Photograph of a bounty hinter

He had an orange, irregular shaped stain on his white tank top, and the thought of it brought heaviness to his lungs. He hated it, despised it. He appreciated symmetry in things, including color, it brought grace he thought, how shapes were perfectly delineated, their edges even, their sides perfectly distinguished and their halves transposable. It bestowed calm upon him.

The stain was located below his torso to his right side, just above where his kidney is. It was more yellowish than orange, almost transparent on his garment, giving a foggy view of one of his scars.

He was proud, very proud, of his people. He admired how they looked; tall, with a straight, arrow-like back and a face that does not smile. They had big, veiny hands and large stallion legs. their skin tone ranged from dark chocolate to fresh honey, and they had coarse facial traits with large jaws and big noses. their foreheads were lined with ant bites.

He was young and vigorous once, with energy flowing through him like a stream and fire burning in his chest. He is still young, but the business taught him to tame his fire so that his presence could be less imposing, his energy less demanding. His eyes, however, still held tightly onto their aggressive demeanor.

His skin was more chocolate than honey, and he had 22 ant bites on his forehead, perfectly aligned like chess pieces on a deck. His face, like his people, did not smile and his eyes were always wide open, as if in a state of perpetual anticipation, or fascination. He breathed through his nose and turned to his mouth only when he got excited. He'd take a long, slow inhale through the nose and hold on to it, and then exhale even more slowly through his mouth. That was how he calmed down his flame.

He had a big afro that made his head seem smaller than it actually is. He wore a white tank top from which emerged a necklace with a black lace and 3 tiger fangs. He had raggedy blue jeans and a pair of big black boots.

It's been a while since he's entered this business, long enough that the exciting slowly gave place to the mundane and he breathed more and more through his nose. Still, he sometimes found the occasional joy when it came to more challenging missions.

He liked helping people, that part of the job he genuinely liked. He enjoyed giving his all to a person in need for a suitable compensation. He knew his worth, which allowed him to be picky about assignments.

Work has been good to him, it allowed him to take his head off subjects he'd have otherwise delved into. It also allowed him to hone his skill and strengthen his bond with his spirit and with his God, which in turn gave him peace and mindfulness. His anger tantrums decreased and he could better control his emotions, that could be seen on his eyes, which visibly lost some of their glow and wonder, but still seemed deeply intrigued by creation.

As he is sitting here in front of his hut, in the middle of these strangers, he is 27 years old. He has a son that he has not seen in a while, he lost a bet to the spirit of the red river for which he is paying a steep price, he has 3 spirits that he is currently trying to tame and, more recently, he just accepted a new mission in a land called Dragao. He will be leaving at nightfall.