#also. tempted to make an oc for silo now...

[ncytiri]

the silo season finale...

[depressed-chicken-man]

Cooped Up

Shane x OC

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5

Summary:

After failing to start her dream in the city, the fashion designer turned farmer tries to cope with her new life in the last-ditch effort to make a happy home for herself. She has so many concerns for her new life. How much of her identity is stuck in the city? Will she even make a difference?

Even if she doesn’t think so, it’s undeniable that she will make a difference for a certain depressed coop keeper.

Chapter 3: Marnie’s Nephew

Chapter 3 on Ao3

A week passed since Jen had first met Haley and they had met up almost every day since. This was the first day that she had not managed to make an outing because this was a more special day on her farm.

She had so much fun with Haley and was reminded of a friend she had in college. The blonde photographer in practice was extremely supportive and told her what she knew about other townsfolks and Jen herself wondered how far it fell into gossip but most of what Haley had shared was truthful so far. Jen really enjoyed having lunch and tea with her and it was a welcome friendship. Not only was Haley an interesting and fun friend so far, but they also shared a common interest.

Makeup and fashion.

Haley had introduced her to her sister, Emily, who oftentimes was a worker in the Saloon. She also got to meet Alex, who seemed nice enough but there was one thing that irked Jennifer about him. His nickname for her, Farmer Girl . She hated it.

In the moments she could barely afford to spare outside of tending to her farm and trying to get her parsnips to flourish, she would go visit Haley, who always welcomed her in to chat. It was that or she would opt for some alone time to sit at the pier south of her farm. One thing she enjoyed without a doubt was the sounds of the forest, the birds and trees. She loved the lapping of the water at the water’s edge and against the pier. It was soothing and relaxing and welcome when she was beyond exhausted.

It was then when she was alone that she could think about her progress and wonder if she was doing everything right. She could reflect on her day and wonder if she could keep it up, if she would get better, or if it was all doomed.

Even if she had tea with Haley once in a while, she still missed her city cafe latte.

Today was the big milestone on her farm, and despite having poured her savings into it, a coop was sure to help her farm grow and make a profit. She was excited and relieved, yet there was still that fear she had yet to get over. She had tried to get over it by watching “cute chicken videos” but for every cute video, there was another one of a rooster chasing a kid or a hen flogging someone who dared to enter the coop.

Still, her pride and determination to eventually be able to sell fresh eggs were enough for her not to hesitate. She was gonna have eggs even if she had to run, screaming out of her coop every single day. With another satisfied look at her new coop and a small stock of feed while her silo was being constructed, she walked around her freshly watered crops and made her way to the ranch.

In no time, she had made it to the door of the ranch, the moos of the dairy cows welcomed her. She took the time to dust herself properly, looking dreadful and dirty but that was the price to pay for her hard work. She was taking showers nearly every day because she refused to walk into town looking so dreadful. She had her appearance to uphold and she stuck to it. The exception was of course that Marnie didn’t seem like she cared a bit and Jennifer knew she already trusted herself enough to look humble.

Having dusted herself enough, she stepped into the ranch door and Marnie called from a back room. Jen waited and perked up when she saw the woman appear from around a corner near the back of the house.

“Oh miss Jennifer, I know why you’re here today! Robin already told me, but I’m having a small issue.” She called out, looking back into the room she came from before making her way to the front.

“An issue? I could come back later if I need to?” Jennifer offered but Marnie shook her head in response.

“No need. It’s just that my niece is sick with a virus. Poor Jas has been in and out of the bathroom all morning, bless her heart. I can’t come to help you, but my nephew can. It’s actually his day off and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” She gave and immediately set on her way. “He’s in our coop right now, I’ll go get him. Stay here.” She ordered and Jennifer stood in the lobby, if it could be called that being the foyer of a house.

She wondered what Marnie’s nephew was like. She knew that Marnie had told her his name but Jen couldn’t remember what it was. She wondered if he would be a good friend to her. She wished that was the case, as this ranch was essentially her neighbor. She came up with a quick mental image of what Marnie’s nephew was like. Kind like Marnie? Humble like Marnie? Surely he’d have red hair like Marnie?

In no time, Marnie returned, talking over her shoulder to her nephew, who followed her out the door and into the kitchen. It took her a moment to recognize him, but her sinking feeling set in as soon as she did.

That’s right… Marnie’s nephew’s name was Shane.

Jen closed her eyes and took a deep breath to prepare herself. Just be professional. He doesn’t want to talk to you any more than you want to be snapped at by him , she told herself. It was hard to not feel a little uneasy with the cold, apathetic stare he was giving her as he made his way to the lobby and leaned against the wall, looking as if he’d rather jump off a bridge than help her. He looked only slightly more put together today, but his clothing choice lacked taste. Khaki shorts and a baggy black shirt didn’t exactly speak fashionable, but the lack of a proper shave was the worst of it. She supposed she was being the slightest bit hypocritical, adorning a dirty set of overalls herself, but at least she had a reason. The redhead made her way to the front desk and opened up an invoice book.

“Okay, Miss Jennifer. How many chicks do you need?” She asked and clicked her pen. Jen had her mind made before she came, the most obvious choice for her to make.

“Twelve. A dozen chickens, a dozen eggs, right?” she half-joked but her humor wasn’t as helpful to her when she heard a barely audible groan from the dark-haired man. She was tempted to look at him but she kept her eyes on Marnie, ignoring him. Marnie gave her a smile and she nodded and hummed as she wrote it down.

“Twelve chicks it is. Shane, if you would…” She began but what she was asking was implied. Without a word, he pulled himself from the wall and disappeared into the house. Marnie sighed and gave her the amount owed. After she had paid and they waited on the grump to return, Marnie spoke up hesitantly.

“Miss Jennifer, I hope you don’t mind if my nephew is a little reluctant to talk. I would say he’s shy, but the truth is that he’s a little rough around the edges but I think he’d help you with anything if you ask.” she said and Jennifer nodded in acknowledgment. She didn’t know what to say and saying nothing was the best option for being genuine. Marnie changed the subject.

“How is your farm? Pierre has been saying that the exports are very solid for your first season. You’re doing well but what do you think?” She asked and Jennifer wondered for a moment if she should express her concerns for her farm. The decision was made quickly.

“Oh it’s wonderful. I feel like I’ve got the hang of it already. By this time next year, I’m sure I’ll have made it worthwhile. I couldn’t be more pleased.” She said, her optimistic words smeared her truth a bit but it was worth it to appear composed. She didn’t need to complain or show that she was struggling.

“Oh good! I’m so glad you think so! A farm is a lot of work but you’re handling it well.” she complimented. Any further conversation topic was stopped as a door creaked open and the brooding man stepped out with a box that peeped and squeaked. Jen was curious as to what the chicks looked like but she would find out later. She didn’t want to peer into the box now.

“Shane, if you would, could you give her a little rundown of how to take care of them when you get there. I’m sure it would help her a lot.” Marnie asked and the man rolled his eyes.

“No need. I think I’ve got it. I just need to have them brought over.” Jennifer stated, hoping that the less time spent with him meant the less likely chance of him being mean to her. Marnie still gave Shane a look as if to say that he should do it anyway but he didn’t seem to pay attention. Instead, he looked from the box to the door.

“Good idea, let’s get this over with.” he muttered, that same sharpness present in his voice. Jen gave Marnie a wary look before taking the hint. She rubbed her temples and set off towards the back of the house to where her niece was.

There goes the hope of her neighbor being her friend.

He couldn’t understand what was so difficult about carrying your own chicks home. The box wasn’t huge and the new girl was more than capable of doing it herself. No, it was his aunt’s idea of decent customer service, as if he didn’t have enough of that already.

His plan was to put the chickens in the coop for the city girl and get the hell out of there. He didn’t want to hang around and chit chat like old people. He was not in the mood at all today and on his day off he just wanted to stay home and be miserable, maybe check in on Jas too. He was silent as he followed the new farmer, grateful she hadn’t tried to strike up any conversation yet. Her braided dusty blonde hair hung and swayed behind her as she led the way, not that he needed directions. Everyone knew where everything was in this small town.

After a short walk, they came upon her farm and he was hasty to set the box of chicks in front of the coop door for Jennifer to deal with, his opposition to help her more than necessary out shadowed his concerns for the chicks. He doubted she knew how to take care of them and he didn’t want to see her at the ranch every time she had a question or issue. Still, without a word he turned to leave, his duty done before she called out to him.

“Hey, um....” She began and gave a suggestion more than asking a question “Could you open it for me? In the coop, preferably.” She asked, her brown eyes looking at him hopefully.

He stared at her for a moment. She can’t even open the box herself? She’ll fail here in no time. Without a word, he stepped into the coop and pulled the box in. He looked up at her to see that she was standing outside the coop, peering in from around the door frame. Whatever, it was none of his concern. He kneeled down onto the hay covered flooring, the cushion was at least done right but he wasn’t sure if it was the work of Jennifer or Robin, but he liked to think it was Robin.

He opened the box and a chorus of cheeps sounded as the chicks awaited their release from the cardboard cell. He reached in and scooped the fuzzy babies out one at a time, their calls felt grateful. He felt like he was doing them an injustice, putting them into the care of the most incapable farmer in town. Soon, all twelve were hopping around curiously, their marble-like eyes taking in their new home.

He looked back up to see that the woman was still peeking from behind the door. He gave her an incredulous look and her eyes followed the chicks as they bounced around.

Finally, she spoke.

“So… they don’t bite at this age, right? Do they like being petted or should I not do that?” she asked, her seriousness stark in her voice.

Bite? Was she for real? He scoffed and gave the most abridged version of his answer that he could as he stood.

“They don’t bite, they peck. If you don’t pet them, they won’t like you and they won’t come to you if they get loose.” He gave. She still stared from around the door. She almost looked… scared? No, it can’t be. She wasn’t scared of them, was she?

“Oh… cool. Does pecking hurt?” she asked, still eyeing the chicks.

“Why don’t you sit with them for a while. See if that will answer your questions.” he scoffed and took to his feet. She nodded and slowly crept into the coop, a small chick a few feet from her.

“Hey there… buddy? You’re cute.” She cooed at it and it cocked its head to the side. She offered her hand down to its level, and he could have sworn her hand trembled the tiniest bit. The chick decided to fluff up its feathers and rush over to her hand to greet her.

With a shriek that Shane was certain would give him a headache if he wasn’t over his hangover, she bolted from the coop faster than he could register. He was stunned for a moment and the humor and ridiculousness of the situation at hand caught up to him. He burst into laughter and took a few steps to see where the girl had run to. Maybe she would keep running and not stop.

His wish was denied but his chuckle still bubbled from him.

“That’s the most-” he laughed midsentence, interrupting himself. “-Pathetic thing I’ve seen. Why would you buy chickens if you’re scared of them?” he asked through his laughter. He watched as her pale-faced fright melted into a stern stare. She was catching her breath but she was still determined to answer him.

“I- huff - I don’t know! I just…” She trailed off. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” She gave and if he wasn’t so off out by her stupidity, he might admire her optimism. He let his laughter die out.

“This is ridiculous, you know. I don’t know why you’re trying to do this. It’s obvious that you don’t know what you’re doing.” he said and leaned against the coop doorframe.

She looked like she was going to argue but her words didn’t come. Instead, she brushed the loose strands from her braid back and looked down at the ground.

“You’re right. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a lousy farmer and it won’t be long until everyone else sees that.” she said in defeat before adding “Even so, I’m not going to stop. It doesn’t matter if I’m lousy or faking it, I’m still going to try my best.” she said. He shook his head.

“You won’t last long here. Why don’t you just leave? We don’t need you here and I’m surprised anyone thinks that this town does.” He suggested, his arms folded. He hoped it pissed her off, got under her skin. Instead, she gave a non-committed nod.

“I’m not going to leave, so you better get used to me. If I didn’t know any better, I would suspect you’re trying to run me off and it’s not going to work,” she said, her eyes meeting his, her warning sticking to him. He gave her a disappointed glare but she didn’t care. “Now, you can be mad about it but at least this can be our secret, that I’m so terrible. At least, until everyone else sees it too.” she said and looked over to her row of sprouts.

If he cared a tiny bit, he would almost feel bad for her.

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. She was so out of her element that it wasn’t even funny. He looked back into the coop where the chick bounced around. It would be unfair to the chicks to let Jen loose on their poor lives. He straightened up and motioned over for her, grabbing her attention away from her crops. She followed him into the coop and he picked up the empty box and set it outside.

“So, the first thing you need to keep mind of when running a coop is how long your chicks had been cooped up…” he began and she gave him a wide-eyed look.

“You’re… helping me out? Giving me advice?” she piped up and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Not for long if you keep talking. And it’s not for you, it’s for the chicks,” he corrected and muttered something that he was hoping she hadn’t heard.

“...and for the beer.”

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5

[xyliane]

the hunted dragon

summary: pen 's been running for six weeks, hunted for four, and now that she finally thinks she’s free of the hunter pursuing her, she can take a moment and rest. she’s wrong, but at least there are waffles. (a gon character study)  

notes: @jyuanka​ left some super amazing tags on a gon headcanon post a while back about my headcanons of him as a lost hunter, and it spun into thoughts about what gon would look like from the pov of someone he’s hunting. long story short, green sunshine boy is a scary person. also ethics and morality for hunters is weird and complicated. gen (brief mention of assault), OC-pov, gon freecss. 2700 words. (sorry this is kind of super not what was originally intended)

also on ao3!

---

Pen thinks she’s finally lost him when a man built like a half-ton of well-used muscle and gravity-defying spikes of black hair drops into her booth with a pleasant smile on his face. It’s a really nice smile, surprisingly straight white teeth against freckled brown skin, especially for someone who’s been hunting her across the last four weeks. Nice enough that in other circumstances, Pen would believe him to genuinely be a pleasant person by his smile alone.

But she’s caught few enough glimpses of him over the last month that Pen knows, whoever this man is, he is the opposite of pleasant. Anyone with the sort of calm, cold, deliberate stalking, circling her in until she’s caged herself like a rabbit hunted by a wolfhound until it is stuck frozen and shivering and only able to wait—someone capable of that can’t be pleasant. That he did so while wearing a bright orange shirt under a forest green vest is more embarrassing to Pen than anything else. She should have seen that.

“I promise I won’t stop you if you try to leave, but at least let me pay for your lunch,” he says. “You haven’t had a good meal since you noticed me following you.”

She folds the rabbit shivers into the pit of her stomach and hopes they stay there. She’s a Hunter, dammit, not some meek prey. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, I think.” He flips open the menu, front teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as he looks over the diner’s fairly mediocre selection of salads and sandwiches. “And mine, and the person who hired me. But I’ve been eating less, too. You’re really hard to keep track of!”

He says it like it’s a massive compliment, beaming at her with an absolutely ridiculous amount of pride. Pen wants to punch it off his face, but the scars on his arms and the healed break in his nose make it obvious that a punch won’t do more than annoy at best and infuriate at worst. She doesn’t catch any feeling of aura, not more than any other well-trained tracker, but that scares her even more than his smile.

Pen doesn’t actually hate being scared. It’s served her well in the past, made her sharp, kept her alive at the worst points of her life. But a month of being constantly on that edge has dulled it until it’s useless and painful. She’s tired. And right now a hot meal sounds really, distractingly tempting, especially when—”Waffles?”

The man’s smile changes briefly into something warm and brilliant. “With whipped cream and chocolate chips. They’re really good. My best friend would love it.” He closes his menu and signals the waiter, who waves cheerfully. The few other customers are out of earshot, studiously munching on oversized sandwiches and slurping soups rather than trying to listen in on any conversations. Pen realizes with growing dismay that she didn’t just get caught in a diner in the middle of nowhere, she got caught in a diner that her hunter has been to before and befriended the staff. He may as well have planned this. Hells, he probably did.

Danger danger danger! cries the little rabbit in her stomach.

“So?” he asks. “Would you like lunch? Or do you want to leave?”

This is a bad idea. One with damning consequences if Pen doesn’t play her hand right. But it has been so long since she had warm food and the waiter is coming over anyways.

She orders the waffles with extra blueberries. They’re out of season. She’s not paying. The Hunter gets a funny look on his face, like he’s trying not to laugh, and orders a salad in a way that is probably meant to be argumentative. Whatever it is, it’s an argument Pen doesn’t hear and doesn’t care about. If he wants to talk, he can talk.

Instead, he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small file and an old phone, a thick one with unbreakable glass that weigh almost enough to be used as a weapon without even bothering with nen. It’s not the phone Pen would pick, but it probably could pick up a cell signal in the middle of a desert or buried under a missile silo. He sticks his tongue out at whatever message he’s received before tucking it back into a pocket and rifling through the file. “Did you get the tattoos after the Hunter Exam?” he asks.

She bristles instinctively and does not slap her hands over her tattoos, partly because at least a few of the marks would take offense and try to stab her. Instead, the bear and dragon whisper across her skin, fangs and claws bared. They’re hers. They are her. “What’s it to you?” she demands.

He grins, eyes tracing the dragon as it loops around her left arm from her shoulder all the way to her wrist. It originally came from her back, so there’s more of it than can possibly fit on her arm. Unleashed, it’s almost unstoppable. For now, it’s content to be color dyed into her skin. “I just thought it was pretty. It’s not like a lot of hatsu, you know?”

She doesn’t bother to answer that. It’s not his right. She doesn’t even know this man’s name, doesn’t know anything about him other than he’s more powerful than he seems and has been chasing her. “You were hired to find me,” she says.

“Mm-hm.” He sips at one of the cups of ice water.

“Then you know why I ran.”

He nods. “You’ve killed ten people in Padokea, including one administrator and most of his staff.”

“And I’d do it again if I could,” Pen says. She sets her jaw defiantly, the tattoos on her skin crawling with the desire to get out and restrain this man, this Hunter. But he still has that pleasant, almost vacant look on his face, shifting only slightly to thank the waiter as they set down a stack of waffles nearly up to Pen’s nose and a massive salad. The sheer smell of butter and syrup alone is almost enough to make Pen forget where she is or who she’s talking to—a veritable pillow of waffles, golden brown and fluffy and this is not at all what she should be focused on.

The man shrugs and slips the papers back into his bag, plopping it into the corner of his side of the booth before stabbing at his lunch of rabbit food dressed up with chicken. “I know. And I’d let you, I think.”

Those are words she doesn’t expect to hear, least of all from a Hunter. She shoves half of the waffles into her mouth to give herself time to think, and the man laughs a little, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Why would you do that?” she manages once most of the food is down her throat.

“Well, this has been a fun hunt!”

Pen chokes. She blames the whipped cream. “Fun.”

“Sure! You are pretty good at staying off anyone’s radar, although you’re a little better at it in cities than forests, so you shouldn’t have left Yorknew. But this has been way better than most things the Association hires me for. I normally get hired to deal with tax evasion—some Hunters hate that the Association can tie us to them with finicky rules, so they hide where they think no one can find them.” He makes a face, nose scrunched up in displeasure. “The worst ones are the ones who don’t want to be paid.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be paid?” Pen asks incredulously.

“My friend Leorio says idiots, mostly.”

Pen bursts out laughing, then immediately remembers she’s not supposed to be even talking with her hunter, let alone laughing with him. “So if you wouldn’t stop me from murdering those people in their offices, why can’t you let me go?”

“Oh, I’m not here because of the murders!” The genuine warm smile is back on his face, a little sheepish. “I’m sorry. That would have made things easier if I could have explained it.”

“So it’s my fault for running?”

The man takes a long slurp of water, ice cracking. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to either.

“I didn’t have any other choice! If I hadn’t run, then someone else might’ve been blamed. I did it, it’s my fault.” She jabs her fork into the table hard enough that the cheap metal goes right through the thick plastic with a resounding crack, and the few other people in the diner all jump in their seats.

The man doesn’t even blink. “Okay,” he says.

“They deserved to die.”

“It’s not my call.”

“But it was mine?”

The man sets down his glass and looks Pen in the eye. His eyes are level, and calm, and horrifyingly cold, like they’ve sucked all the warmth out of his face. “If you made it, it was yours. If someone else told you to do it, you had a choice too. If you think it was worth it, and you still think so, then that’s what you think.” Pen can’t fight the shivers crawling out of her stomach. “If I was hunting you for your murders, I would have found you much sooner and asked you about them. And if what you said isn’t true, then there’d be a problem.”

Problem. Hunters have good instincts, most of the time. Pen’s have kept her alive for her whole life, helped her dye her skin with nen-laced ink and let her fight her way out of worse places than a diner booth. And her instincts are telling her this man has killed over problems—not liked it much, maybe, but he has, and he won’t hesitate to do it again, and then he’ll move on as simply as though squashing an ant.

“Am I a problem?” she asks, hating how small her voice sounds. Her tattoo made of bladed teeth circles from its place around her bicep and loops around her wrist, tightening worryingly over her pulse. Problem or not, scared rabbit or not, she won’t let anyone take her without a fight.

He laughs again, and light returns to his eyes as though it had never left, easy smile on his face open and genuine once again. “Just for the person who hired me. But I don’t think she minds. She did hire me, after all.” He passes over a small card. Pen’s picture is on one side, a rare smile on her own face and hair a different color than it is now. She doesn’t remember having this picture taken, but she recognizes the festival, colorful lanterns illuminating the dragon dancing across her neck and shoulders. It had been right after the Hunter Exam, when things seemed good, before…

On the other side is her name scrawled in a familiar hand, and the words Please bring her back.

“We can keep going, if you want. I meant it when I said this has been fun.”

“I…” Pen clenches her fist over the photograph. Her heart aches—not for the first time, but more sharply than it has in weeks. Maybe she hasn’t completely drowned her sorrows yet. “How did she find you? Syl’s not a Hunter, she can’t afford someone like you.”

The man shrugs. “Friend of a friend. I think? And a hunt this good pays for itself.” He grimaces. “This is much better than the Association’s jobs. I charge them as much as I can because most of those are about yelling loudly at other Hunters, not about hunting. I like hunting, or I wouldn’t be a Hunter.”

“Makes sense.”

“Do you like being a Hunter, Pen?”

Pen drops the photo of herself. It settles, crumpled and smiling, against the cheap diner table. The man simply watches with the sides of his lips turned up, attentive and patient like he actually cares about this. And the scary thing is, even scarier than the unsettling conviction lurking inside his smile, is that Pen believes he does. She wants to tell him how she always looked up to Hunters as people who could do anything they wanted. That the Exam had been everything she’d ever dreamed. That when she had seen that asinine twit take advantage—

Hunters can do anything they want. Pen’s a Hunter. She did. For a while, that’s all she did, not caring about anyone else except what she wanted. And that’s still what she did, taking matters into her own hands when no one else would stop her. So she doesn’t regret the feeling of teeth and claws and chains tearing through his flesh, filtered through her tattoos made real with nen and fury. That man, his accomplices, all of them, they deserved what they got.

She regrets the look on her sister’s face as she stood there, blood covering even the darkest ink of her tattoos, sirens blaring and people shouting.

Pen wants to tell this strange, terrifying, kind-seeming man that she’s a Hunter because of that. But she doesn’t.

Instead she says, “It’s not your business, Hunter.”

He holds her gaze for another moment, staring straight through the back of her head to the blood that’s long since washed off, before breaking away with a small sigh. “I guess not,” he says, and just like that, lets it go. Pen’s almost jealous at how easily it slips away from him, water off a duck or under a bridge.

They’re quiet when the check comes, and the Hunter counts out a scattering of cash, coins rattling around in circles. “So? Do you want to keep going?” he says.

“Going?”

“You never answered my question earlier, if you want to keep going on this hunt.” He props his chin up on a fist, wistful smile on his lips. “But I think Syl misses you.”

“I—” Pen carefully picks the photo back up, turns it over to look at the scrawl her sister calls handwriting. “Do you have people you miss, Hunter?”

He smiles brightly, almost brilliant in the afternoon sun. “Yeah, I do. But sometimes, you need to go hunting, you know? Find something new. Make new friends. Chase something exciting.” He holds out his hand. “I can go home whenever you’re ready.”

She takes it, and his hand is warm and solid and scattered with callouses and scars. “I’ll think about it.”

“Promise?”

She smiles before she can stop it. “I promise.”

“Then I’ll wait at the airship for a day. There’s a seat for you if you want it.” Her hand shakes up and down three times before he drops it.

They’re most of the way out of the diner (the server and the waitstaff stop him to shove a massive takeaway box into his hands, despite his protests) when Pen finally asks, “If I’m accepting the ticket—maybe,” she adds hastily, because she has to think about this, and the man’s wide grin is not enough to convince her. “If I do, what name is it under?”

“Oh, sorry!” He rubs the back of his head bashfully. “I’m really bad with introductions, and I already knew your name too. My name’s Gon. It’s nice to meet you, Pen! Formally, at least.”

“You are a very strange Hunter, Gon—” Pen halts, half a foot still in the diner. The man—Hunter—Gon stops and stares, about to ask what’s wrong when she blurts out, “You’re Gon Freecss???”

He blinks innocently. “Yeah?”

She’d had Gon Freecss after her. This whole time. There are stories told in the Association, rumors and tall tales and things that can’t possibly be true. But Pen’s tattoos come to life, and there is a Hunter with no nen who is somehow all the more terrifying for it. Pen almost feels relieved, that it took someone like him to track her. But that means her sister knows someone who knows Freecss, and Pen…can’t really consider that right now.

“I’m going home,” she says, and storms past him, perfectly aware that the dragon on her back loops up her neck to hiss at the very confused Hunter left standing in the dust.