Sam Rockwell...

Since I'm still waiting on reads, while there's some down time, we're going to play a game. It's called "Fit This..."

Crouched behind a car and fighting to crack a tin pillbox, MARSHAL, evil Jesus in slum-chic, 37. The right sleeve of his bright white suit is saturated in blood.

In pain and fighting, he finally cracks the pillbox, viciously snorts a red powder. His eyes turn frenzied as he coughs.

He stands from cover. An antique 1800’s American Old West Marshal badge gleams from his lapel in the morning sun.



"You know what it means? The name. Bloodlines. History is fascinating, isn’t it? Please, I beg you indulge me. Mine is Marshal. It’s a throwback, homage to the Old West. It means I’m a lawman -- in the purest of forms. Long before droves and divisions of law enforcement polluted the justice system of this our great country. You know what I do with my little gang here?"

And just for good measure...