Fortescue's not about to ignore an opportunity to snicker at her captors' expense. She glosses over the obvious voyeurism joke, at least for now, and tilts her head thoughtfully at Balthazar's question. "As of late, my job has been ruining the lives of Nazis. And trying to make it out of firefights with my limbs all there. So far, so good. Though I've only traded Nazis for... these deranged minds."

Technically, all of that was completely true.

Jazz bores of his exploration, as the older cat that he is, and jumps into her lap abruptly to curl up and have a nap. She scratches behind his good ear — the one that's intact — with a fond smile.