A sober Alastor would've understood. It was always so easy to give into one's inner demons here in Hell. There was no incentive not to. Honestly, he'd likely share the act with Charlie just to watch her squeal, beam, and annoy the ever-living hell out of Angel about his progress in resisting temptation.

Only Alastor wasn't sober. Thoughts he'd drowned earlier had risen to the surface again with a vengeance, coiling their dark tendrils around him and dragging him down towards the abyss now that Alastor was far too drunk to resist.

But he smiled at Angel. Smiled and laughed and spun on his toes in a grand sweeping pantomime of amusement. The laugh track that accompanied his stumbling was slow and twisted, like a cassette tape being played on a tape player whose batteries were running low. "Oh, my dear, there's no reason for excuses! I do understand! Truly!" He hiccupped and danced a few uncertain steps to the melancholy tune, not-very-subtly putting distance between himself and Angel. "Thank you for such a del-delightful evening but you're right: I'd best be on my way!"

His head swam as the shadows began coiling around him like chains. He belonged to them and the empty, freezing, lonely darkness. He'd had his fun. It was time to go.