Chrollo sighed and picked up his book. "That was the plan," he muttered to himself, laying back on the grass and staring up at the detailed descriptions of various glazes and clay mixtures. "But something tells me that's going to have to wait."
Hisoka didn't emerge from the TV room until late that afternoon. Chrollo assumed he was following his nose because when the man poked his head around the kitchen door, he had a hopeful smile on his face.
Chrollo let out a huff of a laugh and continued to stir the slow-cooked stew he'd had on since the morning. The meat had completely fallen off the bones, and he'd only just removed them from the broth.
"Can I help you, Hisoka?" he said, concentrating on making sure the meat was kept at a simmer.
"That smells divine," he said in his usual drawl.
"Good, it was freshly caught yesterday," Chrollo said, adding vegetables and stirring.
"What did you catch?" Hisoka asked cautiously.
"Oh, well in that case, when will it be ready?" Hisoka's caution had turned to happy hope in an instant.
"In about twenty minutes," Chrollo said, checking on the potatoes. "The timing's worked out perfectly. Let's go prepare you for the meal, shall we?"
Hisoka froze. "Why would I need preparing."
Chrollo's eyes turned stormy, and his voice became ice. "Because I say so, Hisoka. Now go through to the front room." He watched as the playful mask fell away and Hisoka's chin lifted. Holding his shoulders back and his chest forward, he sashayed through to the living room, dropping his towel from his hips seductively halfway.
Chrollo smiled darkly. The man could always pick his battles well and it was good to know that he'd realised that trying to fight him on this, was pointless.