Day 3 Evening

[Ada Wong]

The pull persisted. Fetters of strange mystical energies towed him forwards, the demon leaning into every gentle tug. Grassland passed him by, trailing swipes of golden grass whipping at his legs with all the ferocity of a cat o' nine tails. And yet, Crowley was never dissuaded from his path, not even once.

That is, until the feeling grew stronger, a metaphysical vortex threatening to swallow him whole. It flared upwards into a dizzying, swirling cascade of density that befuddled his limbs and caused him to stumble. It was like standing beside the Throne, like picking daises in the Garden, like whirling through sunset-misted clouds of cotton candy pink and robin’s egg blue, the wind sifting its cool fingers through his feathers.

Like being near to heaven again.

Crowley sighed, blissfully gazing around at his surroundings. Animal-shaped clouds drifted across the sunny skies, fading as the evening gloom began to settle in. He even paused to take a brief whiff of a flower, the rosy pink bloom tickling the tip of his nose and sending a giggle rippling across his sharp-dressed shoulders.

Bzzzrnque? Are you high?

“No,” Crowley replied, the picture of confidence as he pointed an aristocratic finger knowledgably to the sun, as if to stir it into a yolky, sunflower-colored residue across the clouds. “No I am not.”

But it wasn’t long before this dream-like state faded, the fog subduing his consciousness clearing and drawing him back to reality with a cold snap. In a short sequence of lurching, winding steps, Crowley was hunched over beside a prickly-thorned bush and heaving the contents of his stomach onto the grass.

Ah, yes. Nature. Lovely.

Dragging a hand across his mouth as he stood on wobbly legs, Crowley visibly cringed at the regurgitated remains of the berries he had eaten several hazy hours before. Perhaps it would have been best to stick to scarfing down cute little feathered things.

The demon looked blearily at his gun, which let loose a string of incomprehensible bleats and whistles that sounded vaguely like a Freddie Mercury tune. In a fit of enraged hissing combated by a passionate rendition of Weeeeeee— are the champions— my friends….- Crowley was able to shake the gun around until it finally quit.

Unfortunately, around this time he was no longer alone. As he glanced up, his slick hair and clothing in evident disarray, he was greeted by the sight of wizard guy, Keebler Elf, and….. well, he didn’t know the white armored guy all that well, but he had an icy demeanor about him that simply screamed bad-ass.

“Hey there!” Crowley greeted, the tattered remnants of his tie swaying with every step he took on his approach. The gun swung about haphazardly in his grip, though it likely wouldn’t fire unless it wanted to. Such is the way of sentient weapons.

And, speaking of sentience;

And weeeeeee’ll keep on fightiiiin’— ‘til the eeeend! “Ssssh.”

nNO TIME FOR LOSERS— because weee are the— “What did I just say?”

Finally, Crowley just gave up, having resigned himself to a continued chorus running behind his speech along with the broken staccato of a dub bassline. He smiled congenially at the trio of almost-strangers, only a brief nervous twitch skittering along the edges of his mouth and right eyelid.

Not that they could notice the eyelid thing. Sunglasses are a gift.

“Erm. Sorry,” his eyes sheepishly wandered to the expanse of land behind him, and this was around the time that it occurred to Crowley that the odd, ethereal sensation was no longer pulling at him from the front, ceaselessly tugging at his jacket lapels and general sense of balance. No, it was calling to him from behind. Towards the sea. “Hmmm.”

Crowley’s gaze flitted back to the trio of— clearly well-seasoned— warriors. Although they might not be the most affable bunch, it had been a rather long time since Crowley had been among heaven’s spick and span armies. Hell didn’t support that kind of thing, military drafts and the like. Not unless it suited them. Anyways, he supposed having them on his side wouldn’t be so terrible, because whatever he had sensed earlier was possibly a guardian of some kind, and, if not, something still rather special.

His gun ceased howling the Best of Queen, as if it sensed the importance of the words he was going to say next. Feeling oddly delighted by this, similar to how a proud parent is of a particularly gifted child, the serpent gave its barrel a light, fond pat.

“There’s something this way if you lot want to go have a look. I'm fairly sure it's one of those relics Teucer's on about." Crowley said good-naturedly, jerking his head to indicate the waving fields of grass behind him.