originally posted in:The Digital Dojo
[i]The Marshal spun his plasma revolver around his fingers in a display of complete control over his firearm, before he swiftly thrust the firearm back into the duster he wore. His right hand folded back and into his sleeve, before the steel plates and carbon fibre skin embraced his wrist, and wrapped around the entire thing. From in the hole where the wrist is, a single blade of pure steel extends proudly and reaches a fair two and a half feet, before the wrist closes around it and solidifies it into place. [/i]
English
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[u]The Preacher raises his eyebrows before sticking his revolver into it's holster. He takes out three brightly colored syringes and draws his buzz axe, spinning the blade with a flick of his wrist.[/u] "[i]IF IT'S A CONTEST OF BLADES YOU WANT, THEN IT'S ONE YOU'LL GET![/i] [u]He slams the syringes into his neck, pushing the plungers down. His arms and legs swelling with muscular mass, his movements now twitchy and random.[/u] "[i]ISNHAHHAAASRGH![/i]" [u]He charges towards JT, swinging his blade madly.[/u]