Day 4 Morning

[Ada Wong]

Before F2F

After Link's sudden abandonment, the trio of (arguably) bad dudes just sort of stared around at one another. It was pretty awkward— Crowley had assumed they were all gelling together fairly well for much of the short time he had known the hero, and so it came as quite a shock to him when the kid apparently thought differently.

It continued to rain puppies and kittens over some hilly rise to their left, big droplets of water sliding in glittering sheets to the damp earth. The yellow-eyed demon felt uncharacteristically lightened by the fact that at least nature had some semblance of normality to it, even if it was magic-controlled.

Frosty the Snowman began to storm off into the elements for reasons that Crowley assumed to be traitorous, because typically when one part of the machine breaks down, others inevitably burn with it.

He had been apart of one of the shiniest, most magnificent machines to ever exist; the demon knew how rebellion worked. Still, it was a lovely surprise when the guy only whirled around and expressed his desire to, you know, murder a guy.

Crowley would have hugged the— mechanized? Robotic? Just plain scary? — guy if he hadn't been about 99.9% certain that he would be stabbed with extreme prejudice in kind. The demon settled for a mildly approving look.

Good. Murder. Top marks, my friend.

After F2F

Murder wasn't as spectacular when you were on the receiving end of it. His head hurt like a motherfucker and his vessel now had an alarming hole somewhere around his stomach area. While ventilation might have been needed for, say, a fast food restaurant, it wasn't exactly an improvement when it came to the human body.

That hell-raising woman, though. Hoo-boy. Crowley would've smoothed back his hair and winked at her if it weren't for the fact that the movement likely would have put an even deeper chip in his skull. Yikes.

"Yeah-huh," he hummed, a mostly wordless reply as Kopaka explained his relations to the monster Magus had attempted to bisect the skull of with a chainsaw. "Nice."

The zombie chick who smelled of hell had sure done a number on Magus. Even as Crowley attempted to help the best he could, applying pressure to the wound and clearing it of whatever nasty backwater gunk was covering that zombie's teeth, he eventually had to settle for removing his tie and wrapping it securely about his patient's grievously wrecked throat. Blood seeped through the thin fabric, but the general flow was stemmed.

He took a step back, offered a morose look that wasn't in the least comparable to pity (he was looking at his poor, tattered tie, anyways), and stood mildly by as the Fiendlord insisted on rising, albeit with a great, heaving effort. There simply wasn't anything more Crowley could do for Magus than let him retain his dignity, and so he did just that.

A silent exchange of looks followed; where to, now?

That silence didn't last very long, for soon enough they had agreed on a direction. Through the mud and tangled folds of grass swaying across the cloud-shadowed vale, the trio made off silently into the wilderness.