"Why?" Really. It was criminal for someone to state that they liked artwork that hideous without an explanation.
Honestly, Sterling heard what she said (the other she... was this place full of women?), he did. Although she had appeared out of what felt like thin air, barely even half-dressed. Not that he took issue with that. Mostly he was fixated on the way she said it. "It's like a British invasion," was the first (and admittedly rather dry) comment to fall out of his mouth. He might have followed up with an elaboration, except his mind began to correct him -- despite most of his own accent disputing the fact, he was originally from Los Angeles. And it was one thing when a statue just looked creepy, but it was another thing when it started to act it. "You heard that too, I take it?" Because it was always good to know his coffee hadn't been spiked.
Walk? "I bloody well hope not. My room is there," he angled a thumb over his shoulder, "and I don't want to wake up to it stood outside my door." The part of him that watched horror movies recognised that he had just told a statue where he lived, and Sterling took that as his signal to stop talking. Even though he now really wanted to know who the hell named it.