Apparently, a mammal such as Crowley was not often gifted with the ability to speak nor the even more precious gift of horns on his head in this place. Where he was, he did not know, but he had seen his fair share of strange sights during his short stay. His captors had stood upright, looking and acting much akin to primates as they milled about outside of his enclosure. All that Crowley could remember was darkness and then a heavy thud on the ground as he hit it, and in the next moment, he was waking up in an all too bright enclosure. Worry had plagued the Weaver, but it was not appointed to only himself, but to the welfare of Talbot as well. Thankfully, with a quick glance around the room, he spotted the horned pup just as he began to wake with a groan.

"Smells bad," the hound commented as he came to, wrinkling his nose in a disgruntled manner as he pushed himself up to his feet and shook himself off. Indeed, this place reeked of unknown substances strong enough to give the bonded pair a sharp, splitting headache, but such a thing was the least of their worries at this moment. Where they were, how they had gotten here, who had taken them, why, how they were going to get out, and what in Goddess' name were they wearing were among the first things they needed to assess. Talbot looked out of this world in his apparel, a grey body suit that resembled machinery, complete with a headdress that bore a small tank-like appendage on either end. Crowley was covered in simple white cloth, and draped over it was a heavy brown material that connected across his chest and around his forearms to stay in place. The cloak was also adorned with a hood which lay back uselessly due to his angled horns. To top it off, a leather belt was placed just in front of his flanks, making him all the more uncomfortable.

No matter how ridiculous they looked, their focus was on the task at hand; despite how hard they pushed, kicked, pulled and bit at the cold metal bars, they would not give, assuring that they were secured firmly within their barren prison. However, as luck would have it, one primate look-alike strode past at one point, the ring-cling-clanging of keys catching the Weaver's attention almost immediately. With a mischievous grin, the brindle conjured the magic coursing throughout his veins, casting a bit of bad luck towards the unsuspecting dolt. Almost immediately after, the poor man slipped upon the tile he had just been walking upon, apparently not seeing the small, inconspicuous puddle of water that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere... The sound of his skull hitting the floor was admittedly unpleasant, causing both hound and stallion to cringe, but at least they were a step closer to freedom.

It took some time and patience, but eventually, Talbot was able to pull the man's keys loose from his pocket with the use of his spaded tail before wedging a paw beneath the door and pulling them in. With some trial and error, Crowley was able to find the correct key and get it turned fully within its lock, and with a single click, the pair made their grand escape.

Going room to room, they were ever careful to avoid the strange two-legged creatures that populated the building, but upon entering one seemingly harmless(albeit dark) room, they were proved terribly wrong. Upon stepping foot in, the door slammed shut behind them to prevent escape, and a figure as massive as Crowley came lunging straight at them. Unprepared for such a swift attack, all that the brindle could do was rush forward in an attempt to dodge the behemoth, which he figured out to be Deimos all too late.

The harbinger of Death was successful in plunging his horn straight into his left shoulder, causing a startled, agonizing scream to leave his lips as it cut through skin, flesh, then muscle. Due to his motion, it didn't cut quite as deeply as it could have, and made more or less of an ugly, jagged cut that began to bleed instantaneously, the pain unlike any Crowley had ever felt before. Out of instinct more than tactics, the Weaver swung and twisted his head to the left in an attempt to drive his Lord away, dancing to the right and away from the spear-like horn until he could feel it dislodge. Talbot was the one to attack at that moment, sounding an enraged snarl as he ran at the Reaper's right side, leaping up with teeth poised to sink into his tender forearm.

[800 words. 1/3 attacks. Crowley is Obi Wan Kenobi, and Talbot is dressed like this. ;D]

"Talk talk talk"

Much to his dismay, his attempted swing towards the dark Lord was in vain, for they sliced through nothing but air. Jerking his head back around to face forward, the brindle dropped his hindquarters to some degree to aid him in stopping, but the tile flooring was foreign to his hooves and was more slick than anything he had ever walked before. When he did stop several feet later, a sharp snort of utter annoyance left his nostrils as the Weaver straightened himself back out. His shoulder throbbed painfully, as though Deimos were lodging his horn within it, pulling it out, and then repeating the action every few seconds.

Speaking of the Reaper...

When Crowley recognized the feral growl that could only be Talbot's, he snapped his gaze to the hound and the other behemoth just in time to watch his partner successfully sink his teeth into a black shoulder. Golden eyes widened as he watched the scene unfold; parting his mouth, Crowley was about to call the hound off and demand that he stand down, but he was dislodged from the Lord's hide with little difficulty.

Back on the ground just seconds later, Talbot gave a shake of his head and exchanged a short look with his master. Through the invisible line of their bond, the horned pup could feel that Crowley didn't wish for him to give chase to the Reaper. In Crowley's mind, this had all just been one big mistake, neither of them intending to purposefully bring harm to the other. Already knowing one another, they could put their heads together and come up with a scheme that would get them out of here alive - but a sudden crash of metallic cut his thought short.

Barreling towards him was a table set upon wheels, and on top of it was an impressive collection of sharp instruments ranging from scapels, needles, knives, and even a saw or two. Beneath the flickering lights, their deadly gleam was intensified, drawing closer and closer with every blink of the flourescent bulbs. Seeing as his previous thought of working together with Deimos was terribly flawed, Crowley dug his hind hooves into the flooring, fighting for purchase and cursing himself for standing still for so long in this strange place. Even if Deimos hadn't continued his attack, it was a foolish move.

Unable to get a solid grip, the table crashed full force into Crowley's left haunch with nearly enough force to completely send his feet out from under him. Meeting the end of their ride, the various sharps flew from the table, some hitting the floor and sliding across the slick tile in a deadly mess, while others found a new home right in the Weaver's hide. A terrible, agonized scream broke from his jaws as he carried himself forward, bucking and kicking out in a fit of rage and pain, but it did little to dislodge the knife settled just behind his flank. If anything, it only magnified the pain and his wild movement almost sent him straight to the floor; but, luckily, it had aided him in moving just in time out of the way of Deimos' deadly magic.

Turning to face the death dealer, Crowley caught a glimpse of one of the strange two-legged creatures just as it scuttled away from Deimos, but his full attention stayed on that of the other stallion standing in the corner of the room. Taking advantage of the Reaper's ill placement, the brindle pushed himself onwards to close the short distance between them, straining his eyes against the incessantly flickering lights. Right now, it didn't matter if Deimos was his Lord and leader or not; he was in very real danger, and now was no time to try and talk the steed out of his attack.

When the distance seemed right, Crowley turned his body abruptly to the left, hoping the tile would do as he thought it would and keep him coming at the Reaper. Though he struggled to keep himself standing in those last few feet, his aim was to plow his entire mass right into Deimos' side, unaware that his Lord had just been laced with powerful poison. At this same time, Talbot came dashing forward from where he had been bitten Deimos earlier, a feral snarl squeezing from between bared teeth as he went around Crowley and made haste for Deimo's front, claws clicking against the floor as he pushed himself up and off of it, aiming to close his acid-rittled teeth somewhere along the stallion's face.

[760 words. 2/3 attacks.

Hit by table, takes a knife into the skin just behind his left flank, avoids the death magic.
Runs at Deimos and then turns to the left, using the tile to help him slam himself forcefully into Deimos while he's in the corner.
Talbot comes running to Deimos at this time(at Crowley's rear) and jumps up, biting for his face.]

"Talk talk talk"

It all happened so fast.

Talbot's bite found it's mark, his teeth creating a satisfying, jagged mark from what seemed to be the Reaper's neck all the way down to his chest. The hound released the stallion when his feet found the floor again, and he was only a little disappointed that the Basin Lord had minimal interest in him. But he did not falter nor give up, instead scurrying out of the way of the two males and moving towards the middle of the room before coming to a stop, eyes calculating as he waited for the next opportunity for an attack.

Although not quite to the effect he'd been hoping for, Crowley's ploy had worked. His body slid right into that of Deimos', and he could feel the other stallion's hips go smashing into the wall nearest to him. It was a shame that his height difference played little to no role in the attack, for what would have happened if Deimos was held by a smaller, frailer body? A sinister grin threatened to pull and stretch across his face in that second - whether at the quick thought or the mere fact that he had pinned Deimos for a moment, he didn't know - but the threat fled when he felt the dark brute moving against him and heard feet behind him.

Moving into action in way of forward motion, the clothed adversary who had silently watched while he recovered from his own dose of the Reaper's magic, made another move. This time it was not on the harbinger of death, but on him. Just as soon as he had realized the man's presence, the scientist was successful in plunging a needle past the hide and thick sinew of his gaskin, injecting only Goddess knew what into his system. The stab was quick and sharp with minimal pain, but the effects of the drug were almost instant. As the brindle tried to force himself forward against the already difficult, smooth ground in an attempt to gain distance from both Deimos and now laughing, surely half crazed two-legged, any sort of counter attack was futile. The entire situation was beginning to look that way. His hooves scraped and grabbed for the floor, but it seemed little purchase could be found. With the concoction flowing through his veins, his vision blurred and wavered in a way that mimicked the lights above them. Time seemed to drag for those few moments, and he swore he could hear Talbot letting off a horridly long, drawn out snarl at their two-legged foe...

Time caught up, however, when Deimos unleashed his magic once again. Already slowed and dumbfounded by the scientist's drug, the Reaper's push of life-draining magic found him with ease and hit him full force, quite literally knocking him off his feet. His front knees buckled as his waning energy was drained from him, and as his face grew closer and closer to the solid floor, he scrambled hopelessly in a poor attempt to regain his balance and footing. Thanks to the slick tile, all hope was lost and he was sent careening into a stand-alone shelf which, as luck would have it, was free of anything but books. They came tumbling down as he collided into it, knocking him in the head and crashing across his back, spilling across the floor and onto his splayed out cape. Dazed and groggy he was, but otherwise, the Weaver was unharmed.

Seeing that his master was still fighting the effects of what all had been flung at him, and currently unable to recompose himself Talbot kicked himself into gear and once again charged forward, as if reliving the life of a valiant war mount going into battle. His claws clacked against the tile as he ran, golden eyes teeming with rage. He intended to come up at Deimos' left, and only when he was close enough did he leap one last time, acid-laced jaws seeking out the stallion's thick neck. He would not allow the hulking beast of death to take his master today.

[681 words. 3/3 attacks.

Injected by scientist, then seconds later, Deimos' magic. Falls forward and crashes into a shelf of books, where he stays.

Talbot charges forward and leaps one more time, going to Deimos' neck.]

"Talk talk talk"