The fish fly-swims a few metres closer, before turning to the right and beginning to circle around Wenomir. It eyes him with one beady blue eye, more curious than hostile. The circle is wide and almost lazy, the fish's elegant fins draping out behind it like a noblewoman's dress as as it dips through the air.
On it's second circle, the fish makes a high-pitched cooing sound, the kind of sound a curious bird might make. It starts out low and soft, but quickly grows louder and higher-pitched. The sound grows louder and louder, higher and higher, until it's so loud and high-pitched that it is physically painful to listen to.
As Thenadier cuts open the yellow dinosaur who swallowed his rifle, he might remember that this is the dinosaur he killed with an explosive bullet. If he doesn't remember, he's certainly reminded as he splits the smoking dinosaur open and reaches in. His rifle is covered in ash and badly seared. The barrel is warped beyond use, the trigger melted into immobility.
But as he picks it up and dusts it off, the rifle begins to glow. The ash crumbles away, revealing an entirely new weapon inside it. It is a work of beauty. The barrel and mechanisms are made of the purest of iron, and the barrel is easily longer than his arm. The rest of the rifle, however, is made of some sort of hardy bone. There's a scope attached to the top, but it's clearly removable. A switch on the side of the scope, he discovers, lets him switch between 2x and 10x magnification. It is perfectly balanced, and fits in his hands as if it had been made specifically for him.
Mercutio keeps his arrow aimed at Gordon until he is well beyond sight, and then a few moments after. It's only when the devil is sure Gordon is gone that he lowers the bow of light and lets his shoulders sag in relief. He honestly hadn't expected that to work. He had actually expected Gordon to press the issue, forcing Mercutio to defend himself and likely retreat. For all his posturing and threats, Mercutio was shakier from his earlier defeat than he'd expected. He might have been able to hold the stranger off for a while, but he probably would've been forced to fall back. Even with this plane's law of worthy combatants returning, Mercutio had no desire to pay the tax for it. If he could escape and live instead of trusting to a gamble, he would.
After all. Devils never gambled unless the odds were staked in their favour.
Still. The encounter with Gordon had robbed Mercutio of his prey, as he'd expected. He lifts his eyes to the sky, sighing when he fails to spot the pterodactyl he'd been hunting. Letting the bow and arrow fizzle and return to their inert form of arrows on his forearms. They snake up the sleeves of his coat and settle back into his skin. With one hand resting on the spine of the spell-book at his hip, he scans the area around him hoping to find something new to study.
((Edit: Gah, you ninja'd me, Vader. I'll get to you in a bit.))