"Do you live in the heart of the wilderness?" Ripley asks, feeling somewhat silly. Like a child asking to see a parlor trick. But it's the most obvious question, isn't it?

Ellen takes in her every-word as one might a lecturer's. Brows knit, eyes fix squarely onto face and lips; no morsel of info is lost. If she had a pad and pen in hand, she might have paused their dancing to take notes.

A hand rests on Fever's shoulder. No harm in changing things up, no?

"Sounds tedious." Inefficient, she means to say, but that's not quite as kind. "We've mostly left sailing behind. Not that there aren't massive bodies of water to sail in, just that flying's always been the quickest. Less dangerous, if you can believe it."

Another question; she's full of them.

Ripley's curiosity never once ebbs.

"What kind of city?"