John blinked in surprise as the implications of Pestilence's advice sank in*, and raised his glass in acknowledgement. "Amen to that, mate. And thanks."

He opened his mouth to protest the Bowie remark, but the Horseman was already well on his way to the door, and had dropped quite a wad of bills on the bar, so he let it pass.

"David Bowie. Feh," he muttered to himself as he turned back and waved to the bartender to keep them coming.

Angels and demons, angels and Horsemen, archangels Falling...seemed like the Host was plunging headlong into a shake-up the likes of which it hadn't seen in millennia. What that was ultimately going to mean for everybody else he didn't care to speculate.

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*The love bit, not the part about the fiber.