The unease on Aziraphale's face is readily apparent, he's obviously disquieted by the knowledge of having demon hunters around in the city. Distantly, he's also worried about the idea that they come from a place where demon hunters are any kind of a necessity. What sort of place was that? What sort of demons even? Where was Heaven?

Demonic issues, when handled by humans, were always the duty of the priests as far as Aziraphale has ever encountered. There wasn't enough demand or need for anything further than that—not that the priests were even generally effective.

"Do they have a sense of nuance?" he wonders. Those who are encouraged to live their lives hunting supernatural menaces usually didn't even know the definition of nuance. Bitterly, he thinks that the witchfinder army were a good example of this.

"That sort of thing is how I got discorporated. And my shop burnt."