There is very little question as to what a woman in a lace catsuit is after. On the surface at least. Following a quick turn of her head, there's an appraising gaze that doesn't masquerade as anything else the moment the blonde realises it's her attention that's desired. That the brush wasn't accidental, or just something done in passing.

It is fairly cliché, but that doesn't at all bother her. "As much as one girl can spending Veerdi on her own." The weekday's pronunciation isn't quite stumbled over, but the careful emphasis on it does almost sound that way. It implies a newness to the city and its conventions, but there isn't any self-consciousness about it. If she's even conscious of it.

Then, as if she can't help herself, her gaze drops to eye the crop as if it were a creature with a mind of its own to be wary of. But only for a moment. "It's quite the sight." The corner of her mouth quirks up just slightly. Sly.