A man approached the Dojo gates, a rifle resting against his shoulder, being held by its trigger. It was lever-action, a sight not seen too often in the days of semi-automatic and fully automatic rifles. It's barrel was a gleaming steel, twenty-five inches of unstained metal. It's stock was a deep red mahogany, complimenting the light grey of the barrel nicely, as well as the receiver of the same color. The man flips the gun once, catching it by the barrel, then he flips it back to having his finger on the trigger. In the process, the trigger is pulled, but there isn't a flash, or even a shot. The gun was unloaded. The man himself definitely had some less than great choices in dressing. He wore a dark grey cloak, ditto the color for the long-sleeved shirt under the cloak. He wore black pants and combat boots, the black really clashing with the grey, it looked more like the clothes he wore he chose in the darkness, like he'd though they were the same color. His face had a neutral expression on it, his dark brown eyes gazing over at the gates of the Dojo. His short, jet black hair was smoothed forwards. He strolled right up to the gate, and knocked on the gates. [spoiler]Open.[/spoiler]