It doesn't take long to get there, and it's even less time for that sense of bad luck to kick in, isn't it? Lilja arches a brow at the crates, her gaze going up to the ceiling... and back down to the floor, where the carbuncle shimmers and lights the space, as if to say "ta-daaaaah!"

"Oh, í guðanna bænum." The exclamation is a simple one ("for the love of God," indeed), and she can't help but just... giggle. It's so stupid that there's nothing else to do, is there?

Sure, she's resourceful enough to note that it's still a usable space, but considering they're not falling all over each other in lust and need, why bother? "Well," the offers instead, "now we have more choices, right? There's the crate, the menacing wall of crates, the door, the actual walls, the floor..." as she rattles them off, her fingers raise to count each one, as if any of the options matter.

"Or we could rearrange things I guess. Don't suppose you have a preference, Rhea'li?" She doesn't, hip leaning on the doorframe. Actually— "I'm always a fan of making the biggest mess someone else has to clean up." Actually, she's terrible. Also only being half honest at best, by the quirk of her lips.