Root huffs out a silent laugh, a sort of mimic of Parker's own disbelieving spit of air.

"Please. As if they aren't all crazier than I am." Her head nods out toward the small groups of museum-goers. People who herd around like sheep-- even more willing and aware of how controlled their lives are than the general public Root left behind.

She turns to lean back against the guard rail, watching the security goons do a terrible mockery of their jobs.

"Wearing the same things, day in and day out. I like variety myself. A closet full of shoes. A change in hair." Her look directs back to Parker, pointed and obvious. "I don't usually do blonde, but I'm sure I could be persuaded."

It would be fun to help Parker get her hands on this typewriter, anyway. It's not like she couldn't use the practice.

"It's a shame, it'll probably be put back wherever it belongs after close."