A party. Now, that's a very odd picture, a party full of singing angels and dancing demons. Downright ridiculous in it's infeasibility. But he thinks about how parties are a bonding activity for mortals, has been for centuries - with changing definitions of 'party', of course, but mass social gatherings anyway - and how, should both sides manage to keep themselves from breaking into a chaotic, massively destructive war, they'd maybe learn about their similarities and, who knows, maybe get along?

--But that's absolutely ridiculous and impossible. Angels don't dance. Demons don't sing. And they all want to destroy each other. Wouldn't make for much of a party.

He perks, though, at Crowley's question. Something he hasn't thought about in decades.

"Oh, yes." He sets his drink back down. "The Gavotte. Back in the last 19th century." He fondly remembers the club. Made quite a few acquaintances there.Lovely people, the lot of them.