She smiles back at him, and there's no mistaking that it's an appreciative one. "I think I remember fire somewhere, at least. But you're so much better, love. On the fact that you haven't smited me into oblivion alone."

The Church of the Empire frequently uses its sermons to condemn whatever ideas it wants, and magus' were certainly on that list. She does remember reading a decree about angels smiting magus' on their way to Hell... or something of that nature. Honestly, they changed their metaphors every other week. It's a wonder they have followers at all.

But nonetheless, nonexistent as they are in her universe, angels are the weapons of the church to strike fear in the hearts of its masses. That angels can be like Balthazar — that is to say, drinking and generally polite — makes Fortescue wish she could tell the Church all about it. Just to rub their faces in how horrified they would be.

Or maybe that's what her father would want her to do. He'd always disliked the Church on a visceral level.

"That you don't fit the picture is a good thing. The Church, ah..." She considers. Hopefully badmouthing religion in front of an angel isn't offensive. Then again, they've shared drinks. "They twist everything to favor what they like. And they're sort of a dying species. Or they would be, if they didn't get some small measure of government support."

It's under the table, and she's one of the few people to know about it. But they're the only ones who study how to exanim, and so keeping them around is, from her superiors' point of view, important.