Doran Kol
Location: Zramore, Vacuo
Mentioned: @Jessica2477
Vacuo was never a place for the complacent or weak. Being more of a wasteland than anywhere else and Atlas being less inclined to spend its money there meant that it essentially was left to the will of the people, and while everyone collectively comes together for the purpose of overall survival, in the end the survival and prosperity of the individual is valued more. While Vacuo may not have the black market underworld of Mistral or the militant ruling of Atlas, it has its own share of individuals and organizations to watch out for, aside from the run of the mill mugger or thief. While the "formal" bandits, the ones known for pillaging and raiding, live away from civilization where individuals may band together, the urban population has its own kind of brigand unfortunately. In Vale, the position would be similar to that of some kind of criminal loan shark. In Vacuo, they're the people the desperate ones go to when they need something. It's not like they withholds the supplies that people go to them for, rather the opposite. However, these special kind of loaners are also known to make examples of those who can't pay up when the time comes. Person like that makes quite a lot of enemies, and without a very formal or well-supplied security force to handle scoundrels like that, this is normally how men like Doran earn their wage.
"I'm just saying, I don't mind the blood, but-Wait, who the fuck are you?"
"These are some nice shades... oh, wha?" Turning his attention to the voice, Doran ceased fiddling around with the sunglasses he had found on the desk he currently had his feet kicked up on.
This was his job, taking money, food, water, shelter or other necessities in exchange for dealing with certain "societal problems" as they were so-called. Today's job had found Doran tracking down a particularly harsh loaner. A rather uninteresting case; he had resolved plenty of these over the years, usually as the idiots left some loose end who scrapped enough together to order some vengeance.
Doran tracked the "office" of the sharks down, but after barging in they were nowhere to be found. So, here he sat for the past half-hour, fiddling around with the all-too-fancy chair and desk set up for the current situation of the state, waiting for them to return. He had planned on doing something cool, maybe hitting them with a nice one-liner as they walked in, taken by surprise.
"Well... look like you three-Wait, where the hell was I going with this? Shit. See, this is why you're punctual!" Before the three could express their confusion at the behavior of the intruder in front of him, Doran produced a single-barrel shotgun from under the table, pre-loaded with wind dust. Unable to react in time, a powerful gust of concentrated air shot into the group, striking the middle-most one in the chest and exiling him from the small building.
The two others brandished their arms and rushed forward, advancing from opposite sides. With a smirk and soft chuckle, a faint impression of Doran's person appeared to duck down, acquiring the aggro of both aggressors as they swiped downward with their weapons. However just as the image of his body moved down, it faded, revealing his true positioning as he rolled back in the chair. Grasping the top of the back with his free hand, Doran pushed himself into the air and towards the ceiling feet-first. As the faux-mobsters' gazes turned upwards mid-swing, Doran's smirk extended into a grin as he kicked off the ceiling, committing to a brief somersault in order to plant his feet firmly into the rightmost aggressor's face, forcing him to the floor. Feet now grounded, the mercenary pivoted and with a flick of his wrist, the shotgun morphed in an auburn scimitar.
The final one standing, appeared to possess enough reaction time to block the income slice, if he were to have accurately guessed its direction, that is. Once again, a hazy impression of the scimitar struck from one direction, but just as the man made effort to prepare a counter, the mirage disappeared and the scimitar's strike landed from a different, less-defended area. As the blade struck the man's stomach, Doran spiraled on his heel and extended a leg into the henchman's abdomen immediately after, sending him smashing into the wall of the room.
Three out cold, or two rather. Glancing behind him, the one that earned a boot to the face appeared to be stirring with a broken nose and mayhaps some missing teeth. Lackadaisically strolling over, Doran deployed his other scimitar, holding one in each hand, and stabbing them both into the ground around the man's head, mimicking a scissor formation.
"B-but-"
"Shh..." Doran hushed, the scimitars scraping ever so slightly against one another causing the man to shudder.
"I've done this way too much to give a crap about what you have to say. I've already been paid, and Celeste is still pretty pissed about her husband."
"WAI-"
Tossing the pair of shades he had taken, or more accurately now, "looted", Doran dug through the pouch of coin Celeste had paid him. Poor girl had was still grief-struck, didn't even negotiate pricing or anything, just gave him all she had and told him to drop the name before the job was finished. Well, blood money was still money. The heroes liked to say that revenge didn't help, but just maybe she'll sleep better at night now.
"Those guys were amateurs... I really shouldn't have wasted that dust," Clicking his tongue, Doran knew dust wasn't as cheap as it used to be, not to mention his weapon took specialized capsules which created more fees to be paid when he ordered any.
"Well, there goes a chunk of this money..."
Unfortunately with the job, or his hubris, ammunition was as much a necessity as food or water, and since the Scorching Sands made use of dust-type ammunition, resupply was, at times, a massive bitch. It didn't help that most shops made a habit of trying to haggle you out of your money.
Xanthias's Bullet Craft & Weapon Repairs
"They even sell dust ammo?" The vagabond murmured, but it was worth a shot, pun intended. Worst-case scenario, they would just try to sell him everything he isn't looking for.
Knocking on the side of the door frame as he pushed the door open, Doran made his presence known.
"Yo, you guys are probably closing soon, but you don't sell dust ammo, do you?" The place itself seemed rather mediocre, but then again you didn't pay for lavish in Vacuo. If something still worked, you didn't waste time or money fixing it. It needed to be efficient, not pretty.
"I kind of-erm... misplaced some of mine... yeah—I'm going with that."