Hunter X Hunter Fan Fiction ❯ One day Irumi decided to poke the psychopath with a long electric cattle prod. This is what happened. ❯ The cattle prod strikes back. ( One-Shot )

Sweet notes: Here were the titles I considered using for this lil' piece. Hope you get as big a kick out of them as I did:

Hisoka's psychologist. Why We Don't Want To Know What Goes On Inside There. Hisoka's stability. The Limits of Human Desire to Know. Hisoka and his day of therapy. Hisoka and the nasty couch.

Warnings: Err… humour, Hisoka-ness. PG-13 for possible language death and obsessive-ness.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hunter X Hunter… mou…

~.~

One day, Irumi decided to poke the psycho with a long, electric cattle prod. This is what happened.

~ By Sweetdeily and a slight writing stump.

~.~

"… Therapy?" The musical voice sounded the syllables out slowly, waiting for them to bite him on the ass. How ridiculous.

"Aa." Yes, he'd heard that right.

Hisoka shuffled his cards idly. "Naze?"

Irumi pointed around Hisoka's room; motioning to the walls, wind and tables.

"You mean those?"

"Aa."

"Just souvenirs." Of course… every tourist shop sold pictures of Gon; during fights, asleep brushing his teeth, in the shower, practicing Nen, eating, smiling, laughing, crying, yelling, blowing his nose, cooking, cleaning, in different clothes, from six different angles with the occasional other face in the shot.

What was so odd about that? Hisoka could only wonder.

"…"

Hisoka smiled. "Saa, it's not that bad. Really."

Irumi would have rolled his eyes, but the pupilless orbs didn't move. He was being firm on this. He came from a very proper assassin family, the kind of obsession Hisoka had about his little games was a bit… scary. And anything that scared Irumi was probably not a good thing. To add to that, anything that *could* scare Irumi was probably not a good thing. Or it was taffy. Yes, the evil, evil taffy that had it in for Irumi.

Damn that taffy.

"I don't want to. It would be boring." The clown argued, seeing Irumi was serious about this. The fact that his obsession rated near scary for Irumi-and it was hard to scare Irumi if you weren't taffy (see above) - was kind of worrisome.

"Demo… if we play, and I win…"

Hisoka's eyes narrowed. "If you win…"

"Aa."

Irumi had good luck at cards, Hisoka remembered very well from previous games. But what was the point of life without some chance…

Hisoka cut the deck.

~.~

Hisoka was a man of few words and easy assessment of situations. He prided himself on his easy analysis of every individual he encountered and mentally establish a course of action. But this…

This was just…

The couch had been made to be evil, scary, badly color-coordinated and intimidating. Hisoka narrowed his eyes at the piece of furniture and waited for it to shrivel up and die.

Bllllleeeeedddddd…

Bleeeeeeeeeeddddd...

"Ehem." Someone interrupted his mental killing of the couch and Hisoka turned his head, ever so slowly, toward the throat clearer.

There was one of those split second pauses in which the two of them recognized one-another and Hisoka sweat-dropped. "You…"

"MOU NA II! Hisoka! Shimatta. How the hell did you get in here?" the therapist asked.

"Through the door." Sometimes people asked the stupidest questions.

Hisoka's answer stopped the doctor for as long as it took that man to think; which was a while as the brain cells in Leorio's head didn't seem to connect all at once, occasionally skipping each other and getting to the end before hitting the middle or brunch. Brunch is important in your head; it's the best part of the day for most brain cells, since they work all the time without anything off. But yes, Leorio's brain cells often had to forgo brunch as he needed them in proper working order all the time. Thus, with brunch deprivation, Leorio often took a while to think.

"I thought you were a doctor, not a therapist." Hisoka commented. His brain cells saved up their brunch-breaks and took them when Hisoka got excited, thus, when he refused to get excited, they got pissed off. There's nothing worse then a pissed off brain cell, except maybe a pissed off Hisoka. Yes, sometimes things are bad for the lowly creatures to whom people offer as sacrifice to Hisoka and his brain cells.

"I… er, got more than one qualification." The man replied studiously. "What are you here for?"

Another brilliant question. "Therapy."

"Oh…. Why?"

Hisoka turned back to glare at the couch. "I lost a bet."

Silence reigned in the room for a while.

"This is boring." The clown muttered.

The doctor shifted in his seat uncomfortably, it wasn't that the seat was uncomfortable; it was that he was uncomfortable because Hisoka was there. Hisoka didn't even have to be in a room to make people uncomfortable, even though Hisoka was pretty comfortable… most of the time. But that's not the issue, the issue is… well, there wasn't one! And that was it-the issue that is to say- that there was no issue. Honestly, who goes to therapy because they lost a bet? Hisoka. That's who. But really, this could be a very long and boring story if all they did was sit there…

Luckily for us- well maybe not all of us, but some of us at least, in all likelihood- Hisoka decided to do something. "Want a game?" the psycho asked, he lifted his cards-having magically appeared into his hand- so the doctor could see.

Leorio eyed the cards, then he eyed Hisoka, then he eyed the clock, none of them eyed him back-which was probably a good thing, since it's pretty unnerving to be eyed by a pack of cards and a clock- -since they don't have eyes-- and then he slowly, very slowly nodded. He still had the better part of an hour left in which he was forced- by professional manners- to stand Hisoka's company, for better for worse, besides, what could possibly go wrong with a little card game?

~.~

Hisoka was up by two shirts, a pair of jeans, two thousand Zenny and a 'genuine, absolutely did not fall off the back of a truck, licensed, official' When rabid fangirl's attack book. He was planning on selling the clothing and reading the book.

Leorio was down by the clothing on him, all his money and a randomly selected book from his office. Needless to say, things were not looking good for the good guy or guy that lacked homicidal tendencies. Either or.

"Teme…"

"tsk, tsk… five?"

Leorio twitched and gave up the card. "Queen?"

"Go fish."

The fact was, Leorio was very bad at card games, and whenever he went to fish he bent over and exposed all his cards; when he moved his arms above his head, he exposed all his cards; when he yawned, he exposed al his cards; when he was triumphant in anything… yeah, Hisoka always knew what Leorio had in his hand. It was like shooting dead fish in a barrel, not really all that stimulating, but funny in an obscene way.

The clock chimed and Hisoka blinked, his session was up. "Ja ne, Doctor Leorio." The psychopath stood and walked out with his newly acquired items and money; leaving a half naked, slightly disturbed person behind him.

You could always tell which cities Hisoka had been in…

~.~

Hisoka had an appartment that was remarkably like his hair. No, it wasn't on his head, but it did seem to change color for no real apparent reason other than the clown's will. And Hisoka's will is not, under any light, apparent.

At least, Irumi thought this must have been what happened, for when he visited the following week all Hisoka would say about the remodeled house was that he liked to be color-coordinated and that his therapy had been good for something.

Irumi wanted to send him to a different therapist.

~ Owari!

Sweet notes: short, sweet and pointless. But maybe someone liked it. Reviews????