***NEW GAME***
The man in the doorway was a scary looking figure. He looked over 6 feet tall, though who knows how tall he(or maybe it) really was. He was also one UGLY motherfucker. Words can't even begin to emphasise how hideous this guy was, so I'm not even gonna try. He had a deep cut on both hands, tracing right across the knuckles. His hands were nothing but heavy scarlet stains. And in those hands, those bloody, bloody hands, was a solid steel chain. It must've been at least 6 feet long... and there was something on the end. A metal ball, big enough to smash Barretta's head like a melon. A normal man would've cowered in fear. But Jon Barretta wasn't a normal man. He was the Dragon. The Stranger made the first move. In one fast, fluid motion, that wrecking ball was making it's way towards Barretta's gut. It would've hit, too, hadn't he moved at exactly the right moment. Instead, it just cracked against his hip with power that could've easily broken him in half. Jon was knocked down in an instant. Sara's screams of sorrow were distant. When he looked up, that steel demon was above his head and comin' down fast. He was luckily able to roll to the side, just in the nick of time. Barretta could feel the splinters of wood from the floor (stopityousickfreak) imbeding themselves in his neck. Using all his strength, Jon managed to somehow get to his feet, just in time to feel that steel slam him in the shoulder. His arm was (ohgodno) broken on impact. And so the Dragon lie on the floor with a broken arm, and the Stranger had that instrument of death raised above his head. Jon had only the blink of an eye (getupjongetup) to act. Even with that blink, though, he would be gambling his life. Jon Barretta always had a gambling problem. Before anyone knew what happened, Jon was on his feet, sword in hand, eyes- a-blazin. It was time to place his bets. "Put it all on black..." Jon could hardly speak. The Stranger paused. "What in the fuck are you talking about?" Hesatation was just what the doctor ordered. Jon struck with the speed of a cat, shoving the blade forward with all of his strength. He hoped to God that he wouldn't miss. The Dragon never missed. The Stranger's look of utter amazement as the sword peirced his stomach... now that, my friend, was a look to remember. Not much time to soak it in, though. He was dead the second the blade smashed into his spine. ****** And sitting at the bar, was a man. A man with sandlewood grips on his guns.
The man in the doorway was a scary looking figure. He looked over 6 feet tall, though who knows how tall he(or maybe it) really was. He was also one UGLY motherfucker. Words can't even begin to emphasise how hideous this guy was, so I'm not even gonna try. He had a deep cut on both hands, tracing right across the knuckles. His hands were nothing but heavy scarlet stains. And in those hands, those bloody, bloody hands, was a solid steel chain. It must've been at least 6 feet long... and there was something on the end. A metal ball, big enough to smash Barretta's head like a melon. A normal man would've cowered in fear. But Jon Barretta wasn't a normal man. He was the Dragon. The Stranger made the first move. In one fast, fluid motion, that wrecking ball was making it's way towards Barretta's gut. It would've hit, too, hadn't he moved at exactly the right moment. Instead, it just cracked against his hip with power that could've easily broken him in half. Jon was knocked down in an instant. Sara's screams of sorrow were distant. When he looked up, that steel demon was above his head and comin' down fast. He was luckily able to roll to the side, just in the nick of time. Barretta could feel the splinters of wood from the floor (stopityousickfreak) imbeding themselves in his neck. Using all his strength, Jon managed to somehow get to his feet, just in time to feel that steel slam him in the shoulder. His arm was (ohgodno) broken on impact. And so the Dragon lie on the floor with a broken arm, and the Stranger had that instrument of death raised above his head. Jon had only the blink of an eye (getupjongetup) to act. Even with that blink, though, he would be gambling his life. Jon Barretta always had a gambling problem. Before anyone knew what happened, Jon was on his feet, sword in hand, eyes- a-blazin. It was time to place his bets. "Put it all on black..." Jon could hardly speak. The Stranger paused. "What in the fuck are you talking about?" Hesatation was just what the doctor ordered. Jon struck with the speed of a cat, shoving the blade forward with all of his strength. He hoped to God that he wouldn't miss. The Dragon never missed. The Stranger's look of utter amazement as the sword peirced his stomach... now that, my friend, was a look to remember. Not much time to soak it in, though. He was dead the second the blade smashed into his spine. ****** And sitting at the bar, was a man. A man with sandlewood grips on his guns.