Crowley notes the admission, but he doesn't press V any further. Helping them outsmart some demons from a safe distance is enticing, if only to thwart his former bosses, but he's not eager to dive into a world's inner Hell-workings if things go pear-shaped. Not now, not when he's finally free of them.

He snorts at the end of the tale, shaking his head. "So they bickered about what lazy template to slap onto people, fought their way into a paradox, slapped some sellotape over the whole mess, and now it's your problem to clean up. Typical." A beat as he considers, the nagging questions rising up even while confirming his own worldview. "'Course, either they're not very omniscient, or they're letting you do a lot of running around messing up their plans. Which I fully endorse, by the way." Not that V was asking for his seal of approval.