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He'd stopped laughing when Hector had. An axe for a fork in the road. He wasn't sure what to really make of it. At least it wasn't covered in gore. "If this is the part where you laugh manically and try to kill me I will be sorely disappointed. That'd just be plain boring as far as horror stories for the campfire go. I rather would have expected something better." Marlo didn't like the idea of a weapon, at least not in the way of 'everything is crazy so far maybe you're crazy as well' sense. "But the fact you look unable to lift let alone swing the thing kind of dispels those thoughts." He was smirked in a sort of smug way. The way of a Nelson Muntz type fashion. Just minus the vocals. The feels behind it were the same. A non vocal "haw-haw" if you will.

So, standing in the rain, Marlo shrugged. "When you enter a maze, you stay to the right. People tend to be inclined to the right. So, I'd say left is the road less traveled." He got closer to the axe. "..." He held out a hand. "Let me try." Because watching someone else fail didn't matter as you always had to double check. Something odd about people. You could say the rain was cold and gave a sense of drab, but the listener wouldn't trust you until they also walked into the same rain and got soaking wet. You always had to experience things firsthand to back up even logical reasoning somtimes.

Plus if Marlo could lift it up it would be kind of funny as Hector seemed utterly unable to do so.

Neither Marlo nor Hector seemed to have much success in moving the axe any way except by dragging it -- but the raven apparently enjoyed watching them try.

"You seem to have two problems with the same solution," it observed.

Both of them heaved the axe up at three with all of their might.

They didn't lift it long, just long enough to realize, 'Okay we can do this but right now I'm invading your personal space so I'm going to back off for a few'. Marlo liked his personal space. So he wasn't keen on invading other's. "I like to think we can learn, but mind telling us who this belongs to?" He winced slightly, thinking of the cabin, the only other sign of 'life' they had encountered. "And please don't say the crazy axe murderer who lives in these here parts you reckon." His hillbilly twang needed work. At least it wasn't the Brooklyn accent he had as a kid.

It was on his head. Hector muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse against someone -- whoever the curse was against, it was a little slurred -- and leant his hands against the axe handle, resting his wrists. They had exited each other's personal space. Now the raven was investigating the cavalier's.

"Someone just put it here. The wood's fresh. I can tell that and I ain't no country boy." His (odder, considering his main accent hovered somewhere in the realm of Texican) own faux-hillbilly twang rang out: "You better tell us about who-all came down these here roads lately, or I swear to God I will get you out of my hair, bird."

He snorted back a laugh as the bird ruffled Hector's hair. "Careful Hector, it might be trying to nest in your do." One side look like it had seen a weed whacker. Or it suffered from a case of 'bad cowlick-itis'. Rain did wonders for short hair sometimes.
"Anyway, you know why this axe, which while heavy, was just up and abandoned? It's not rusty nor, does it seem to be broken or damaged." Marlo hazarded a guess that the bird either knew more then it let on, or it just enjoyed ******** with them.

"Which ROUTE," Hector finally said explosively, spreading his hands out again as though trying to appeal the raven's benevolent side. This would have looked a lot more dramatic had the bird still not been on his head. "Which road is the road less travelled? Which road do we go down?"