Shouldn't say in church, maybe, but that doesn't mean one can't or that Angel didn't. There's a long list of things he did to tick his father off and no matter the amount of faith he may or may not have had when he was alive, swearing in church was pretty tame compared to the other stunts he pulled before he was stupid enough to ask a pretty stranger outside a bar to show him the world.

He winces as he leans forward, longing for the rapid healing of the vampire he should be. Her touch is cool and it's completely foreign to him to feel cold radiating off another being, his own body temperature -- or lack thereof -- when he was undead canceling out any of that.

"I never really had to do that," he answers. And he hadn't. The early-mid eighteenth century predated sunscreen. "There wasn't an--" Whatever he's about to say is cut short in favor of staring at her in confusion. So used to being unreadable, Angel forgets that Sookie's a telepath and it takes him a moment to realize that's what she means: she could hear his thoughts.

"...oh. No. I mean, that's okay. Don't imagine there's anything too pretty in my head, but I've got nothing to hide." Lies. Angel hid a lot of things, but it sounded better to say so and sunburn aside, he was in a good mood and didn't feel like playing up to his gloomier self.