Aziraphale

Crowley had been having a ball. He'd figured out a bit of hackery with some code and some infernal miracles and soon enough he had millions of people angry at social media for long load times, zero refresh rates, and suspensions that came and were lifted seemingly at random.

He was absolutely giddy as he walked into the bookshop. He spied the angel in his chair and went to the one unanimously agreed to be his and flopped down, legs splayed out long and wide.

"Isn't it the most beautiful day?" he said cheerfully.

Never a good sign.