Oh. Oh, that's different. That's another matter entirely.

It takes him just a moment to register what has happened before he sits up very sharply, which makes his head pound with the force of a bloody earthquake, ugh. With a wave of his hand the alcohol is gone, purged from his system. He sits forward, adjusting his glasses.

"My name is Aziraphale; I'm an angel," he says, prompt and urgent. He has no idea how long this is going to last. "Who are you?"