"Mmm, but can people do the things I can do?" he asked, rather temptingly. He lit his cigarette and moved in closer with no fear of any forthcoming wrath. Angels were wrathy and smitey all the time. It was only the Arrangement...and Aziraphale's nature, he reckoned...that had saved his skin for so long, so far.

"Who knows more about Hell than me? You can't even read that mark. You'll ask some human with a book and he'll tell you it's strength or purity when it really means soup, or stupid angel. You know, like those tattoos people get of Chinese characters."

He took a drag, a smile playing on his lips, amused as he was with himself.

"...I can promise you it doesn't say soup."