Lemm contentedly takes that as a no, and sinks onto the bench beside them.

There are no Maskflies here now, or anywhere in the City of Tears that he's actually seen. Just Vengeflies, which will apparently live almost anywhere and eat anything that moves. Lemm suspects these things are related. Shame. He'd have taken great satisfaction in disobeying that sign.

"Not much to see, now," he admits. He points up, though he's a little distant, doesn't seem to mind if they're paying attention or not. They have their map. He has his chatter. "Solid ironwork though. Surface plants, not your typical underground root cover. Might explain why there's nothing left in the beds, they planted things that didn't belong and rotated them out when they died off. S'the kind of thing you do when you're a groundskeeper in a city like this, showing off."

He's quiet for a time, staring up at the metal canopy, and then leans back against the bench and sighs, folding his arms over his chest and letting his gaze drop to the floor in front of him.

"Bugs would write about it sometimes. Took their friends here, their partners. Their children. Even the Watcher was said to pass through here on his rare way somewhere else, and that's got to have been on purpose because the bridges don't connect straight."

Another pause.

"Always liked reading about that kind of thing. S'domestic. Makes a change from all the struggling and strife and whatnot."