A voice called her out of her admittedly malignant stupor, and Ange glanced in the direction of its source. The owner proved to be another male, one closer to Rolo's age than her own. Yet another of European descent, though he held that rough countenance she'd seen in most Americans. Still, he appeared relatively decent and hardly threatening. His Japanese also proved impeccable; the way he called out on that fountain was nothing less than what one would expect from a teenage boy in Japan.

Granted, her experience with males was a little less than subpar.

She spared the aforementioned fountain a look, however. In truth, its presence was a bit gaudy for the setting, but beyond that, Ange found herself caring less. The western world was a crazy little thing in terms of religion. Why get worked up over a misplaced display of waterworks when it didn't even contain a man-eating demon? Or even a recognizable saint?

Ange shrugged. "Maybe they found what Ponce de León couldn't," she answered, voice bland and stale. "You should go drink the water. Maybe you'll live forever."