It was a little insulting, the way Duma just sighed like that, like he was being awfully fucking put upon for having to explain himself instead of just being able to keep on attacking John's face like he had been. And really, that was what it'd been; attacking.
One thing was clear; Duma really did need some help.
He tilted his head to the side, only barely able to keep from commenting on the woman's voice on the phone. Bloody terrible. He nodded along with the generally correct statement that he would, in fact, be the worst person possible to fall in love with. Which probably should have hurt, but the truth tended to anyway.
"Right," he said a little dryly -- deciding that fuck it, he needed a second to think here and so he snatched the pack of cigarettes off of the side table and tore off the outer plastic and then the foil on the inside before taking one for himself. "Right," he repeated for good measure before lighting his smoke. "So you want to ... learn about earthly delights in order to teach another angel?"