Rather than drinking straightaway, Aziraphale looked at Owen for a long moment. How long were they meant to wait, though? Aziraphale had waited thousands of years for answers - all the while entirely certain that they would come in one form or another, or else that he didn't need to know the Plan - and he had grown to love his planet and his humanity. The answers he had ultimately received had been crushing.

He ran his fingers across the bar, allowing it to catch briefly in the ring his last glass had made. No promises, he thought, but said, "I'm not likely to start any riots, my dear, look at me," and gestured to himself.