"Oh?" Admittedly, that did sound promising. Aziraphale felt he had never really gotten the hang of typewriters and, by extension, keyboards. He operated them just fine, of course, but had a habit of what was called 'chicken typing'. No, he was much better with a pen, or a piece of charcoal, or a stylus with a wax tablet, or a stick in the dirt, or however else humanity conveyed thoughts back in the day. His writing was very neat; he'd had lots of practice. "You know, I might just take you up on that."

She seemed quite taken with him, which was nice. He mostly spoke with Crowley, who half the time acted like he wasn't taken with Aziraphale so much as permanently saddled with him. He understood that was just the demon's way, of course, but a change of pace was always refreshing. "What's your name, my dear?" he asked. "Mine is Aziraphale."