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((yeah it kinda is...but whatever))

Dimitri rubbed out the cigrette on the side of a trash can then pitched the burnt out butt into the trash and kept walking.

[Lol, now that you mention it, it is. But I got the idea from the recent Resident Evil movie, seeing as I had the song that plays when the convoy is headed through the desert stuck in my head, so I thought of that]
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A single black speck sped across the sand.
That speck was a man, named Johnny Ringo.
He was sitting on a custom made chopper, painted all black, which was headed to a nearby town. In one of the saddle bags was a handgun that someone in the town ordered, so he was on the way to deliver it.
The wind pushed his jacket back as he went, and a radio he installed on the bike was blaring an old 60s song.
"In a Gadda da Vida, honey, don't you know that I love you? In a gadda da vida, baby, don't you know that I'll always be true?" he sang to it, and despite the road noise, the song was quite understandable.
He pulled up to a small checkpoint with a pair of guards, obviously checking for signs of a gunman.
Which of course he was.
His mark was on his right wrist, and looked very similar to one of those tribal band tattoos, but he kept it concealed under a custom made watch anyways. One guard started checking him for the mark, and eventually waved him through.
Suckers... he thought, speeding into town and stopping in front of a small bar, dust kicked up from the wheels floating past him. He debated grabbing his Winchester, sitting in a saddle-ring on the bike, but decided against it.
He walked inside for a drink in this bar, which happened to be a gunman guild HQ.
Had he bothered to check the bar's address, he would have realized the gun he was delivering was to come here.
Johnny reached for the door, still humming the old Iron Butterfly song to himself as he opened it.

Johnny looked around the bar lazily, reaching very slowly for his side holster, pulling out his Remington, and clicking open the cylinder.
The barrel of the gun tilted downwards and the spring-loaded cylinder popped each shell up out of the gun, which he caught and stuffed into his pocket, before closing his gun and putting it back in his holster.
He then stepped up to the bar to get a bottle of whiskey before heading back to sit down.
There was a strange atmosphere in this bar that he couldn't put his finger on...something that made his right wrist itch.
That usually meant someone in the area was, or was very recently in direct contact, with a gunman.

A drunkard staggered through the doors of the bar, walking towards Johnny's table with more coordination that one would expect.
"Hey. Punk." he started, accenting the word punk with a finger jabbed at Johnny. "You're in my seat"
"I don't see your name on it" Johnny said casually, and suddenly his Remington was between the drunk mans eyes.
He doubted anyone saw it.
"Beat it" he threatened, sipping his drink.
The man growled, but left the bar, swearing in a slurred tone.
"Dregs of society" he muttered to himself, placing his gun on the table.

Johnny sighed.
"So I am. Do we really need to go through with this? First off, I'm Johnny Ringo. Perhaps you've heard of my guns?" he didn't wait for an answer. "No? Well, they are THE last name in accuracy. No matter what you tossed at me, at range, I'll have the upper hand. In any case-" he reached for his watch, undoing the leather strap.
"- maybe this is enough proof" he finished, slipping it off.
A small black line ran around his wrist, curving in a semi-circle every inch or so, with a black dot in the middle. The straight sections seemed to have what looked like thorns coming off it.
Johnny held up his wrist, the mark showing clearly in the light. "Proof enough?" he said, leaning back in his chair. "If not, I'll put a nickel-sized hole over there, in that bottle" he said, indicating a barely visible bottle in a small house beyond the back window of the bar.

((K I'm back))
Dimitri heard a gunshot and looked back at the now quiet bar. "...probally some idoit drunk showing off" he muttered and kept walking, he took sin and punishiment from there holisters and started twirling them around on his fingers bored. He moved them around stopping them for breif seconds at a time. "left shoulder...rigght lung...forehead...left leg then stomach then right shoulder..." he was listing the places his bullets would hit as he twirled them.

((bump))