[i]"Yes, because tellin' people to f*ck off and not fight you is totally the best way to avoid direct confrontation." It chuckled, it walked, and it stopped in front of the wanderer. An amalgorithm of metal and flesh in a seamless but imperfect blend, all hidden away by the sloshing of a rain-soaked cloak of brown and black chars blocked his path, with the dark blue spheres within it's face staring down the wanderer. He didn't look armed for a fight, with the exception of a few revolvers that lay in tan leather holsters and twin belts, pounding away at the thighs through his faded blue rancher jeans. The most notable weapon on him was the pair of arms he had; Prosthetic, a gateway of potential. He had a cigar between his lips, a plume of gray smoke extending from the brown cigar that had faded to the same colour as the beard on his face. He smiled with a grin look, one of wariness mixing with a cocky exterior and that said it all. He wasn't here to fight of course, he knew how to pick his battles like a buzzard picked bones, but he did enjoy probing around strangers for their knowledge. And he was this townships protector, as a Marshal he needed to be sure the stranger was no threat. [/i]