Aziraphale, for his part, was entertaining thoughts in entirely the opposite direction of Gabriel's. While he was not convinced that their Father intended to play with him - things still being, on the whole, ineffable - he was also entirely certain that God was not here. Perhaps this was because of the nagging sense of absence that he'd been feeling since un-Armageddon, a feeling that had only intensified upon his arrival here. Had he known better, he would have termed it instinct, but angels were not meant to have instincts, only certainty. It wasn't like they'd evolved, officially, although in Aziraphale's case the case could be made.

He raised one eyebrow just so when he saw Gabriel staring off into space, then the other as well when his tight focus returned. Oh, masks. He was a bit tired of them. "That would be rude," was all he said, sliding the beer across the table and sitting with his wine.

Avoiding Gabriel's eyes for a moment, he looked into the depths of his wineglass. Well. "Human, then," he said under his breath, and toasted nothing in particular, then swallowed too much wine in one go. It might have been a challenge, if he'd been someone else.