[Poor Alla. Jolene is not the sort of person that one would ideally be greeted by in this place. She tends to be opaque to even the vets of the tree; her witticisms rarely translate well. At least she catches his attempt at gallantry with good spirits, so she chuckles and settles her arms across her chest rather than chase after the scent of awkward for a good laugh.]

You said that already, and I'm just gonna call you Alla because my french is as tres mal as it can get. [Yes, she pronounces that with a full anglicized drawl. Her only saving grace is the fact that she comes from a supposedly bilingual country. Terre de nos aïeux, and all that.]

You want to try the flying thing again? There's food up there, probably some empty rooms if you just want to sit for a little bit. Other people, too.