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"