Aziraphale looked about as dapper as his imagination was capable of, which meant a nice light-colored suit and a pale blue shirt and perky floral bow tie (someday he would notice the tartan on his own tie in the memories; someday was not today). The outfit, because he had been practicing all day (well, once he had been invited on a date), was about 50% magicked or glamoured or whatever, a mimicry of the quick-change he had seen himself perform in the Bastille. He felt very fancy. Perhaps not as fancy as the Bastille, but that outfit would seem out of place today, and besides, it had gotten him into a rather lot of trouble.

Out of place though it was, he had a deep red, nearly black rose pinned into his lapel. Silly, perhaps, but he thought it a touch romantic.

"Hello, Darling," he said greeting Anthony with a chaste kiss. "Hope you weren't waiting long."