They were clearly from very different places in life. Penelope couldn't imagine the chaos that would have been growing up in any sort of commune, though she supposed that explained some things about why Marc was the way he was. Her own upbringing had been so structured, molding her into what she was meant to be - right up to the moment someone showed up on their doorstep to tell her parents she had magic. The thought of having such a free, artsy environment was enough to bring more of a smile to her face.
"That sounds like it would be beautiful," she commented, her gaze moving over the paintings on the wall. "Art everywhere. Perhaps a bit overstimulating at times, with it everywhere, but beautiful still." She took a step forward toward the wall, motioning toward a smaller abstract painting, a mixture of dark blues and metallics. "I like this one quite a bit. Which is your favorite?"