Both Crowley and Bayan are faintly surprised that Aziraphale seems actually hurt by her snappy comeback. Mocking each other is what they do, it's not like she'd meant it terribly sharply.

Still, she appreciates the flattery, and when Aziraphale holds his arm out like a falconer, she leans forward to fall off the branch, spreading her wings with a clap to glide the short distance down to land on his arm, claws digging into his sleeve. 'Hello,' she says, a little smugly, and nudges his hand with her beak.

Crowley nearly falls over. Bayan croaks in alarm and surprise and takes off in an ungainly storm of flapping. 'Ack!' she squawks, which Crowley follows intelligently by saying, 'That was-- what was that?'

The sensation of her beak touching Aziraphale's skin had been-- not unpleasant, certainly, but intense in a way Crowley doesn't know how to categorise. Like... fire under his skin or a tug way down somewhere deep under his sternum, a sort of pleasure-pain that Crowley would associate with sex, except that it isn't sexual. Bayan is all fluffed up as she comes to rest on the ground, and she peers intensely up at Aziraphale like he's a recalcitrant IKEA cabinet that refuses assembly. 'Well,' she ventures after a moment, 'if Orisa's right, if I'm your, you know, soul...'

She trails off, and Crowley wrinkles his brow. 'Blimey.' It is an entirely insufficient reaction, but it's all he's got just at the moment.