sorry this took me soooooo long. I spent days (a month or two) trying to figure out a good plot but unfortunately I couldn’t think of anything sufficient, so this is rather short

I also don’t have the actual prompt anymore, it disappeared from my box? But in general it’s: AU where you can summon familiars and spirits, Chrollo summoning a fem s/o?

In the midst of searching for Troupe jobs, he’d found himself drawn to a bleak neighborhood of the city. There had been a festival underway just hours before, and Chrollo was never one to turn down the opportunity to quench
his occult endeavors, so he’d taken a small detour and looked around. 

course, he had it at the back of his mind that this actually might transition
into clinching a job for the Troupe, but when he discovered a rather large
shack and ventured inside, intrigued by the archaic semblance and all the cryptic
trinkets, he decided this was something he could manage on his own. Maybe perhaps a little personal recreation. 

It’s not
often he gets to indulge treasures on his own, and it wasn’t something that he
thought the Troupe would be interested in anyway. Not large scale enough for

He’d looked around and admired
the merchandise for a while, until the owner came out and seemed to be in quite
the volatile mood. 

Chrollo didn’t understand what he was blabbering on about,
but apparently he’d wandered into a ‘private’ corner of the store. And that was
too bad.

Chrollo’s never been afraid of getting his
hands dirty when he needs something, and taking the life of an ill-mannered old man like that was probably a favor rather than a crime.

Now, going through the many trinkets
he’s managed to filch, he’s a little disappointed. Of course, this is a regular
occurrence. He was too absorbed in the initial thought of claiming the prizes that he hadn’t really considered if they would lose his fancy after a short
while, which is the case now. 

There are some interesting jewels, some
intricately carved wood and stone figures, but none of them seem as appealing
as they had on the dusty shack shelves. And to think the shop owner had been so
adamant about shooing him away from this treasure.

He’s about ready to abandon the loot
and continue on his way when he comes across a scroll. It looks old and creased,
like it would tear with the smallest of touches. He handles it with caution and
slowly unrolls the thin paper. 

The writing is faded, barely legible. He tries
not to inhale too deeply or he’s afraid he’ll choke on dust. Maybe the antique semblance is
what draws him in, but this piece more than any others should be quite unsightly to an avid collector of ornate goods. It just looks neglected.

He gently brushes away the soot
covering the page until the letters are just legible enough. It takes quite
some time before he can decipher the entire text, but it’s rewarding. 

He’s seen
his share of magical inducers before, but he’s surprised that this one looks so
authentic, and even more surprised that he came across one at all. Maybe the
shop owner had some sense to keep this exclusive. But obviously, not enough to
keep it out of the hands of a thief.

Of course, any amateur’s first
thought would be to figure out the parameters of this artifact and summon
whatever entity was bound to the scroll, but Chrollo’s not so sure if he

He’s always been one to admire, never to abuse. There are stories of supernatural
deals going awry, and he wouldn’t want to deal with that nuisance anyway.
However intrigued he is with the notion of revealing its contents, he thinks
the negatives could easily outweigh the positives.

It’s not until the next night
when he’s ventured into a different town, carrying of course only the most intriguing
items from his previous operation with him, that he’s at a critical
point in his consideration for this scroll. 

There’s no use in preserving it, since he’s definitely not planning on selling it to the highest bidder.
He’s not that kind of thief. This is all for himself or for the Troupe. And
while he has the capacity for patience, he’s not always one to settle with
delayed gratification, so he’d much rather delve into this discovery now and not later. That way, if it’s as much of a disappointment as the other treasures he’d left behind, he can dispose of it as soon as possible.

There’s a vacant old tavern, disheveled
and dark, which serves as his shelter for the night. It’s there under the
meager light of a candle that he reads over the scroll again. 

There’s probably
a proper way to do this, but he’s never done it before, not with such an old
scroll, and considers it more of a learning process. Most of his other
experiences with this sort of magic included some a form of blood ritual, maybe
a few sacrifices here or there. But there’s no such indication in the scroll.
They’re not always written in stone, however. So he imagines that he’ll need to
read in between the lines.

After rereading another
two or three times, he’s figured out the word play well enough. Something about
calling on the soul and discharging aura. In other words, Nen.

That seems too easy. If that’s
all it takes, then he wonders if this will hardly be worth anything at all. Nevertheless,
he’s not one to cave in so easily, and focuses on dispelling his Nen as he
grasps the edges of the scroll.

He waits patiently, wondering
how exactly this process works. Whatever he’s summoning, maybe it feeds off of
Nen? That’s an interesting thought. Though he wonders if that necessitates
precautions. He’s only ever summoned familiars if he needed something. Answers,
insight, or sometimes, just quenched curiosity. Which he supposes is what he’s
doing now. But none have ever posed a threat, so he can’t ponder that too much.

Suddenly, there’s an obvious
shift in the demeanor of the dark room, and he can almost feel Nen drawing
away from his body. Maybe that proves his theory, and while it’s by no means a harsh
or threatening feeling, it still surprises him.

Then it ends, and something
compels him to stop infusing his aura. The scroll doesn’t look any different,
and he doesn’t feel any different. Upon glancing around the room, there’s
nothing different either. But still he waits, choosing not to cast this aside
so hastily, despite his doubts.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait
long for a reward. 

In a dramatic fashion, as he’d expected, a place on the
ground a few feet in front of him lights up with a swirl of bright dust. The
outline of a figure begins to form as the dust ascends into the air, and
as it materializes, Chrollo tries to decide what he’s just summoned.

She’s fully formed in just a
matter of seconds, but Chrollo’s still not quite sure what she is. 

There’s an ethereal aura about her, though that’s not
really surprising, and doesn’t narrow down his options. She’s also giving him a
rather harsh glare, with confused, intense eyes.

“Who are you?” she asks, voice hushed
and rather demure. This is an unfamiliar face, not her usual summoner.

“I’m simply a curious man,” he says.
“Who, or what are you?”

“You’re not my master. Where is

“Master? Are you saying you’re a slave?”

As if she’s not very fond of the
notion, she gives him a bitter look, but offers no reply.

Chrollo’s not offended, or
annoyed. It just begs his curiosity. “And your master, if that’s who he was.
He’s dead.”

Now her face softens, but he
can’t tell if she’s relieved, shocked, or alarmed. He’s never heard of a
summoned being call anyone master
before, so maybe she was quite attached to the shop owner.

“Did you kill him?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”

The passive ill-will isn’t
something she’s used to. She’s been exposed to the brash attitude of the old man for as long as
she can remember, so she’s still acclimating to this sudden change. She looks
uncertain. “I’m a spirit.”

“And how did you end up bound to this scroll?”

Again, she doesn’t reply. He can
see that she’s still taking precautions and trying to read him. He doubts it’s
working, especially since she seems irate.

“If I’m your new master, you
have to answer me, correct?”

She studies him from top to
bottom, and nods carefully. “It was a long time ago. I don’t remember.”

He hums. “I see. I’m not very
familiar with these.” He gestures to the scroll in his lap. “So you’ll have to bear
with me.”

“Why did you kill him?” she asks
suddenly, and he tries to understand the melodrama behind the question. The naivety.

“He had something I wanted.”

She cocks her head. “Which is

“Not just you, no. But you were
a surprising surplus.”

It seems as if she’s trying to
fully understand what’s going on here. Apparently, the concept of thievery
isn’t something she’s familiar with. Or maybe she’s just abrasive from the

“Well, what do you want?” Her voice is coarse and sharp.

He thinks of taunting her for
the audacity, asking her if this is how she’d normally speak to her master, or if she just didn’t
particularly like him. Either way, he isn’t really that concerned. “I don’t
know that quite yet. What can you offer me?”

And she doesn’t fail with the
narrowed look and cynical eyes. “That depends on what you want.”

“What did your old master want?”

variety. Sometimes information, sometimes predictions…”

That’s quite interesting, though
not necessarily intriguing. He has his own power of prediction in the arsenal
of Nen he’s amalgamated over the years, but he wonders how hers differs. “Why
did he ask that of you?”

“He was a gambler,” she puts
simply. “Though he never amounted to much.”

“Does that mean your predictions were fruitless?”

She frowns and crosses her arms indignantly. “No. He was greedy and didn’t know
how to manage his winnings.”

“Is it appropriate for me to
assume that you bear me no resentment for killing him? Did you like him, at all?”

She shrugs and averts her gaze.
He can tell it’s not a subject she likes to ponder. “Would you like being
enslaved to someone for that long?”

“I can’t say, I’ve never been in
that position.” When she scowls, he wants to leave it at that, because the animosity
is amusing. “Though, I don’t imagine it’s very pleasant. So no.”

She doesn’t appreciate this
man’s satire, no matter how refreshing it may be from the impatience and cruelty
that she’s so used to. Apparently, she doesn’t have to worry about that now.
Human nature always alarmed her because she was sure all of them must have been
as brash as her master. While this man doesn’t seem as vile, it’s still startling
to hear how easy it was for him to kill with no remorse. She may not fully
understand the consequences of taking another life in the human world, but
she’s not so sure that’s how most humans operate.

“Do I have to call you master?”
she asks.

The innocence of the question is entertaining. He’s not one to power-trip, though this is a little gratifying, but mostly interesting. “I don’t know, do

It’s obvious she’s not entertained
by his guile. “No. That’s just what he made me do.”

“It’s not as fulfilling for me as it must have been for him, so no. I don’t think you should have to.”

seems to disarm her in some way. He can tell that there’s a relaxed air
surrounding her, different from the sublime glow that seems to just radiate
from her skin. 

She nods. “Okay.”

“Do you have a name?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. Do

“I do.”

She waits. He can tell that
she’s either confused or irritated, and he feels a little frivolous for finding
this so amusing.

“Then what is it?” she all but hisses.

He lets the surprise register on
his face just for good measure. “You’re very harsh, aren’t you?”

She’s equally surprised. It
seems all these years of servitude have stifled the antagonistic nature of her
position. It’s all just coming out now.

“I’d like to know your name,”
she tells him. It’s a simple request, and she’s finding that the atmosphere is something encouraging, nothing like she’s ever felt before. So it’s
easier to persist, especially when he seems adamant on remaining inconspicuous.

But the new complacency in her
voice makes this encounter even more engaging, so he abides. “Chrollo.”

“Chrollo,” she tests it on her
lips. Now that she thinks about it, that’s the first human name she’s ever
known, other than master, which was more of a self-indulgent title anyway.
Chrollo. That’s interesting.

“And why don’t you have a name?”

It’s a question she hasn’t been
asked before, so she doesn’t quite know what he’s looking for. “I don’t know. I
just never had one. I’m just me.”

He likes the simplicity of it. “I
see. Would you like a name?”

That startles her. “What do you

“I see no reason why you can’t
give yourself a name.” It’s not that he’s being charitable or supportive, he’s
just genuinely curious about the chastity of her existence.

She shrugs. “I wouldn’t know what
to call myself.”

“Anything you want.”

“I don’t know what names are
supposed to sound like.”

“It can sound like anything you

The notion of receiving a name
just seems so human, so unfitting. Does she need it? Does she deserve it?

“Could you give me a name?” she
asks, not understanding why she chose to do so, only knowing that it would stir
turmoil in her chest if she didn’t seek his insight.

He lifts a curious eyebrow, not
entirely surprised with the naïve edge of the question, but more concerned with
the responsibility she’s just given him. “Why would you want that?”

“I don’t know,” she admits evenly.
“I’m not a human. You are. You’d know better than I would.”

“You don’t think it’s
demeaning?” When she remains silent in favor of clarity, he goes on. “For me to
give you a name, it forsakes your freedom now, doesn’t it? I’m not your master.
Give yourself a name.”

“I want you to give me a name.”

There’s an edge to her voice
that tells him to avoid an argument. It’s not worth it to prolong the predicament.
He sighs in contemplation and closes his eyes. “And if you
don’t like the name I give you?”

“Then you can give me another

“Then that defeats the purpose
of me offering you a name.” He opens his eyes to look at her.

Now she seems to be pouting, the
most animated expression to cross her face all night. But she remains
silent, hoping he gives in and continues with his consideration.

And so he does, even if he considers it a bit of a nuisance… but it’s harmless. He finds that he’s a bit intrigued. “Well then, let me think…”