The crew had returned to the bar where Barkeep was situated originally, with Betty in possession. The group right now had consisted of Jennifer, Grog, Deprave, Old N, and Toby. Kritch had left the group at the prison when his past caught up to him, and while he accepted his past, the spirit of Villiam had pursued after the rat demon for... well... nobody else knows why, maybe it was out of evil intentions, maybe it was for pure joy, either way those two had left the scene. Poncho stayed behind the group, being put in charge of the army that Deprave had rallied together for when he makes the assault on Earth, and the King stayed behind alongside Poncho as a sort of backup. The crew was small, but they would do for the escape.

As the bar where the crew sat in closed for the night, Barkeep approached the group and began to speak. "I gotta say, I'm deeply impressed with this crew. It was a shame that Kritch and Villiam had to leave, but who knows, maybe we'll be reunited with them soon. Nefas was taken care of rather efficiently, which proved invaluable to this mission, and the crew can continue going forth as planned with Betty now in our possession. Weave knows the route that will take you all to the very end of the road, where Betty can put a portal and get you guys out of Hell for good. The only problem with it is that you guys have quite the road ahead of you with this, but I can trust you guys with this mission. While you guys were out and getting Betty. I managed to scrounge up a few farewell presents for the each of you, and they're going to be in the RV when you guys return to your mission-"

Jennifer had interjected here once Barkeep said the word farewell. "You mean, you are not coming with us, Barkeep?" "No, Jennifer, I am not. I have to stay here for the time, but I promise to you guys that I will see you at the end of the road. It has been fun, and take care of yourselves."

As everyone piled back into the RV to continue down the winding road they had ahead of them, they would each find their farewell gifts placed on the seats of the RV.

For Toby Skinner, a metal prosthetic arm. It was slightly dented in a few places, but it was in great condition it seemed.

For Old N, a basket of various vegetables was neatly organized, with an overabundance of mushrooms especially.

For Grog, a bottle of reddish-pink wine, labeled "West's Stride : Best Wine in Hell!".

And for Deprave, a large dark-metal broadsword leaned against the wall. For a man of Deprave's size, he could easily wield it with one arm. There was an additional white sheathe paired with it, labeled with "Light's Forgery" at the hilt-side so you could tell where it was made from.

As Weave took the wheel and Betty climbed in shotgun of the RV, the group would be leaving soon. With a slightly jovial tone, Weave called out to the group in the RV. "Attention all passengers, this is your driver speaking, please keep your arms and legs in the vehicle. This is your only warning."

Barkeep stood outside his bar and waved as the crew began to set out for an adventure.

As they all accepted their gifts, he was extremely happy with the arm. He stayed silent with his response. He connected it to his shoulder and is was perfect. It moved and acted just as an actual arm. He then retreated back into his corner and studied his new limb, trying to figure out all of its hidden functions and features. With this, he was ready for the road ahead. "So, what are you guys gonna do when we hit the earth?" He asked, genuinely curious.

Seizing hold of the basket with his forearm junctures, as his pincers were still out of commission, Old N immediately singled out those of its contents which seemed most perishable (or, rather, those he wanted to eat immediately), and, having selected a particularly malodorous yellowish-green ovoidal fruit and caught hold of it with his mandibles, placed the rest, basket and all - one never knew whether it might be that a basket become of vital importance at some point - into his weathered, lichen-stained sack. He then proceeded to once again forcibly insert himself into the vehicle, a feat which, given his currently increased encumbrance, was even more difficult than the previous time. Now, not only did he have to propel himself through the still outrageously small door, but he was also constrained to push the basket-swollen bag with his head, all while holding the fruit, which it had not occurred to him to place back into the basket (after all, retrieving it would not have been worth the while...). The latter part was especially difficult, as he was constantly in danger of accidentally biting off a piece of it and losing the rest somewhere on the way.

Having finally conveyed the entirety of himself, limbs, head, basket, fruit and all else, into some sort of common chamber - which was just wide enough for him to lie down, barely leaving narrow strips of floor near the walls for anyone else to move, he began to contentedly chew on his acquisition, steadily drifting off into a state of sleep-munching until interrupted by the petulant no-longer-one-armed human. "What we're going to do?" he gurgled, his mouth-surrogate still full of strange-smelling paste, "Something one apparently can't down here. Get a century's sleep. And then some." With these words, he attempted to turn onto his other side, only to remember he was not in a damp, malleable fen, nor lying on his side to begin with; slightly frustrated, he returned to his fruit, and the concomitant attempts at somnambulous consumption.

'Heh. Skinny fucker knows what I like,' Deprave muttered to himself with a smirk as he gave his new weapon a once over. Not that he knew how much use it would see, but he'd needed Blackgore for Nefas, after all. And a broadsword was certainly a change from the usual fare - he wasn't quite sure when swords had started showing up in Hell, but he knew this particular style was very common by the time he'd broken free of his torture, although exponentially less so in recent years, though they admittedly held an edge far better than any normal macuahuitl. Nonetheless, he liked the name on the sheath as a name for the weapon, so that'd be what it was called.

As he found a place to attach it, just beneath the shotgun on his left hip as it happened, he heard the runt Toby- now with a brand new robotic arm, funnily enough- ask what they'd be doing when they got to Earth, and promptly grinned like a lunatic. 'You know full well what I'm doing, brat. But, since you ask,' he continued to boast, 'I intend to conquer the entire planet, me and my army both, and thus forge my empire anew, eternal and glorious in equal measure!' Well, glorious for him, at least, and maybe some of the people in his inner circle. For everyone else, it'd suck, because why the fuck shouldn't it? The powerful would thrive, and the subservient would suffer, much like in Hell before nearly everybody turned into cowards.

Still, it was at least polite to pretend it'd be good fun for all and sundry. There were attractive women in probable earshot, and at least one of them had been eyeing him up earlier. He might be able to get on her good side, only to tear her to literal shreds later... oh, that would be sweet. Speaking of which, now was probably a good time to capitalise on that: as the van started moving off, Deprave made his way toward the front, stepping over the massive crab-monster on the floor as he moved to just behind the two demons, gripping the back of both seats as he leaned forward to look at them both.

'So, ladies,' he began with a grin that was probably pleasant in some sense of the word, 'what do you think about everyone so far? What's your view on them, so to speak?' The emphasis was deliberate, and rather aimed at Betty specifically; if it was his muscles she liked, it was his muscles she'd get, and if he was lucky, that was as far as she'd look. Actually, if he was lucky, he'd greatly interest Weaver with them too, but she seemed a bit more focused on other things. For now. Still, it was hard not to imagine all the ways she could bend if she wanted, and all the ways he could make her bend if he had the opportunity... he reminded himself to focus on reaching the goal first, and awaited the demonesses' respective responses.

Grog briefly recalled receiving a gift and a status report from Barkeep as he awoke in the kitchen floor. By the looks of it, he was somehow carried inside before the rest, and had passed out for no more than a minute, seeing as the remainder of the team had just entered and began settling. Crawling his way to the sink, bottle in hand, Grog's disorderly thoughts blotted out the distant chattering of his partners in crime, as he contemplated why on earth he'd be given a bottle of wine when he had the Pint. Maybe Barkeep wasn't aware of its' power or something. Whatever, Grog thought. May as well try it out. "Power Pint: West's Stride!", he commanded.

Nothing. That was odd. "Power Pint! Give me West's Stride!" he ordered once again, in a louder voice. "God dammit, pint. The hell's wrong with you?! You broke? Give me some booze dammit." he yelled, as the pint filled itself with beer, some of it spilling on the floor. Grog's eyes widened visibly, even behind his goggles. "What the shit?", he screamed, and, recalling what the driver had said about getting the interior dirty, let out an audible sigh before turning back to the elephant in the room. "What the hell are you, Stride?" he said in a comically suspicious tone, as he brought the bottle closer to his squinted eyes. Instantly returning to his usual self, he happily exclaimed "Ah, who gives a shit. One way to find out." and downed the bottle in a matter of seconds. He had started to become dangerously sober after all, with the Fucksville's effect having ended and whatnot.

Once Grog had downed the bottle of wine, he had begun to feel rather shitty as he flew back into the past, watching as the group previously struck down the mighty Nefas with a few mere blows. He even watched himself do it, which confused the ever-living soul out of him. After about 30 seconds of confusion, largely being the existence of him in the past, he jettisoned forward in time and saw himself back in the RV, and the bottle of "West Stride's" had seemingly been refilled, and it had a new label on the side of it that read "The first drink is on the house, now don't waste the next one." It was a peculiar sight, although it really didn't matter to Grog at the time, as he felt more drunk than he had ever felt in his life.

In response to Toby's question about what the crew members would do when they escaped Hell, Jennifer, who was standing against the doorway to the room she claimed, spoke up with an answer. "I do not know exactly what I want to do when I leave, but I am fairly certain that it will involve The Light... speaking of which... does any body want to join the church?" As Jen finished talking, the key out of hell, Betty, had wandered over to Grog's Power-Pint, which was currently resting on the floor filled with beer, and she picked it up. "Yo Grog, I'm gonna borrow this for a bit. Hope that's cool." After she took a sip, she had responded to Deprave's earlier question about her views of the group. "I can tell you that I do like one person more than the others.~" While she spoke, she winked at Deprave, hinting at who she liked. Weave was next to respond, and she did it while calmly driving down the road.

"I'll tell you what I see. I see a Mayan deity, a giant crab, a drunk, a thief, and an ancient knight. No more, no less. I'm still surprised that you guys managed to take down Nefas so easily, considering his sheer beefiness. Nice job on that, but it'll only be tougher from here." She sounded harsh, but it wasn't out of any hatred. She was just a bit agitated, that was all. She also didn't appreciate the drunk who was currently drooling on the floor of the RV. "Someone make sure the drunkard doesn't destroy the place by the way. This was not a cheap purchase."

During all of this conversation, if Toby looked outside the RV, he would notice a bright blue wisp fly past it, then disappear as it dove into the ground.

As everyone was talking, he saw the blue wisp disappear. "Um... What was that?" He asked quietly as he looked out the window, trying to see where it went. "Guys, I think that we're either being followed, or there are fairies. Both of which may not be safe..." He stated as he grasped his revolver and his new hand switched to a blade, which he thought was awesome. He continued to watch. He couldn't see it or anything like it. He slowly began to ease up.

Betty's wink told Deprave just about everything he needed to know. Oh, he'd definitely gotten her, that was for sure... or, she'd decided to go for him? He wasn't exactly sure. And maybe Weaver too, since she'd just called him a Mayan deity. 'You're damn right I'm a fuckin' deity,' he responded, flexing one arm to show off a bicep to both the torn-up rabbit and the short lizard. 'Y'know, back in my day, there were-'

And then the runt interrupted him, because apparently some little tiny people outside the windows were somehow "threatening". That was what a fairie was, right? Bah. Either way, the twerp was being antsy for no good reason... no, wait, hang on. They could be spirits. Not likely, since the RV was moving pretty fast, but maybe... not that Deprave was too concerned about that either.

'If you're worried, you can keep your eyes peeled for the rest of the group,' he muttered, heading back down the van, 'because I'm pretty sure it's no big deal in my book.' He of course knew what books were, like paper versions of the dataslab he had in one pocket, but which could only fit a limited amount of info on to them. Much less useful, he felt, than the all-access hardware resting across his back right now. And less important still than his current conquest... and he supposed, since she had it, the mug in her hand. Actually, a drink or five sounded good right about now.

'Mind if I take a swig of that, little lizard lady?' he asked, taking a seat reasonably near her and holding a hand out for the Power-Pint. He was pretty sure he'd be able to trick the thing into pouring a stream of beer or whatever into his mouth if he held it just right, and he wanted to test the idea out a little.

Betty thought about letting the Mayan behemoth take a swig of the drink, and ultimately decided on no. Grog seemed like a volatile type, barring all the explosions and what-not, so she thought passing a drink that wasn't hers wasn't really a smart idea. She spoke to Deprave before continuing to drink. "I dunno, ask him." She then continued to drink the booze that was near-pouring out of the Power-Pint.

Jen looked over at the disgruntled Toby, and walked over, grabbing his arm and lowering it down to his side. "Easy, Tobias. If we are attacked by these fairies, we will simply take them down hastily." Jen spoke rather calmly about the whole situation, hoping to try and ease Toby into the same feeling she had. It was increasingly hard with what may stir up in a few seconds, but it was worth a shot.

Grog awoke in a puddle of drool, his face pressed against the kitchen floor. Awaking in a state of relative panic, he clumsily turned over to his back, and then slumped against the sink's counter, and once again covered his mouth with his mask. Frantically turning his head to examine every corner of the room, before inspecting his own glove-covered hands, he attempted to make some lick of sense of the situation. Before he could even begin to process the events, the alcohol equivalent of a sledgehammer struck his brain. Not only was he drunk, he was smashed beyond mortal (or otherwise) comprehension. A soft "What the fuck?" escaped his lips, right before the green demon-lady entered the room. Grog almost heard her address him, and he replied with a distracted "Yeah, yeah, take it, whatever.", as he was busy staring at his own hands.

Wait, what did she just say? Grog shook his head to regain some semblance of clarity. By the looks of it, she had already left the room, but what the hell, she did ask nicely. Before he could process anything else, however, another wave of inebriation struck him, and he was once more blasted into oblivion. Barrel-rolling across the kitchen and into the main hall with frightening speed, all while knocking down everything in his immediate vicinity, he yelled with a mix of enthusiasm and utter confusion.

"Guys. I think I just tripped balls through time."

Now this was what he meant when he had spoken about not being able to sleep in the nether realms. First, the human with the metallic arm would not stop talking - he had now begun to mumble something about being followed by fairies, which signified he was either hallucinating (which might have implied he had eaten some of his mushrooms, which would have been very bad) or simply making things up expressly to annoy him (which would have been just as bad). Then, the brutish fellow with the anachronistic weapons rumbled on in the background, and, judging by his interest in the drunkard's cup, was about to become even more boisterous, not to mention probably destructive. The two demons rejoindered at times, as well, but those, he supposed, could be tolerated for the sake of the greater sleep, as they were the only ones, that he was aware, who knew where they were supposed to go. Finally, just when it seemed one would be hard-pressed to think of anything worse, the masked vandal came crashing through the room and directly into himself, bellowing something inane as usual.

This was truly too much to bear. Muttering something similar to "Mwrvfrvgll" due to the partly eaten fruit still in his mouth, Old N laboriously swivelled to one side, possibly knocking the already unstable Grog over in the process, and began to crawl towards where he vaguely remembered the bathroom to be (even in such a restricted space, he somehow managed to have trouble finding his way). Halfway through the door, however, he remembered he was forgetting his bag, and by extension his basket, in the main hall, and, finding scuttling backwards to be too much of an effort, tried to turn around where he lay. This proved to be a terrible decision, since, while the doorway was spacious enough to allow him through frontally, it certainly was too narrow for him to occupy sideways. Though he succeeded in recovering the bag with a motion of his still largely limp right pincer, he now found himself hopelessly stuck in a position that would effectively prevent anyone from coming into, or going out of, the hall from the back quarters. After some fruitless tugging, the crab-like demon resigned himself to his new situation, which was truly not quite so uncomfortable for someone with a carapace, and began to blissfully slumber away in it, oblivious to anyone else's possible need for egress from the room.

After the rude retort, be decided that he would just stay silent. Even though Jen had tried to held, she didn't. He knew that they all thought that he was crazy. So he gave up on trying to warn them. Maybe the hulking asshole could take out what ever attacks them next. Or the over confident crusader. He stayed silent as he stayed in the corner. Continuing to watch out the window, in hopes of falling asleep. He thought about the likelihood of that. The drunk ones along with the asshole may prove to make it absolutely impossible to sleep or stay sane. He just wanted to get out of that damn RV.

With a grunt, Deprave withdrew his hand again. She didn't have to be a bitch about it. More to the point he didn't have to be a bitch about it, if he wanted he could just snatch it from her hands... and lose the opportunity to screw her in the process. Apparently, he ranked sex over booze in his hierarchy of needs, and that was as it should be, perhaps. Speaking of booze, Grog had just stumbled into their vicinity like a drunken tornado... a really drunken tornado, half-tripping over Old N as the crab-monster moved around as well. Deprave could smell the alcohol on him, which was odd because he always smelled of alcohol. The extra alcohol, he supposed. And, well, it showed in his speech too, when the only legible thing he uttered was "tripped balls through time" or something.

'That is amazing, Grog,' Deprave said dryly to the super-alcoholic, not really amazed at the obvious lie at all. 'Really impressed at how much of the RV you're fucking up. Since you're so drunk, I think it's fair to say you won't need the Power-Pint for at least five minutes, do you mind if I take a few chugs from it?' He'd be ready to take the pint out of Betty's hands the moment he confirmed that he was allowed to have it. Again, he felt stupid abiding by on-the-spot rules, but again, sex beat out booze, whilst having both would be an excellent start to whatever he did next.

The whole situation that was going on in the RV had drawn to a halt when the RV started to slow down gradually, with Weave taking the vehicle to the side of the road the crew was driving on before turning off the car. She was confused with the RV's performance, and didn't know why it wasn't working on this road. She did get an idea though when the rest of the crew's technology began to fritz and then stop working. All dataslabs were just hunks of solid metal, Toby's arm was no more than a large knife that couldn't change, and everything else was... dead.

"The fuck...? Yo, is someone doing this back there? Not funny!" Weave cried out to the group. She had expected one of the few members of this crew to have done the deed of shorting-out all the technology in the RV. Jen had stayed calm about it though, probably considering that she didn't care much for the power of technology. "It is not me, I know that for certain. Maybe the light knows?"

With the mention of the Light, Jen had raised her arm into the air and held her palm skyward, speaking towards the ball of light that had been floating over it. "O Light. What is the cause of this complication?" What would come from the Light was delivered in the form of a riddle, involving heavy amounts of wordplay. "What lies beyond the land of east, but is far more than the very least. A shocking spirit lies ahead, making electrical power dead."

"What the fuck does that shit mean... and how the fuck do you do that J?" Betty seemed to be mystified by the Light's presence, but that may just be the alcohol talking. Either way the riddle was lain in front of them, and nobody seemed to know the answer.

'...I'm gonna go out on a limb here,' Deprave muttered with a roll of his eyes, nabbing the Power-Pint from Betty as he talked (Grog had given consent for that, right? Yeah, totally, probably, and he didn't need consent anyway), 'and guess that what that is is a spirit, which does some sort of shocking. Like, electrical... ity, and lightning and that shit. Stuff people started using a couple of centuries back or whatever. That's something the riddle pointed out.' As he talked, he turned the mug this way and that, trying to figure out how the damn thing worked, anyway. Grog always used verbal commands, but if he could just will it to fill with, say, xocolatl...

Oh, it really WAS filling with xocolatl! And judging from the smell, as well as a quick sip flooding his mouth with a familiar, yet long-forgotten taste of spice and bitterness, it was the actual stuff he was used to: nicely chilled, a good foam on top, really high quality ingredients, and certainly not that mouth-burning, over-sweetened "hot chocolate" crap that had apparently replaced it since then. Shit, he hadn't had good stuff like this since before he'd died!

'...if anybody interrupts me, they die,' he managed to get out, before promptly upending the Power-Pint over his wide-open mouth, chugging a stream of xocolatl that was apparently endless, and GODS, he could just spend forever and a day drinking and drinking and drinking and... he might give this mug back to Grog eventually. Some day. Maybe.

Kirby was in the middle of something, something substantially large and monstrous which may or may not have been beating her ass for the past half hour in a battle of raw strength and epic proportions. There she was on the back of dragon, fighting high in the air and wailing on it with all her strength, granted not very much strength at this point and the two were about five feet off the ground. Exaggerated battles aside, she not in the best spot with the dragon attempting to shake off the small demoness until Kirby ran along its back to hit the beast in its eye. Everything was going according to plan until the dragon suddenly snapped its head up as Kirby jumped up and grabbed her leg, launching her over a hill. It was not her finest moment, sailing through the air of hell, abe to see the landscape pass her at a rapid pace before she came to a sudden halt.

Her back buried itself into a the side of what felt like a metal wall, gravity then took over to pull her onto the ground. ”Son of a protestant whore!” the demoness cried in pain as she rolled on the ground. The dragon was a tough cookie, Kirby would give the beast that, but like all cookies, she would eat them. She pushed herself up, getting to her knees and looking back to see what she had hit. It was an RV of some sort and on its side was now a sizeable dent to signify where Kirby had landed. Something felt missing though, she patted herself down until she realized that her backpack was gone; all that glorious food now missing and able to expire. The thought tormented her.

She pushed herself up and got to her feet, anger now very present upon her face as she only wished the worst of deaths upon the beast that caused her food to go missing. Kirby cracked her knuckles and took one step before collapsing onto her knees again, the strain of the fight had taken its toll and she physically felt like she was dying. ”Damnit, you overexerted yourself, Kirby. Keep going and you’ll shatter your own soul unless you find food,” she told herself, deeply breathing in and out.

The universe, as implacable and petty as ever, was once again conspiring to interrupt Old N's rest. As though the preceding uproar had not been bad enough, something was now happening which made the crew of the rumbling vehicle even louder and less endurable. Admittedly, he did feel as though there might have been something odd about the machine. It did not vibrate as frequently as before - something he was himself in a position to appreciate, being lodged into it with his entire body and in contact on every side of the latter with at least one of the internal surfaces. Then, there was this odd sense of being - carried along? Rolled along, perhaps? Though that could not actually be the case, since, as far as he knew, he remained upright sideways as before. Whatever it was, though, it gradually decrease, then stopped, along with the distant humming associated with the movement. In itself, Old N did not overly mind it, as, now that the doorway was still, it was somewhat less uncomfortable to lie in. However, the rest seemed to be of a different opinion, judging by their vociferating and the flashes of light the armoured human had conjured up. Now, light was bad enough in itself; but this appeared to be speaking light, which made it twice as irritating.

Seeing that, despite the distant humming having stopped, the general ruckus was only growing the worse, Old N decided that he might as well free himself from the door and go see what was the matter. Well, "decided" was a rather strong word. More accurately, he was mildly prodded by a vague suspicion that it might be better to go and see what was the matter. However, seeing as not even a proper decision would have been strong enough to make him budge, this indefinite sensation was totally ineffective: having given it a few seconds of thought, Old N let it slip through his mental pincers, which were in a better state than his physical ones, and resumed his slumber - only to be rudely awakened by the heavy impact of some apparently rather large body against what was presumably the vehicle's outer wall. Now slightly more than a little awake (and consequently angry), the demon guzzled down what remained of his fruit, then, reaching into his bag, produced from it, with some difficulty, a slightly rusted and terribly malodorous metallic bottle. Creaking from the exertion, he opened the vessel with his mouth, holding it in his secondary limbs; this caused a cloud of indescribable, putrid stench to float through the interior of the RV as he took a rapid sip of whatever foulness was inside, which lingered on after he had replaced the bottle in the bag and, indeed, did not seem to have the intention to disappear any time soon. Bolstered by the revolting concoction, Old N gave a vigorous push with his hind legs, and came tumbling back into the room as some sort of large crustacean barrel before coming to rest against the opposite wall with a crash which shook the vehicle to its wheels and a mildly annoyed chittering sound.

When the RV was hit, Toby looked directly at the hulking piece of shit that was trying to flirt with Betty. "WHAT'D I FUCKING TELL YOU!" He loudly said. Knowing that something was bound to happen. He had no idea what hit them, but it was big. He struggled, but got his arm in a semi-defensive position and had his revolver drawn.

"Fuck. Sure. Whatever. Just for a bit, though.", he responded to the Mayan. Grog had given up on trying to explain his predicament as suddenly as he felt the urge to make it known. There were more pressing matters to attend to, after all, since the Shroom crab had just carapace-stricken him straight in the gizzard, pushing him back, and sending him reeling with gut ache. Before he even had time to recover, and just as the crab dude had began to lumber away in his usual don't-give-no-fucks attitude, he felt the RV slowly lose speed. Maybe the driver or that green daemonette needed a bathroom break or something. Who knew. He didn't really give a damn to begin with.

Speaking of that, what Grog really did give a damn about was his pint, which had stayed away from his person for far too long. And, the strange brew, Xocolatl, that 'Prave was drinking only served to further peak his interest. After letting the dude at least enjoy a good pint, he spouted out, in an increasingly impatient tone, displaying an odd mockery of sobriety.

"Okay, 'Prave. That's enough. Hand it over. Also, that weird spiritual magic eightball shit Jen's personal Google's talking about? Prolly an EMP, just saying. Seriously though. Fuckin' gimmie."

Weave stood up and grabbed Toby by the shirt, pulling him to the door and tossing him out of the RV with anger. "Deprave, you get out too!" she shouted to the Mayan; she would've done the same thing to him that she did with Toby, but he was literally about 4 times her size, so that's out of the question. Jen rushed outside with her mace drawn as she knelt by Toby's side, her expression being that of a worried mother. Betty remained in the front of the RV, watching as the whole ordeal happened.

Once everyone was outside the RV, Weave held her head in her hand as she spoke out to the group of men. "Look. You all may hate each other, and that's fine, but if you so much as dare fight in my ride, I will end you," threatened Weave, clearly tired of the shit that's happening with Deprave's attitude and Toby's aggression (albeit the aggression was... slightly charming in a weird way). "The Light or whatever said something about beyond east, maybe that's west? If you go to far east you do end up going west after all. Go to the west and punch whatever's causing my RV to take the piss in the balls or something, I don't care."

Jen was not present for the debriefing, as she was more concerned with the demon that had collided with the side of the vehicle. Leaning above her, Jen began to ask a question to the demon with a wholehearted tone. "Hello. Are you okay?"