Looking quite a bit like she's just rolled out of bed, blue eyes ringed with dark hollows despite the implication of recent sleep, Lys moves like she's underwater, slowly taking down some of the other decorations—namely every piece of rather explicit artwork featuring herself and a veiled blonde woman that she can find—and adding them to the growing sheaf tucked under one arm. Distracted as she is, in no real state to notice much of anything else, Romelle's mooning over the gardening supplies still somehow draws out a sidelong glance.

"You, uh, thinking about starting a garden?"

Such a stupid observation. So tired, so trite. But she's acknowledging the world around her in order to make it, and maybe that counts for something.