Crowley has come to expect just about anyone in this place, these days. Between Paradisa and here, he's pretty sure he's seen it all. It's hard to beat talking ponies and a painting spirit wolf, after all.

And now suddenly there's this guy. Who might be in the running for the Pretty Damn Strange Award. The barb thing is pretty rude, and the demon sidesteps it with a soft huff.

"Glancing in your general direction, maybe," he idly examining his fingernails. "Now absolutely at you because you're shooting things at me."