She's only been in the United States a handful of times, and the area is nondescript enough that she can't possibly place where she and Jazz are. A forest of some kind. Cool, temperate, pleasant. There aren't any sounds of airships overhead, or the rumbling of hover cars. The asphalt underneath her booted feet is the kind she remembers from going to the country as a child, manufactured back before technology was built into it.

Fortescue's so caught up in her marvel she almost doesn't notice the ground vehicle heading her way. Jazz dashes to the side of the road, mewling at her, and she quickly follows suit before she's in danger of being run over.