[spoiler]Nice post.[/spoiler] Among the crowd of people that stood in awe, staring with disbelief at the show of marksmanship and gunplay they'd just seen was one that stuck out like a thorn. He stood with his arms crossed, looking at the misshapen corpse that twitched on the dry ground as blood pooled in cracks. He looked up, eyes polarizing, with pupils of light blue that presented the feeling of looking into one's very being. A shotgun, polished and glossy, with finely cut slabs of mahogany wood and embroiled in lavish gold and silver stuck out from his back, alongside a black army carbine riddled with scratches and dog tags welded into the frame. He walked forward, the machete and arsenal of tools as well as fragile glass vials and syringes of swirling liquid on his hip jingling as he strided towards the dead man. He kneeled once there, sun bearing down on his tanned jacket of black leather, and slid a combat knife out of his pocket. With a quick slash and crunch of bone he twirled the dismembered finger of the dead gunslinger within his own, its stump festering, lacerated and squirting out thick, formula red gore. He tossed it to the cowboy and stood once again.