[@AeonSpiral]

The featureless glass clerk says nothing, sand gently drops from one of the chandeliers. The place seems devoid of life, save for a man in the corner facing away from her, clipping solid, vine-shaped sand aggregates that seem to be growing out of the walls. The whistled tune of "I feel pretty" echoes off the otherwise solemn, silent, spacious walls of the lobby. 

"It's [i]much[/i] warmer outside, love! The sun is perfect for the skin. Got a nice tan, me!"