Jazz purrs, closing his eyes, movement sluggish. Fortescue watches him for a moment, while she thinks of how to answer.

"Sounds a little suspicious, doesn't it?" she half-jokes, before biting her lower lip. "'Wanted: someone who can diagnose a soul.' ...I don't know if I like admitting to the Cape at large that it might have... scarring, or... holes in it." The old texts she'd found hadn't been too descriptive on how a soul was damaged, exactly, only the effects of having it put back in.

Which had been horrible enough, really. Unconsciously, she wraps a hand around one of Jazz's feet.

"It isn't that people haven't been nice to me, but... It's a big thing to be able to hold over my head," she finishes slowly.