"I think so, but I think it's one of those intuitive kinds of art," Aerith holds the little plant up and looks it over, head tilting from side to side, sizing it up as she continues to talk. "One of those go-with-the-flow things, like people who roll around on canvases covered in paint or something."

She squints and glances down at him, "but less messy!" Despite the fact that the little bush had endured the violence of stumpmageddon mere moments ago, she sets it down in the empty chair like it's a fragile delicate thing and heads over to the potting bench a few feet away, hunting through the stacks for the perfect pot.

"Do you have a little knife with you?"