"Pfft, I imagine you did that well enough," Fortescue chuckles, giving the end of his nose a gentle and teasing tweak. Jazz climbs up onto her shoulders, as if he owns the place. Which he might as well. But evidently the rail is cold, as he buries his paws in the folds of her coat.

She gives him a look, at Balthazar's comment, and nods. If she's going to ask about how a man with no visible wings flies — really, how could you not — she might as well be forthcoming.

"Not just, no."