Very, very loosely based on the legendary tale of Old Man Henderson, the bane of DnD tables and the source of plot derailment scale.

"Henderson." I could hear the spite in his voice. The vicar had come in full clergy attire, as if to steel himself for the awful task - of talking to me. Well, I couldn't let the opportunity go to waste. Turning to the man slowly, I smiled wide, petting the parrot on my shoulder. Some fools would point out the bird was stuffed and scruffy; they would soon learn not to make fun of Polly's condition. She was still man's best companion, even if less talkative than others.

"Whatcha want now?" I asked politely.

"I... erm..." The vicar looked down, as if there was bravery to be found by his feet. "We have another demonic gate. In the warehouse district, the green building. Our best me-"

"Your best men couldn't tell a garden gnome from a national treasure," I interrupted brusquely, turning away. Demons, then. Well, I had the tool for that. An old, trusty Garand, hanging on the wall, soon found its way on my shoulder. In the meantime, my holy companion gulped, his cheeks growing red. It was clear he wished to speak his mind - and knew better than to do so.

"All right, mate," I added with a smile. "Demons it is, then. Have they got any hatchets?"

"Ha- what in the Lord's name are you talking about, Henderson?" My name was spat out, as if a curse against humanity. Well, not too far from the truth in fact - though the old man didn't need to know it.

"Hatchets, vicar. Axes. Wooden stick, metal at the end, sharp edge. You know em, yes?"

"Wha- you know what, nevermind. They probably do. Just... go and fix it, okay?"

With a click, a bullet was loaded into the rifle, and my old companions - trusty pirate hat, fake parrot on the shoulder, and knowledge that noone could outsmart, or barring that, outcrazy me - I hobbled past the man from the church.

"All you had ta say, mate. Could use a new one round the house," I murmured with a grin. It was demon hunting season.