<Snipped quote by Hantu Kongkek>
Please explain the deductive reasoning that led Archer to this conclusion.
Would've been that or a Saber. After all, he is a big knight guy.
Hantu Kongkek Member
- Last Seen: 9 yrs ago
- Joined: 9 yrs ago
- Posts: 117 (0.04 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Hantu Kongkek 9 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Would've been that or a Saber. After all, he is a big knight guy.
While Andrew Jackson was not expecting a fight, he was certainly ready for one in spite of not knowing his full capabilities quite yet.
"Two of them slanty-eye types and one of them not so slanty-eye types. The not-slant-eye must be same as me. One of them 'servants', probably of the 'Rider' persuasion. Yes..." the Archer remarked, mumbling in a barely audible tone to himself with an accent which made him near impossible to understand. This was all among the rest of the commotion, seeing the three collecting their bearings, Jackson impatiently tapping the side of his rifle with his right index finger.
"Yes. I believe a good ol' ceasefire would do just fine. It'll give the little girly here some time to change. While I was up in limbo or whatever, last time Uncle Sam gave somebody a break, the damn fools attacked anyways. It was on their holiday too. For now though, I'm gonna trust all y'all." the President replied, looking out to the adults, then turning his attention down to his Master.
"You hear that?" he asked, stroking the girl's cheek where he hit her. With a light pat, he sent her off. "Get changed. Don't give me any of that 'Archer' shit either. It's Andrew Jackson. You can call me Jackson."
"Two of them slanty-eye types and one of them not so slanty-eye types. The not-slant-eye must be same as me. One of them 'servants', probably of the 'Rider' persuasion. Yes..." the Archer remarked, mumbling in a barely audible tone to himself with an accent which made him near impossible to understand. This was all among the rest of the commotion, seeing the three collecting their bearings, Jackson impatiently tapping the side of his rifle with his right index finger.
"Yes. I believe a good ol' ceasefire would do just fine. It'll give the little girly here some time to change. While I was up in limbo or whatever, last time Uncle Sam gave somebody a break, the damn fools attacked anyways. It was on their holiday too. For now though, I'm gonna trust all y'all." the President replied, looking out to the adults, then turning his attention down to his Master.
"You hear that?" he asked, stroking the girl's cheek where he hit her. With a light pat, he sent her off. "Get changed. Don't give me any of that 'Archer' shit either. It's Andrew Jackson. You can call me Jackson."
Snider snapped his neck back, digging his head into his shoulder and away from the blast as he held up his firearm to protect himself from as much of the explosion as possible. He was blown back what must have been twelve feet as the grenade exploded.
The loud sound of feet tapping against the ground was accompanied by the sound of trickling blood. In Snider's right hand, he held a syringe filled with a clear fluid. The front part of his clothes was blown almost completely off. His shirt became nothing more than the short sleeves. His jeans were ripped away, partially singed by the blast. His jacket and belt, however, remained surprisingly intact, bits of pants covering his unmentionables in an almost comically convenient fashion. He had two pieces of shrapnel stuck on him. One on his left thigh, a tourniquet already placed directly below it just above his knee, keeping the wound from bleeding; the other lodged in the right side of his chest, almost at his shoulder. It seemed reasonable to leave the bits of grenade in place, at least for the time being.
The needle was injected into Snider's right thigh, the hunter sticking himself with no hesitation, pushing the drug into his system. The needle was pulled out slowly and tossed away toward Fenn. The hunter took a deep breath in attempt to calm himself down and marshal his thoughts.
"Ah. That woke me up." Snider grumbled, trying to make light of his injuries.
The demon hunter stood erect, attempting to appear imposing before the much larger demon before him. "Such courage is wasted on your kind. It will surely kill you as I will" he mocked, parroting the demon. His right hand slowly moved toward the top of his weapon, pinching either side between his thumb and index finger. He lifted up the feeding tray, and as he did, the belt of ammunition fell to the ground, caught by Snider's foot. He kicked the links out, toward the demon, neither knowing nor caring that whatever made the demon sizzle under the rain also cooked the ammo. Instead, he used it as a distraction, as the hunter stepped off on his good leg, leaping off to the side of the demon and slinging his weapon to the back of his body.
The loud sound of feet tapping against the ground was accompanied by the sound of trickling blood. In Snider's right hand, he held a syringe filled with a clear fluid. The front part of his clothes was blown almost completely off. His shirt became nothing more than the short sleeves. His jeans were ripped away, partially singed by the blast. His jacket and belt, however, remained surprisingly intact, bits of pants covering his unmentionables in an almost comically convenient fashion. He had two pieces of shrapnel stuck on him. One on his left thigh, a tourniquet already placed directly below it just above his knee, keeping the wound from bleeding; the other lodged in the right side of his chest, almost at his shoulder. It seemed reasonable to leave the bits of grenade in place, at least for the time being.
The needle was injected into Snider's right thigh, the hunter sticking himself with no hesitation, pushing the drug into his system. The needle was pulled out slowly and tossed away toward Fenn. The hunter took a deep breath in attempt to calm himself down and marshal his thoughts.
"Ah. That woke me up." Snider grumbled, trying to make light of his injuries.
The demon hunter stood erect, attempting to appear imposing before the much larger demon before him. "Such courage is wasted on your kind. It will surely kill you as I will" he mocked, parroting the demon. His right hand slowly moved toward the top of his weapon, pinching either side between his thumb and index finger. He lifted up the feeding tray, and as he did, the belt of ammunition fell to the ground, caught by Snider's foot. He kicked the links out, toward the demon, neither knowing nor caring that whatever made the demon sizzle under the rain also cooked the ammo. Instead, he used it as a distraction, as the hunter stepped off on his good leg, leaping off to the side of the demon and slinging his weapon to the back of his body.
I hope you're not all waiting for me.
Snider, with a quick flick up the wrist and a raising of his right shoulder, held his machine gun upward, creating just enough potential energy to cause a noticeable amount of pain as he swung out in a scooping motion. Seeing the large claw come toward him, Snider's reaction, like the last one, was to continue the assault.
As his weapon was pointed out, Snider pushed his shoulder against the stock, giving it a bit more push as he hopefully gored into the demon's hand. His left index finger stuck out, but the weapon was no longer balanced on his hands. Instead, the sling and Snider's shoulders kept the gun in place. His index finger pulled the trigger on Joanna's grenade launcher as a small, green, egg-shaped grenade whooshed forth from the small, metal tube with an audible FWUP. It shot in an arc underneath Fenn's arm, or perhaps over it. Snider didn't care whichever way it fired, only that it hit. He was even willing to be caught in its 15 meter range.
Snider's right hand was completely off the rifle, reaching inside his leather jacket. The insides shifted about. It seemed as though Snider was looking for something.
As his weapon was pointed out, Snider pushed his shoulder against the stock, giving it a bit more push as he hopefully gored into the demon's hand. His left index finger stuck out, but the weapon was no longer balanced on his hands. Instead, the sling and Snider's shoulders kept the gun in place. His index finger pulled the trigger on Joanna's grenade launcher as a small, green, egg-shaped grenade whooshed forth from the small, metal tube with an audible FWUP. It shot in an arc underneath Fenn's arm, or perhaps over it. Snider didn't care whichever way it fired, only that it hit. He was even willing to be caught in its 15 meter range.
Snider's right hand was completely off the rifle, reaching inside his leather jacket. The insides shifted about. It seemed as though Snider was looking for something.
How big are Fenn's shackles? You are aware that 20 bullets aren't going to fly in the exact same path right? The bullets that landed, where did they land? How tall is Fenn?
Snider's reaction was quick and instinctive. It was easy enough to see his opponent reach for the bench. Snider gave his opponent a second to sit down, assuming that he wanted to die peacefully. Snider was merciful in such a way. However, as the bench was torn from the ground, Snider picked his gun up. Using the two blades at the side of his gun's barrel, he poked into the wooden bench, one blade rammed into a different wooden board, splitting the wood. Joanna's bore was pointed directly in the space between the two boards.
As Fenn came close, Snider slipped his finger quickly into the trigger well. Before the wolf demon got too close- just about enough for Snider to smell his opponent's rancid dog-breath- the trigger was pulled with a sudden, forceful slap. Snider's index finger curled tightly around the trigger as a barrage of bullets flew from his machine gun. The sheer force of the machine gun and how it shook combined with the bullets firing rapidly out split the bench into several pieces flying into the air and onto the ground.
Snider held his trigger finger for a good five seconds, enough for him to expend around the area of 20 bullets.
As Fenn came close, Snider slipped his finger quickly into the trigger well. Before the wolf demon got too close- just about enough for Snider to smell his opponent's rancid dog-breath- the trigger was pulled with a sudden, forceful slap. Snider's index finger curled tightly around the trigger as a barrage of bullets flew from his machine gun. The sheer force of the machine gun and how it shook combined with the bullets firing rapidly out split the bench into several pieces flying into the air and onto the ground.
Snider held his trigger finger for a good five seconds, enough for him to expend around the area of 20 bullets.
It appeared as if after three centuries, the president had forgotten his own strength. He held his rifle firmly in both hands, fingers pattering along the wood and metal as he took a second to contemplate what had happened. It wasn't before long that the president took off in an easy jog in the direction he had smacked the girl toward, consciously keeping his rifle from swinging too wildly, barrel facing toward the sky. It was then when he noticed a man and a woman dressed in very different garb, but both definitely adults.
By the hair, Jackson grabbed his Master, pulling her away from the older woman before quickly putting both hands again on his firearm. "Huh. Sorry for the little toss up. I don't reckon neither of y'all have got a spare set of clothes. This young lady seems to have misplaced her own."
By the hair, Jackson grabbed his Master, pulling her away from the older woman before quickly putting both hands again on his firearm. "Huh. Sorry for the little toss up. I don't reckon neither of y'all have got a spare set of clothes. This young lady seems to have misplaced her own."
@Doc Doctor I like drawing muscle freaks. I'm not particularly good at it, but i can try my hand. Plus, it's free!
How muscle do you go? How freaky do you go? This is on a scale of 1 to Scott Steiner.
© 2007-2024