An actual angel was definitely over the top, he decided. Not to mention decidedly Papist. Angels didn't usually appear to members of reforming Churches, did they?

Aziraphale tries his hand at a little light tempting.

"Armageddon": An experience most seasoned hitchhikers say it's better not to be around for.

“Why are you even here?” Crowley said in irritation.

Aziraphale looked vaguely surprised.

“I thought you said you wanted to go for a drink?”

Crowley thought about that for a while.

“That was seventy years ago,” he said finally. Stupid angelic sense of time. The bastard had probably looked in his diary, thought ‘oh, I can fit in a quick pint in a few decades.’

“I had to think about it,” Aziraphale said. “Would you like dessert?”

These people were perhaps on his side. Theoretically. And they'd killed Crowley. That wasn't theoretical. His hands had begun to shake, he noticed.

"Did the Mayor send you? Just deliver your message and get out."

"Mistletoe," Aziraphale said from the top of the stepladder. "It's not so easy to get these days, but Christmas traditions are Christmas traditions." He looked at Crowley's face and sniggered. "Don't worry, you're not my type."

"I could have sworn I just heard an angel suggesting I get involved in a festival of a false god."

"I was pressed for time, and had to come up with something, you know how it is," Vader said, circling round him slowly.

The palace was in an uproar, with everyone yelling loudly about Paris and Helen running off in the night.

"I see Abel's sacrificing again. I don't remember your root vegetables going down so well."

"Hello, Hagar, I'm Crowley. Where are you going?"

"...and so I'm being recalled."

"But Ligur's male! Isn't he? This is very -- who? Who's the -- other father?"

Impersonating a cleric, Jack, weren't you even listening to the reasons they're going to kill you? And anyway, after you pretended to marry them you took the bride off for a quiet word and seduced her.

No one need ever know, Mordecai. Just you follow my advice.