Well, that wasn't the voice Crowley had expected to hear. The fog was thick enough to coat the entire amusement park like a shroud but he sauntered forward in the direction the response had come from, hands in his pocket and head bowed as if against rain, a thoroughly cross expression on his face. "Right. So whose was it? Is this about what happened to Hastur? That was pure self-defense, the call center had it coming."
It'd make sense, he realized. After the little debacle in the failed Apocalypse, he was almost sure that some of the boys Downstairs had picked up on his telephone tricks as a viable option for spreading discord. Someone knew, that technological snow noise wasn't putting anyone at ease.
The demon tilted his head, trying to peer through the pea-soup fog and completely failing to make anything out. Bless it, anything could be out there in addition to the American guy who'd responded. "Marco," he called out idly, only half-expecting an answer.