COLT SINGLE ACTION ARMY - joining

[ocelot .]

A name? He let out a dry chuckle, thinking about what to tell them, his eyes flicking to the newest greeter of his to see if he could glean any information. He couldn't, though, besides determining that the two of them were probably close together, so instead he shifted his eyes and stood up, beginning to pace some what in front of the two. "I've been called many things," he mused aloud, half tempted to take out one of his knives to showboat just that little bit more, "but you can call me Revolver, or Shalashaska." Of his names, those were the ones he was proudest of. Adamska was a close-kept secret, and he wasn't very well going to say they should call him 'ocelot.' But those names? They held significance, they had meaning. Titles he had to live up to.

And he was keen on living life as large as possible. A Lone Star, traveling in the night, like one of his old westerns - someone who acted a tad ridiculous, maybe cocky, at times, but he felt it was earned, a reassuring confidence that helped him whenever he turned his analytical eyes onto someone, figuring out their strengths, weaknesses, as he was doing now. If you asked him, though, it was kind of useless to do that, to try and glean information from just the appearance of someone. The better thing to do was to wait for them to show their abilities, preferably from a safe distance, then strike at the weak points.

So, he would go on to ask a question: "How about you? What should I call you two fine folk?"

tags - "speech"