Lower Tadfield Safehouse

Aziraphale stared at his arm, pondering what it would taste like. He raised it up and licked it. "But I don't think angelsh are tasty at all," he commented, noting he did not taste like a pastry or some other white concoction that would match what his skin tone hinted he ought to taste like. "So I can't be a doggie, I just can't be. In that case, maybe we're both fishes. Fishes with wishes. Or maybe you're a doggie and I'm a fishie." He winced with a sudden head pain and drank some more in reponse to it. "Thish is getting comp - compl - com-pli-ca-ted."