I imagine that the agricultural horn-angels are also friends with these guys, the mysterious blood-magnet angels:
"Don't mind me, I'm just cleaning up this lake of blood. Bad for the plants, you know."
"Oops, looks like you've got a bit of last night's antelope on your chins. Let me get that for you."
I'd pretend to have no idea what's going on here, except it's obviously the Whore of Babylon riding the seven-headed beast of the apocalypse, which makes me wonder if I use the word "obviously" correctly.