Aziraphale nods like a true dilettante, having absolutely no idea what a time rotor is supposed to be. Very H.G. Wells, or something. For that matter, if it had been some sort of combustion engine, that would have been equally mysterious. Aziraphale may have seen human technology crop up and expand over the centuries, but that is a far cry from having any idea how any of it works. That's always been Crowley's department.

"Oh," he says when she asks for his story, straightening up and adjusting his glasses again. He's not very well accustomed to just spinning out the yarn of his life on command, but she's right, it is rather his turn. "Well. Just an angel, really. A principality if we're going to be precise. I was the guardian of the Eastern Gate to the Garden of Eden." He tucks his chin slightly - it's difficult to be proud of a rank that has become so obsolete. "And, I, er... Well, for the past several centuries it's been fairly routine. Angel business. There was some smiting in the early days, some grappling with demons and the like, but it all settled down in recent times. For the most part. Things did get a bit dodgy when Armageddon almost came about but, we, er, averted it. At the last minute."

He shrugs and looks down at her. "To be honest," he says with a confiding air, "I think They're sort of displeased with me. The Authorities, I mean. For mucking about with their Judgment Day plans. But maybe you'll understand, I mean - Earth is rather a nice place, isn't it? For the most part. I've gotten to quite like it. I would be so awfully sorry to see it go, no matter how ineffable the going was." He purses his lips for a moment, a little embarrassed by that admission. "Is that wrong, do you think, for an angel?"