Gabriel's grip barely moved and he only swayed with Aziraphale to keep it rather than resisting the motion. Rather, he shouldered the other angel into falling into step with him, half marching and half dragging him out of the Temple. "Uh, uh. I said I've never gotten drunk before, not that I don't drink."

It was hard for angels to get plastered to begin with, and apparently being an archangel made it harder. Besides, the last time he'd come even close, Bacchus had ... somehow ... turned into a goat. (Not his fault, but he'd decided then that discretion might be the better part of maintaining his cover.)

"I could always call you Zira," he mused out loud. "Or Phale. Or Raphale." He made a face. "Oh, not that one; wouldn't want you to start sharing too many of the same qualities with our darling brother. Azzy's simple enough. I mean, it's the first three letters of your name."