Summary: Kurapika and Chrollo have an unexpected encounter at an underground art gallery. One-sided Chrollo/Kurapika One-shot.

Disclaimer: Hunter X Hunter is Yoshihiro Togashi's baby. It's not mine.

Marked

The heels of Kurapika's dress shoes clicked along the marble floors of the gallery. Walls with golden trimmings were paid no head as he strode towards the main room. Paintings lined the walls lit by tiny backlights, giving the artwork the appearance of being fluorescent. Given the underground nature of the event, the paintings were likely high-quality forgeries while the true masterpieces rested in either the main room or a distant warehouse.

Will the scarlet eyes be on display here or are they being stored somewhere else?

He offered a silent prayer to the ghosts of his clan for success.

Heaven, please praise eternally,
The Kuruta people.
Let me find our Scarlet Eyes.

If he could locate and obtain his goal then the sacrilege along the walls could be forgiven. He'd once considered fine imitations to be art in its own right, but he'd lost his willingness to forgive the falseness of the imitations after the events in Yorknew. The first step in reclaiming the eyes of his brethren had vanished before him. His hope, the scarlet eyes, had been an illusion and Squala's life was lost for nothing.

Entering the main hall Kurapika found himself surrounded by a mix of the wealthy, dressed in suits and silk dresses with ballroom masks for anonymity, and other mafia bosses their faces on display as an advertisement of their power. Flesh collectors and art thieves.

Before the end of the night, he'd make sure to have made contact with as many of them as possible. He'd separate out the flesh collectors and take care to woo them. Vile, but he needed to work into their inner circles to gain access to his clan's stolen eyes.

A cocktail waitress clad in a lace ballroom mask, thigh highs, and what seemed to him to be her underwear paused as she passed by his side. Kurapika raised his hand in a dismissive wave. Alcohol would impair his senses and cloud his judgment.

As he scanned the crowded room for clues to the location of the scarlet eyes, he felt a hand clasp onto his shoulder from behind.

"Ah, so I see fate has decided to bless me with your presence," said a horrifyingly familiar voice. The same voice that haunted his nightmares. "I hope you find the exhibit as entertaining as I do."

The devil was hidden in plain sight with only a thin bandage wrapped around his forehead hiding Saint Peter's Cross. His hair was left uncombed so that his bangs naturally fell forward over the sides of the covering.

Another scantily dressed cocktail waitress passed in front of them, leaving after a dismissive nod from Chrollo. No one would question two men in black suits here. From all appearances, it was simply two mob bosses talking business. Kurapika could feel his stomach churn. It was disgusting how natural their appearance together looked even if it was only on a shallow visual level.

"It certainly is provocative," said Kurapika, keeping his tone level. He'd learned after his last encounter that the best course of action for people like him was complete neutrality. Become someone uninteresting and they won't bother themselves; become someone without strong emotions and nothing will be given away. Despite knowing, this Kurapika still voices the main thought on his mind."I could kill you now."

Chrollo chuckled. "But you won't. If you try you will disturb the event and the scarlet eyes will slip through your fingers."

"I could always locate them later." Kurapika scoffed.

"Ah, but will you run the risk that you can't?"

Kurapika bites his lip barely holding back every unholy swear in all the languages he knew. He'd already given Chrollo the satisfaction of getting to him in Yorknew and he wasn't going to do it again.

Releasing Kurapika's shoulder, Chrollo came to stand beside him.

Chain links clicked together as Kurapika's hands tightened into fists, his knuckles white. "What are you doing here? I heard you were on Greed Island looking for an exorcist."

"You're partially correct. Greed Island requires nen to enter, however, the other Spiders are searching for an exorcist there." Chrollo smiled. "I'm here to indulge in the sight of beautiful things. How lucky I am that you're here."

How cursed I am that you're here.

Even as his face maintained an indifferent expression, red fought to replace blue behind Kurapika's black contacts. He didn't want to consider what Chrollo's thoughts were, he did not fraternize with his enemies. Much to his displeasure he had no doubt Chrollo would share them with him if he said nothing for long enough. His guess turned out correct.

Chrollo pointed at the nearest painting. "Beautiful, is it not?"

Hanging on the wall was a canvas. Sepia flowers bloomed in a garden created by blood. More accurately "liquid flesh" as blood and water mixed together to allow for more tonal range and textural possibilities than normal blood stains could achieve.

"For a hemorrhage," Kurapika said.

"Do you garden?" asked Chrollo with a triumphed curl to his lips.

"When I must." Once upon a time Kurapika had, albeit reluctantly.

The Kuruta clan had prided itself on its self-sufficiency, only allowing grocery trips when necessary or for testing those who wished for permission to leave. Aside from the village's main fields that everyone worked, most family's had their own vegetable garden. His mother had always been insistent he help her tend it as part of his choirs, but all he had wanted to do was read or explore with Pairo. Looking back he suspected it was her way of trying to keep him out of trouble.

Chrollo thoughtfully touched his hand to his chin. "Well, if you ever decide to expand your experiences on the subject, you may well find yourself in a similar situation to myself. I came across a wild rose bush one day. Its vines had overgrown a chest I wanted the contents of. Rather sure of my skills with a knife, I began removing the thorns from a rose. As one might expect, my confidence proved misplaced, and I pricked myself."

"Fatally?" said Kurapika, unable to stop the word before it left his lips.

"Fortunately not, only a few drop of blood was the price. However, it stopped me in my tracks, and made me think of what I had been doing, and why."

The silence stretched as Chrollo waited for Kurapika to hit the ball of conversation back into his court. Patience had always been a virtue of the Kuruta tribe, however.

"Well," Chrollo said, clearing his throat. "I continued on much more cautiously from that point on, but it did raise the question, what is a rose without its thorns?"

"A rose."

There was a moment of silence and Kurapika allowed himself to hope that Chrollo had finally chosen to ignore him, as that had not been the answer he wanted. His hope, however, was dashed.

"The contrast between beauty and pain is what makes the rose so elegant. Without it is only a flower; with them, a symbol. When one thinks of flowers, it is the rose that comes to mind. Why? Because flowers are beautiful and none more so than roses. The thorns highlight the fragility, bring balance to the imagery. The feminine flower and masculine thorns come together as if they were making love. " Chrollo rested a hand over his heart and Kurapika's nen blade. "It would seem I failed to learn my lesson and pricked myself again. Can there be anything more beautiful than satisfying the need for carnal pleasure?"

"My Chain Jail might have a few ideas," Kurapika said growing tired of his tirade.

His words fell on deaf ears. "That brought me to you, my masterpiece," he said, gesturing towards Kurapika. "Art could use thorns. Beauty complemented by pain. So I thought, what pain can a person suffer?"

The complete destruction of the only world he'd ever known was Kurapika's thought, kept to himself to save his breath.

"Obvious, no?" he said as though what he had done was, indeed, obvious.

"No," said Kurapika.

Chrollo laughed as though it had been a compliment. "Perhaps I misjudge my own aptitude for art."

"Agreed."

Chrollo stared down at Kurapika, the glint of his eyes like a shark that smelt blood. "If I may ask, what is your opinion?"

Revenge has eaten my life and tainted my hands because of you. Kurapika's eye contact was unblinking as he looked up at him. "Are you sure you want my honest opinion?"

"Of course, why else would I have approached you? No matter their standing, so long as they love art as much as I do I'm interested in the critics of others."

"Very well," Kurapika said, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "You are the worst kind of artist. You have taken something beautiful and claimed to have done something transformative to it. You have not. All you have succeeded in doing is ruining it. There is nothing gained from your additions. The sense of loss I feel from knowing you have deprived so many people of their future is immense. All I can give you credit for is the trail of broken bodies and lives you leave behind."

Pairo, his mother, his father, the elder, all his cousins, aunts, uncles, and everyone else he'd known...

Pausing, Kurapika regained his breath.

"Your artwork is a tragedy. There is no reason for it. Nothing more than a massacre by a madman with more greed than humanity." His shoulders sank. "...I could have had been with my clan, I could have lived happily." I should have...

"Of course you would have." Golden hair tickled his fingers as Chrollo pet Kurapika's head. When Kurapika attempted to pull away, Chrollo dug his fingers painfully driving his nails into the Kuruta's scalp till he stilled. "But the child that you were is as dead as your clan. You're what I have made you. Perhaps it is because of my own hand in your creation that you interest me so, though I suspect even were this our first encounter I would still be fascinated by your potential. Why does your beauty captivate me so when the danger you pose is so clear? ...Humans truly are such strange creatures."

Fabric rustled as a nearby curtain dropped revealing the star exhibit of the night. Floating in two jars a pair of scarlet eyes sat of all to see.

"Seems it's time for me to take my leave then." Chrollo sighed before releasing Kurapika. As Kurapika cradled his head, Chrollo his back on him to leave."Thank you for your critique. An awful artist, I maybe, but remember I instigated the events that molded and shaped you. You owe all that you are right now to me."

Even without joining the Phantom Trope, Kurapika would always bear the Spider's mark.