Albedo looked nervous all of a sudden, so Angel returned the smile, genuine instead of the half-polite, half-awkward one he usually reserved for clients he had no idea what to say without running the risk of scaring them off somehow (and subsequently the risk of Cordelia's wrath at the loss of a paycheque). Or, not just clients, maybe. Essentially two thirds of anybody he ever encountered in his life.

But Albedo was—unusual; Angel suspected he didn't quite fit in so much most of the time. And Angel supposed that was something he could understand, which wasn't always the case when he met people.

"It's, uh. Both. It depends on where you're from. Flashlight might be more common here, though." Wherever they were, it appeared most people leaned towards being more Americanized and the place itself was the same. Just one of the several things he had no idea why. It seemed like it was an important detail, meant something, but he still hadn't been able to fit it into the puzzle.

Four thousand years, though—he couldn't help but blink once at that. Angel wasn't exactly young himself, but that was still a long time ahead even for him. And the truth was, time never lost its length no matter how long you lived. A year still felt like a year.

Angel let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. That could be one way of looking at it. You're not..." He hesitated. "You don't miss your home?"