"That it does," Aziraphale said, wincing slightly as something creaked when he twisted. "Though I suppose we are built for it and ought to stay in practice."

Spring was beautiful along the Zayandeh. The scent of flowers and windswept grass still carried even through the car exhaust of the busy city. And the steam of strong, sweet coffee. It was possible they'd even make a decent baklava here.

Aziraphale thought Ellie looked tired, but calmer. He gave her a sad little smile. "So we've made some good headway on our quest, at least. We did know it wouldn't be easy."

Falling further back into a very old dialect, in which it seemed quite natural to discuss these matters, he said, "It occurred to me...and I hope this isn't too sore a subject with you...I must seem dangerously ignorant of the politics of Hell. I didn't expect to encounter a flavour of demonkind who still use the Zoroastrian names."

"And I think it must have been a revealing moment when he became so upset to be called a misfit, but I'm not certain what it revealed."