The duo were in red alert, nose held to the sky as they (mostly Courage) sniffed further, eyes slowly widening; that scent… It was those mobsters again, getting closer and closer! Had they been tracking him? Regrouped after Computer had chased them off? Whatever the case was, the pair didn't have the time to deal with them right now, much less when they were stuck together in Courage's body. Computer had no delusions that they could have took one or two of them (the dog had in the past after all) but the scent implied there were a lot of them, and if he could smell them then they could definitely smell him.
Though… Considering that Computer seemed to affect bodies physically when uploading himself into them, and Courage's new blots of purple fur showing he was no exception, some part of the machine pondered if perhaps his scent was also altered comparative to Courage's scent on his own.
It was impossible to tell for themselves, seeing as their scent pretty much just said 'that's me' to themselves regardless, and this felt exceedingly dangerous to treat as some sort of 'field test', Computer trying to think of some approach to this whole situation without also blowing his top at how stupid and coincidental this all seemed to be; it felt like fate itself had decided to just point and laugh at them today, and it was barely even morning.
Whilst Computer spent all his thinking power on trying to assess everything to get out of this, Courage was already in-action, rummaging through his fur with a rapid pace, clearly searching for… something, garbage he pulled from his fluffy form being sent hurtling all over the street: everything from candy wrappers to coins to general detritus being strewn across the pavement until the dog finally pulled a small bottle filled with a clear liquid from his tangles of pink fur.
The smell of perfume was overwhelming even with the lid of the bottle closed, and only worsened when Courage popped the cap open, taking only seconds to saturate himself, and pretty much the entire street, in the heady, almost-nauseating stench of it. Computer almost wanted to question why Courage even had a bottle of perfume stored in his fur, or how it had never slid out, but chose not to question the serendipity of the situation for the time being. He'd seen the dog pull strange things out his fur multiple times, after all. Why not have a bottle of perfume on-hand, err, paw? It wasn't any stranger than what the rest of Nowhere had to offer.
Courage seemed to somehow 'catch' Computer's thoughts on the situation and let out a soft laugh, though trying to keep hushed regardless as he slipped behind a nearby building, his nose as ruined by the perfume as the mobster's likely was, so he had to rely on his hearing instead, though he had no qualms in quietly whispering a single word to himself, or, more accurately Computer.
"Shirley." Was the simple answer he got from Courage, yet it also one that left several questions lingering around in Computer's mind too; what exactly about the chihuahua equated to such a vile-smelling perfume? Was it meant to be a gift to her? From her? He couldn't imagine anyone who would actually enjoy such a terrible odor, but at the same time flesh-creatures were still weird and illogical and hurt his (former) circuits to think about in any measure. Beside, right now, them getting away from the gangsters (provided they were actually even searching for them) was all that really mattered, not whatever the relation between the Twit and Shirley was beside from (debatably) being friends.
And so the dog stood stock-still, hoping that the odor of the perfume had spread far enough to cover a wide area and making finding him nigh-impossible, ears tilting and twitching for several nail-biting minutes.
And when there was no sign of them or the squealing tires of their cars, Courage slowly began to slink out from behind the building again, listening intently all the while, until he was certain that they were A-OK.
And then they were off once more, cautious of any potential appearances by the mobsters and keeping all their senses dialled in to warn them of such, but after several more minutes that, in their current situation, felt closer to several hours, they slowly began to relax as they travelled through town, still keeping an eye and ear out for both the canine mobsters and a potential mirror; Computer was rather concerned that the open wound on their cheek was probably how they were hunting the pair, and covering it was going to be a test of that theory alongside just being good hygiene practice.
It was quiet for the time being, so, out of something between intrigue and boredom, Courage and Computer began to converse among the pair of themselves, with Computer starting the conversation with a follow-up to the mention of the medium that Courage apparently knew so well yet Computer knew almost nothing about (which also made her somewhat of a sore spot considering she was outside the usual range of his encyclopaedic knowledge.) "So, Twit, the Medium… What exactly was that vile perfume you were carrying about? Surely it must have been of some importance to you for you to be carrying it in your fur."
"And please don't tell me you've somehow caught feelings for that magical con-artist, you twit."
"Huh? Of course not!" Courage waved a paw dismissively, cheeks tingeing ruby underneath the now-mottled pink and purple of his fur, though the blush seemed to be more out of embarrassment to Computer's statement than anything else. "I don't see Shirley like that! We're acquaintances at best!" Courage replied, rubbing at his cheeks in some useless endeavor to smear away the blush that warmed his cheeks.
"And yet, the perfume, Twit?" Computer pushed, raising a metaphorical eyebrow. If they weren't even considered on the level of 'friends' then… Why perfume? Regardless of whether it was to or for Shirley, it seemed like a peculiar item that more often than not had a romantic subtext, and the desire Computer had for answers, for more knowledge, was ravenous and all-consuming.
"She predicted something like this happening, I guess? She gave it to me one day and told me to take good care of it for 'safety reasons'." Courage replied with a shrug, his ears still tilted back to listen out for any potential of the gangsters showing up again, but it seemed they were thankfully out of the woods for now and without an actual face-to-face encounter. Courage was, of course, anxious that they would still eventually encounter each other though, even if he was acting pretty casual in his conversation with Computer. Speaking of Computer, the machine couldn't help but wonder how legitimate the claim it was psychic precognition was and how much could have potentially just been Courage being naive to the wandering Chihuahua having a 'thing' for him. That idea soon discarded itself from his mind, however, as amusing as it was; Shirley definitely did not seem the kind to care for having a relationship, even if Computer felt like squinting at how frequently she showed up at the farmhouse, be it as cause of, or assistance against, some unholy horror escaping out of some ancient ruin or being unsealed from some cursed pottery.
He kept those suspicious thoughts locked deep down with everything else he deemed as 'illogical nonsense', though, choosing simply to respond to Courage with a sort of 'is that so?' that was subtly laced with Computer's special brand of venomous sarcasm, but with the current situation that had made their morning probably the most interesting (and stressful) it had been in… well, ever, Courage didn't seem to catch the sarcasm, his own thoughts more along listening out and keeping the pair of them safe for the time being.
And so off they continued to walk, once again falling into silence as both scrambled for some sort of topic to bring up, but finding nothing but dead ends at every corner; what was there to talk about? Muriel? Courage would just get upset and probably start blubbering again. Computer's body? Neither of them knew who had taken it or why, nor even had any theories on such. Their upcoming journey across the US? What was there to talk about with that? 'What states did they want to travel through'?
Thankfully the silence was broken by an 'aha!' from Courage, the now two-toned pooch hopping up a step and trotting into an… antiques store? It certainly looked like one, with the countless statues, tables and chairs of carved wood littering the otherwise-plain building. Courage seemed to be determined he'd entered the right place, despite Computer's initial befuddlement, and then the machine noticed why Courage had entered the building; mirrors to bandage the gash in his cheek.
"Twit, if you got lost… How do you know about this antiquated little hut of a store?" The machine questioned, and Courage knew from his tone it would have been a full head tilt kind of question, allowing himself a soft giggle but also still keeping an eye out for the owner of the building, his paw raising to his nose to tap it. "This whole building smells of wood polish! I could smell it over the perfume."
Polish, of course… At least they had some luck in that regard, and if the perfume's offensive smell hadn't already hid them away from their potential pursuers, then at least they'd be impossible to detect over the smell of the building they were now standing in. Courage seemed to have thought cloaking themselves in the scent of polish had been a smart idea too, proudly grinning to himself as his tail swished, his ears still tilted as he listened out for anyone who might potentially chase him out. "Hey, Computer, you wanna bandage this? I trust you'd do a better job than me." The dog questioned quietly, tilting his head slightly as he studied his own reflection and the unusual 'half-possessed' visage that stared back at him, paw running just underneath the wound in his cheek.
"Are you truly that useless?" came Computer's initial response, though the insult was clearly (at least to Courage, who knew Computer's personality inside-out enough to recognize the slightest shift of tone) the machine's equivalent of a playful jab. "If you so insist, you Twit."
Courage relaxed at that, willingly stepping back from his own body and contently playing the part of an observer for the time being, his expression changing as Computer jumped into the metaphorical driver's seat, brows furrowing and eyelids partially falling over his eyes, giving the dog a somewhat more smug countenance. His head twisted from side to side as he checked for the owner once again, and upon seeing nobody around (he assumed whoever ran the place must have been out in the back of the building), crouched down and began to get to work sorting the wound on their face.
Courage had never been more thankful to have been more in the subconscious area of his own body, feeling Computer grit his teeth hard as he treated the rather nasty gash with an antiseptic wipe, cursing the sensitivity to pain that flesh-creatures seemed to have as he did so.
After wiping it over, and once again swinging his head about to confirm nobody was around, at least visually, the dog paused upon hearing clattering that, for the slightest of moments, sounded like it was getting closer. When nobody appeared after a few more moments, he returned to diligently treating and dressing the wound again until he was happy with the end result, even if that meant having his head wrapped like he'd broken his skull to make sure the bandages weren't loose; he wasn't willing to roll the dice on sticking it down with Courage's thick, clumpy fur, and obviously couldn't bandage the injury horizontally, considering they'd be covering either their mouth or nose, neither of which were going to be particularly useful for day-to-day existence.
It made the wound appear so much worse than it actually was, sure, but they were headed out of town anyway; it didn't really matter. Of course, that was once they avoided the mobsters again, though… There was only so long they could stay bunkered down in here, useful as the odors hiding them were, and Computer wasn't willing to risk giving the smell time to fade whilst their perfumed 'barrier' was still up; ears twitching, listening intently for anything at all, either shop owner or gangster, the dog's bicolored eyes narrowed slightly as he began to make his way back out the store, still carrying their little purchase with him (that was a lot of money for the dog to afford, and it would probably be useful at some point, even as a weapon or at the very least a distraction, the machine thought.)
Gingerly, hesitantly, the canine pushed the door open, trying to be quiet as he did so, before slipping through the gap once it was wide enough, head immediately raising to the air and taking a deep breath; it was still just crazed, olfactory nonsense at the moment; a heady, congealed mixture of perfume and polish which was exactly what they wanted, no, needed, to make a clean getaway.
And getaway so they did, Computer just sort of meandering off in whatever direction he deemed correct. Courage was almost concerned for where Computer knew he was heading, especially considering they were currently down a sense and Computer wasn't used to being a biological thing, much less a dog in particular. It seemed his worries were unfounded though, when the pair soon (relatively speaking) came across one of the outer edges of town, pausing for a moment to listen and smell for the potential pursuers again.
Unfortunately (yet likely fortunately as well, since it was most probable it reflected on the canine mobsters too), even though the combined duo was out of the main cloud of the concoction of powerful odors, it still clung deeply inside their nostrils, their sense of smell incredibly dulled by the cloying scent. Thankfully their hearing wasn't affected by their sense of smell, and there would be something far more troubling going on if it was, and all the duo could hear was the sound of what little traffic moved through town and the general hubbub of people waking and heading off to work, which was rather quiet compared to the bustling noise of New York or Hollowood (the only two real points of comparison Courage had), myconsidering Nowhere as a town was so tiny and off-the-map.
Of course, that didn't mean much considering the majority of Mad Dog's gang seemed to drive, so any engine sound could have been them, but the lack of any cars moving above maybe 30 miles an hour was at least some small creature comfort for the pair.
"...Now then, Twit, whilst we have a small moment to catch our breath without those obnoxious meatbags on our tail, joke most definitely unintended, perhaps we should plan where we go from here."
Courage was in full agreement; he'd rarely, if ever, been outside of Nowhere on-foot. It was nothing but dusty, flat desert in every direction, after all, and so easy to get lost. He'd find his way back to the Farmhouse easily, that was of no concern to him since he had an innate sense of direction to and from town (even if he'd misjudged the actual difference and had a bit of a mild panic attack), but travelling anywhere outside of his life in Nowhere, and travelling to completely new states no less? The mere concept of the journey was all sorts of concerning for the diminutive dog, much less the fact they were on a time limit for it.
But he'd fight the literal cosmos itself if that's what it took to protect Muriel, and compared to that? This was going to be nothing. He hoped so, at the very least, but the fact that Mad Dog's gang was already a thing to be concerned about and they hadn't even left Nowhere yet, and Courage was all too aware of the weird, horrid and paranormal seeming to stalk him so endlessly no matter where (or for that matter, when) he was.
"The quickest route from Kansas to Oregon is…" Computer paused for a moment as he racked his memories; it was still there somewhere, but flesh creatures, as he loved to call them, still had to think about information they knew ("Another terribly limiting annoyance" was his only opinion on such). Eventually, though, the route came to mind; "...We have to travel through Colorado, over the corner of Wyoming, across Idaho, and then finally we'll be in Oregon.
From there, we have to cross most of the state to reach Mount Hood, and that's if absolutely nothing goes wrong, Twit. And with your track record…?"
Computer trailed off there, neither of the duo really needing to continue the conversation with the response to a mostly-rhetorical question; they both knew nothing ever went right for the poor pink dog, and today was already shaping up to be proof of that; but onwards they had to forge, and so forge they would.
Deep breaths… clearing their mind… until:
"Let's go…"