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"Oh, Crowley, really," Aziraphale said, both horrified and annoyed. "Tempting a priest? That's so... fourteenth century."
Crowley hissed with annoyance. Father Mulcahy moaned in his sleep: the next morning he was to wonder why, in his rather embarrassingly explicit dream, Hawkeye Pierce had turned into a snake halfway through.
"Oh, go away, angel," Crowley said. "Go thwart their drinking or something."
Aziraphale looked across the muddy compound at the tent labelled The Swamp. He spread his wings in an angelic shrug. Inside the tent, the glass vessel of their homemade still cracked into a thousand pieces. It would surprise both Hawkeye and Trapper that somehow it had broken without damaging anything else or even waking them up.
"A bit crude," said Crowley.
Aziraphale looked at what Mulcahy was urging the dream-Hawkeye to do in his sleep. "I could say the same about you," he retorted.