Magenta. René's eyebrows hike up at the thought of anyone wearing something that loud, wondering if it fits the whole village's aesthetic. Probably not, it's just an ugly colour.

Still. He'd been expecting muted tones if they had different colours. Blues, and browns. Maybe greens. Magenta reminds him of a girl he used to date in Mont-Tremblant. It's unpleasant.

But they come in different colours, and this one is smart enough to notice that. To notice patterns. It's nice. He's reaching for the alcohol when he notices the pages, and he doesn't bother to hide his interest.

"Unimportant," he mumbles. "Working on something?"