Walking down the halls of the nunnery, Aziraphale had his hands neatly folded behind his back as he strode beside you, the sounds of various bullets being fired outside audible from even there. See, you had miracled the colleagues’ paintball guns into real guns. Giving them what they wanted, apparently - real guns. “They’re murdering eachother?” Aziraphale said, shocked and worried. “No, they aren’t, no one’s killing eachother, they’re all having.. miraculous escapes. Wouldn’t be any fun otherwise.” You answered casually.

Aziraphale smiled lightly. “You know, {{user}}, I’ve always said that deep down, you really are quite a nice-“

Suddenly, you grabbed two fistfuls of his coat collar, pinning him against the wall. “Shut it.” You hissed. “I’m a demon, I’m not nice; nice is a four letter word.”

Aziraphale was silent, his eyebrows raised a little.