The stench of sweat and stale liquor lured Misaki from the lobby of the moderately sized hotel over to the swinging door on the far left. It was accompanied by a small, tented blackboard sign with drink specials written sloppily and in shorthand. Ignoring the posting altogether, the girl slipped through the entrance-way and trudged over to the laminate counter.

The room erupted in scandalous, hushed whispers (and a few more boisterous, blatant comments) upon her arrival. Had she not been mentally preoccupied to levels of near obscenity, perhaps the girl might have borrowed a self-conscious moment to listen or care. For now, the swirling of murmurs simply acted as easily bypassed background noise to her agonizing thoughts.

They would stop soon enough, she knew, and so without endeavoring to absorb the entirety of her surroundings, Misaki tapped the countertop robotically until she caught the bartender's disapproving eye.

"Vermouth on the rocks."

The man parted his deep, pink lips as if to speak and then quickly pressed them together and folded them inward as though he had thought better of it. Shaking his head in disbelief, he wrinkled his nose and proceeded to pour the drink. When he was finished, he placed a square glass with rounded edges on the counter before her, but silently refused to remove his hand.

"Seven hundred jenny."

It was then, as her hand reached for her pocket, that Misaki was sharply woken from her daze. As her palm brushed over her backside, she realized in horror that there was no pocket to be found. The rush of the night's previous sequence of events hit her perhaps harder now than before as she recalled that, in her desperation to keep Killua in sight when he had bolted from the bedroom, she had opted to grasp Haku's ratty robe in order to clothe herself quickly…

…and it was from within that very robe that she now sat upon the bar stool.

The whispers and cackles surrounding her came alive to her now, and her face blushed deep scarlet in understanding to the initial reactions of the bar's patrons. She was penniless, in a hotel pub, at two o'clock in the morning, and wearing a tattered men's housecoat with inexcusably mussed hair. Her eyes lowered and proceeded to decline her secret plea to allow herself a moment to recuperate as they spotted a large, frayed and gaping hole in the robe just below the left thigh.

Using his free hand, the bartender impatiently tapped his fingernails on the laminate surface.

The sound of coins jingling interrupted the restless drumming of nails. Misaki glanced up awkwardly just enough to spot a small, tan sack tied with thin, green rope lying next to the drink on the counter.

"Why don't you keep the change," an uncomfortably familiar, maliciously playful voice purred from behind her.

The noise from the heels of the stool dragging against the wooden floor was grating, although not quite distracting enough to deter from the realization that the man was claiming the seat directly to her right. Misaki kept her eyes low and sipped at her drink once the bartender was finally satisfied enough to release it.

"I know how I must look right now," she droned out in a defensive whisper, "but believe me when I say that I will not have sex with you."

There was a brief silence, and then he chuckled out a velvety hum. Despite her desire to appear entirely uninterested in hopes that he might abandon his seat, Misaki dared to peek his way out of the corner of her eye as she tilted back her head for a longer gulp. Her mood hardened some as she managed to register a peak of red hair and a shaded emblem of a spade over the half of his top nearest to her.

'Ah, it's you,' she pondered sourly, meanwhile curious as to what had drawn this man to her now.

"Tsk, tsk," he teased with a grin that left Misaki uncertain of whether or not he was particularly threatening. "When someone buys you a drink, it is proper manners to thank them."

'…And my umbrella is still in Haku's room,' she suddenly recalled. 'Fantastic…'

The girl frowned, suppressing a sigh as she smoothed down her disheveled strands of plum hair. She remembered this man; remembered him well.

For a moment she felt targeted and vulnerable, the way he had made her feel as a teenager when he had first approached her card table amidst the same scam she had ironically discussed with Killua the night she had taught him to play Platoon. Hell, she had even mimicked his manner at the memory of it, successfully upsetting the boys for a selfish laugh of her own.

Yet here he was, the man who had played against her and, despite her best efforts to cheat him, won. Her very next contract called for the death of a well despised millionaire, and it was after she had succeeded in this mission (showered in blood and carrying his disembodied head as per special request of her employer), that she had met with the jester a second time. She recalled the fixated glint in his yellow eyes as he'd studied her that night; the ominous aura that he'd exuded. He had told her his name as though she ought to remember it, and then asked for hers, leaving with the promise that they would have another encounter when she was "ripe".

…Was that his purpose for approaching her now?

'What was his name again?' she mused, rocking the glass in her hand and using the light clinking of the ice against the sides as a symphony for her thoughts. 'Something strange… something I should remember…'

"You've…really grown up, Misaki," he cut in to the silence between them, using a voice that was almost taunting her, "in body, at least."

"I doubt you've seen enough of it to know," she argued, forcing her tone into calm.

"Is that an invitation?" He arched a brow.

"I told you already that it wasn't."

"Such hostility toward someone who paid for that drink you're practically inhaling. Besides, women are known to change their minds fairly often, yes?"

Misaki paused mid-swig and withdrew the glass from her lips. For the first time since his appearance she turned her head in his direction, taking the opportunity to shoot him the most unimpressed expression she could muster. This had little effect on him however, and instead she watched as a grin dripping with child-like mirth stretched over his mouth.

"Now is not a good time," she said bitterly.

He chuckled again.

"Your ridiculous choice of dress told me otherwise."

"I suppose we have that in common." She scanned him up and down smugly, ceasing only once she was satisfied that he had seen her do so.

"Perhaps we have more in common that simply that," he said, his expression evolving from gleeful to serpent-like.

"Possible, but unlikely."

The girl downed the last half of her drink, and no sooner did she place the empty glass back on to the counter the man was already ordering her up another.

"Suppose I would like to call in that favor you owe me now, Misaki..."

She protested with a bit of a snort, "What favor?"

"I both bought you that drink and the last, not to mention that I've decided not to kill you while you're in such a dreadfully poor mood."

"Such great mercy," she sneered sardonically.

In reality, she was uneasy at his arrival and felt there was a frightening level of honesty in his words. Still, she was adamant to appear unscathed by his attempts to unnerve her.

"If you should like for me to provide a service, it will cost you," she explained, deadpan.

"I will gladly agree to pay you what ever amount Illumi is paying for your…services," he obliged in a sickeningly agreeable tone.

He had successfully cracked her calm exterior, at least for a noticeable moment. It was too late to retract by the time the girl realized that he had seen her falter, which he reveled in as though it were some secret weapon he had been saving for the perfect occasion and just itching to unsheathe. She studied his features with unintentionally frantic eyes as though she might be able to somehow read between the lines of his face to decipher how in the world he knew of Illumi and her contract with him. Had he, too been spying on her recently?

'Hisoka,' her mind whispered, his name coming to her at once through the increased wave of anxiety.

Misaki winced slightly, desiring deeply to concoct a witty reply that might be strong enough to draw the magician away from her.

Instead she found herself asking quietly, "What did you have in mind?"

His yellow eyes half disappeared behind heavy upper lids as he licked his lips in anticipation of his own response.