He shifts backwards at the poke, batting idly at Greta's hand even as it teases a small smile out of him. "I'm sure I've been second something. But yeah, yeah. He's not a - " What kind of bird is Beth, exactly? Beyond 'some kind of parrot'? "Not a birdy guy," he concludes with a shrug. He can't imagine any part of Oswald is bright and winged. Thinking of himself that way seems strange too, if less so. He's never had much in common with birds, except maybe the kind kept in cages. In order to...sing for other people's amusement.

Hm.

The Balladeer frowns thoughtfully into space for a few moments, until the topic of magic stirs him out of it. "Maybe? I don't know what else you call that." Stagecraft? That doesn't quite fit; whatever audiences may have been watching, he experienced it as real. There were never any people in black skirting around him, setting up the gallows and changing one time period out for another. He's not sure if that would have been better or worse. "And I hear people's songs, too. Never thought of it as magic before, but it's not typical."