless, fitful sleep.
Hisoka, 14, Meteor City
Hisoka was dying; he was sure of it. He had had a few close calls before, but this time he felt certain of his impending death. In moments of desperation, he had eaten any number of spurious items from the streets, but this time he knew for sure that he had eaten something poisonous. Rat poison, most likely; this latest meal had come straight from the mouth of a large sewer rat.
He at first had tried to capture the sewer rat, although in his weakened state he was too slow. He lunged, and the startled rat dropped its loot and darted into the nearest grate. From behind the safety of rusted bars, the rat chittered angrily at him with bared fangs, daring the boy to make a second attempt.
Hisoka opted for the refuse. It was mostly bland, with a slight aftertaste of mold and something else that he couldn't quite place. It burned the inside of his mouth slightly as he ate and swallowed, although by that point he had been too hungry to be suspicious of the prickling sensation on his tongue.
As the adrenaline of the hunt faded, weakness from hunger overtook him, and he decided to stretch out next to the grate. The rat was watching him warily; although Hisoka had heard of hungry rats attacking the homeless as they slept, he felt a sense of kinship with the animal. As he closed his eyes for a brief nap, he heard the rat give out a hacking cough. Furball, no doubt, he thought as he drifted aimlessly between sleep and waking.
The cramps woke him; a searing pain that made him gasp as he regained consciousness, clutching his stomach. Through blurred eyes, he looked into the grate. The lifeless eyes of his former adversary stared back at him, and Hisoka knew he was next. He turned onto his side and vomited a bloody, bitter bile. He felt a fuzziness in his head; for a moment he entertained the idea of sleep. A strong instinctual drive for survival compelled him to stir, however, and he rose to his elbows shakily.
What happened next was hazy. Hisoka knew he crawled on all fours at some point. As he emerged from the alley, waves of sound assaulted his ears: the cheers and whistles of an audience in the area. Some traveling troupe was performing, no doubt. He could hear an actor announcing some message, although his words were garbled. The audience laughed; the boy reeled.
Everything was burning, burning. The blinding sun blistered his eyes and hands and knees, and the young Hisoka screamed in pain as the cobblestones underneath him erupted into flame, although what really came out of his tortured throat was a piteous, inhuman moan.
He wavered where he kneeled on all fours, spitting out random bits of gore as they rose in his mouth. Consciousness felt like he was drowning in a murky pond, one from which he could barely resurface for gasps of air. Nobody bothered to stop and check on the street urchin, dying in the street from rat poison. Saving his life would be a financial inconvenience no one could afford. The boy's arms gave out, unable to hold him, and the crack of his jaw into the pavement reverberated hollowly in his skull. Everything slowed, stretched, lengthened, melted. The boy was melting too, he could feel it. Soon he would melt into and become part of everything else: a new beginning. He felt a sudden serenity in the thought, and waited patiently for release.
Author's Note:
Wow, this sure took a lot longer than I thought it would! I've had this bit done for a few weeks now, but I wanted to re-work the second half, so I finally decided to publish the first part and be done with it! I know it's shorter (apologies), but the second half will make up for it!
I dedicate this Chapter to Sweet Cerberus, who gave me a gentle nudge to keep going. A big thanks to everyone else who commented, favorited, or followed! You motivate me to continue writing!
Consider this Part 1 of a 2-part chapter...part 2 coming soon!
