"Some of them are, I'm sure, fine parties," says Isabella diplomatically. "Although things outside the holds aren't usually designed to accommodate angels - they keep the rooms so warm, and there's dancing, and none of the chairs work with our wings. Things aren't designed for angels in the places that have problems with drought, either, but we're not obliged to stay long after singing the prayers."
"We can," she says slowly, "but our wings get in the way - people bump into them or step on them, and we don't really have quite the same gait as mortals either, because of the weight of them. So dancing is awkward and most of us don't like it. I'm particularly inept at it and usually manage to beg off if someone wants me to try."
"I hate dancing even more than most angels," laughs Isabella. "But that's kind of you."
"Grand, we're agreed," laughs Isabella. "Why, do you particularly enjoy dancing?"
(Not a particularly responsible philosophy. But when - if, if - she's Archangel she is willing to do most of the work herself. The only thing the angelica or angelico strictly has to do is lead the Gloria.)
"Er," says Isabella. "I think you had better stop doing that. If you're hurting for money I can buy you some things."
"Well, pickpocketing is illegal," she says reasonably. "I don't think I can find everyone who's got reason to do it anyway and make those reasons go away, but I'm already talking to you, so..." She can't really shrug in the air; it'd throw off her wingbeats.
"Do you give the stuff back afterwards, then? Or are you calling from volunteers from an audience?" she asks dubiously.