"Evening, Shigaraki," the man known throughout the underworld as Giran – his true name wiped from all but a handful of memories and buried under several false identities – rapped his knuckles on the door before pushing the heavy frame inwards, "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."
That smug tone.
That arrogance.
As if he were better than him.
Shigaraki couldn't stand Giran on the best of days, "What do you want?"
"I'm not here to shoot the breeze, if that's what you're wondering," a cigarette appeared between Giran's fingers, already lit and rising towards his lips, "Call me naïve, but I'm surprised your league knows the premiere black-market arms dealer in the country. Then again, considering your bodyguard, I'm inclined to believe your pockets are far deeper than anyone could imagine."
The mist surrounding Kurogiri momentarily thickened, "What are you implying?"
"Don't worry. I'm not that curious or stupid," the broker's missing tooth vanished when his grin contorted into a frown, "Koketsu's not someone you ask questions about. Not unless you want to end up dead," he left the implication dissuade the tension in the bar before shrugging his shoulders, "And they wouldn't have to do it themselves. Koketsu has friends all over the country. Clients willing to kill their parents for a favor. Ever hear of the Shie Hassaikai? Not the sort of people you want hunting you down."
A haggard scoff defined Shigaraki's dwindling interest.
Kurogiri, sensing his ward's waning attention despite the rather important matter, remained courteous, "Why did Koketsu contact you?"
Smoke drifted around the broker's face.
"To deliver a message," squinted pink eyes behind tinted glasses shifted around the nearly empty room, searching the shadows and corners before returning to the bartender, "That your special order has been finished and is ready for pick up."
"They didn't give it to you?" the deep voice and unfounded suspicion lurking within the question, honest as it was, elicited another shrug.
"Heh, you think Koketsu trusts me?" Giran laughed. Not a mocking laugh. Or insulting. But laughter resembling someone who understood a terrible joke, "Sorry, that's not how things operate. Don't get me wrong. I ain't the sort of scum who betrays my clients. Not for money. But Koketsu? Geez, they don't trust anybody. Hell, nobody knows who they are or what they look like. It's always another broker who delivers the goods. Or a disposal phone. Or a cutout of a cutout of a cutout…well, you get the idea," he swept his hand overhead, smoke curling around his fingers, "Got a call two hours ago. Promised a six-figure payment to pass along a message and the address where you'll find your order."
The bartender glanced towards Shigaraki, who had yet to acknowledge Giran beyond his introduction.
"Here."
A cheap, disposable phone, an older model found in every corner store, was dropped onto the counter, "Found this outside my door," Giran took another deep drag, "The password is 5731. You'll find the address in the contacts," stamping out his cigarette in an ash tray, the uncharacteristically somber broker headed back outside, "Don't be a stranger, Shigaraki."
He left without another word.
"Hmm…"
Kurogiri allowed the door to close before turning his undivided attention towards the supposedly innocuous device. The spots functioning as his eyes narrowed. A deep murmur built within his throat. Caution beckoned paranoia as he picked up the phone, dark mist immediately and without conscious prompting acting as an impenetrable barrier between possible explosions and Shigaraki, "It would appear Madam Kiryuin finally came through on her promise."
"Koketsu…"
Support gear capable of working with his Quirk.
Something his Quirk couldn't decay.
It sounded ridiculous.
Crusty nails dug into raw skin, "What kind of stupid name is that?"
"It's most likely a pseudonym. Or an associate acting upon her behalf," a cursory examination proved the password worked. And the address was located in the contacts just as Giran described, "A woman of her esteem and reputation cannot afford association with society's underbelly," satisfied the phone was harmless, Kurogiri's wavering eyes implied a measure of thoughtfulness, "Hmm…the address isn't too far away."
Shigaraki ignored Kurogiri's helpful input.
"Senketsu. Koketsu," a loud scraping grated against the darkness as he stood up, "Why does everybody have such ridiculous names?"