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…
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.
“Your friend is lucky to have someone like you in their life.” She tests. “I’m certain she will be happy to know you did not leave her side.”
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