"Absolutely not." Kelithryx kept a prototype low to his hip. A most queer gun, as it had a confused, cross-bred appearance of a duck and a goose. With one hand clutching it at its breast, and the other wrapped around its thin legs, when he lifted it, he racked it. The neck straightened, as if protruding at attention, and when he pulled the legs back, the mouth popped open and it went:
QWÉCC!
At that, he grunted, and turned the thing upward to peer down its throat. Unable to determine if anything was wrong, he returned it to a forward position, and began pumping it and pulling back its legs, like repeatedly firing a shotgun.
Then, as if from nowhere, the damned thing made a whimsical HJÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖÖNCC as rays of unadulterated destruction shot from its mouth. After all that, he tried to replicate the fire.
QWÉCC!
He shrugged, set it down, and the gun ruffled its wings, then began idly waddling around.