Sylvando had never spoken to an angel about Armageddon, trust him, good was always so very sure it would win. Aziraphale had been terribly arrogant about that until the issues with a perfectly 'good' world were pointed out to him.

"A bit."

The outed demon took a long sip from his wine glass, before confirming those suspicions in his own way.

"I don't care for loincloths, drafty things."

The dark wings would have given him away even if he was a good deal more fashionable than demons from Sylvando's world. He wasn't really trying to hide here.