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A storm was brewing and Feitan stood on the roof of the abandoned movie theatre the Genai Ryodan were calling their base today. Fat drops of rain hit the concrete, making dark spots, and the wind blew the small spider’s tunic hard against his legs.
Feitan hated storms. They reminded him of growing up in Meteor City where he had poor shelter or none. The storms had seemed much more fierce than normal there, screaming across the waste to drench the town-slash-encampment, filling the gutters and the ruts in the roads, churning up the red mud, and soaking the tar paper and cardboard shacks.
More rain fell, wetting Feitan’s wild black hair and he shivered in the chilly wind. He wondered where Chrollo was, and how Chrollo was doing. Was he safe and dry right now? Or living rough? Knowing Chrollo he had secured a lavish honeymoon suite in a fine hotel. Feitan smiled a small smile to himself. Chrollo never minded roughing it but he very much liked comfort.
He might be lying low since that fucking clown, Hisoka, was in the wind. He also couldn’t use his nen, a distinct disadvantage. Would Hisoka even fight him if he didn’t have his nen? He’d let him go the last time they met.
Feitan’s lips pulled back into a snarl at the thought of Hisoka. Hisoka didn't need to fight Chrollo, he needed to fight Feitan. Fei would give anything to choke the life out of that stupid red-head.
Feitan turned his face to the crisp wind and took a deep breath through his nose as if he could smell Hisoka. He frowned. He hoped Chrollo was OK. He hoped that he was living the high life in some fancy hotel room.
He wished he could be there with him