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Summary
“Turn around,” the Troupe leader commands, an unusual amount of authority to his voice that sends a shiver down Hisoka’s spine. Just as he had suspected, Chrollo’s gaze is met with clean, pale skin, no tattoo in sight.
“It was a fake?” He asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a question, and there’s a lack of surprise in his tone. Hisoka makes a quick recovery, smirk returning to his lips. Challenging Chrollo to get angry, to punish him for his rebellious acts. Would he let this much slide, now that he has undeniable proof on display before his very eyes? Or, alternatively, what would he do upon deciding that this was the final straw? Kick him out of the Troupe? Hisoka hopes for a more interesting outcome, but won’t deny that it’s a possibility.
He simply can’t tell what’s going on in the man’s head, can’t judge what he’s thinking by that vacant, expressionless stare that sizes him up like prey.