Day 1 Evening

[Ada Wong]

Not much had happened in the time Crowley spent walking. There was a mountain range now looming in the far distance, one at the forefront among snowy clouds that looked like fleecy, loosely strung-together wool. Deep grooves were dug into the land around it, the landscape swathed in equal parts shadow and steadily waning light. A boomerang-shaped carrion bird angled around its ice-tipped peak, swooping down to land somewhere on the plateau.

It was largely quiet for a few precious seconds, the only sound being the sloshing of his feet through the thick mud. He was almost surprised that he hadn’t caught sight of a dire wolf or a woolly mammoth attempting to struggle its way out of a deep bog of icky prehistoric ooze, the ground was so trying to walk across. It was like walking across gum mixed with cementing paste, really.

Unidentifiable noises suddenly rang out loud and clear across the plain, an irritated voice grousing right back at them in kind.

Brrrrbrrrrrbrrrr rrr.

“No.”

Domdomdomdomdom.

“No.”

EeeeeeewomwomzzrrNN.

“I get it, okay? We’ve been wandering and nothing’s been happening,” the demon’s shoe stamped upon a bubbling pit of indeterminable substance, a mysterious noise that sounded like a cross between a bleating goat and a squealing pig emanating from it. Crowley quickly retreated, a distinctly alarmed expression widening his eyes. “At least— at least we aren’t dead yet, or being viciously attacked. I mean, if that were to happen, what would I do? Bludgeon them over the head with you? All you seem to be capable of is sound effects, is all I’m saying.”

An answering hum ran along his wrist, creating a strange burning feeling that caused the demon to hiss and shift the weapon to his other arm. His teeth grit as he lightly rapped his knuckles against its side, just like how a person past a certain age might continually abuse a piece of technology in order to somehow cajole it into working properly, even though it is completely irrational and only ever works by coincidence alone.

“Alright, R2-D2! Can’t come up with any kind of remarkable tricks, can you? No ‘Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope’? I see how it is.”

The gun let out a few whirring, electrically stimulating sounds that would seem positively hopping mad to any other machine. The suited demon, completely unaware to this mood swing, scowled at the musical contraption, giving it a short shake for good measure as he continued griping at it.

“Brilliant. Just abso—“ slorp, “—fucking—“ glorpblup, “—lutely wonderful. I’ve been given the most useless weapon of all time, one that beeps at me every two seconds and ruins all chances of stealth. How’s that for luck? Oh, quit sniping at me, I know we’ve been walking for forever now, thank you very much. I'm the one with legs, you know.”

A time passed where the machine and demon alike fell silent, an almost peaceful lull in their conversation which had been going on for at least twenty five minutes previous. Then, like a dog which can’t seem to stop itself from chewing on its new squeaky toy, Crowley began to grumble again.

“I hate this. I hate this, I hate this, I ha-a-a-a-a-ate this. So much.”

The mechanical firearm gave an empathetic bzzrrnn in reply.