Nazca is in a clock shop, considering the wares with a critical eye. She's always been fond of clockwork, and is used to a fairly complicated version of it. Not that she can't find some quality pieces in the shop, mind, but the shopkeeper clearly took her for a woman who wanted a merely decorative piece.

"It's too bad there aren't any Verrari in the city," she says, to no one in particular. "One proper artificer could make a killing." Though it's more or less rhetorical, she addresses whoever happens to be next to her, from habit.