Reaching out into the tree, Anya grabs ahold of the trunk. She can feel the familiar knobs through the knit of her gloves and while it isn't perfectly straight like a pole, she doesn't think it needs to be. A frown slightly worries her forehead as she surveys the tree again, trying to assess it from a different place.

"No? I mean, perhaps a little underfed, but I would not say it was scrawny," she defends, holding the tree up a little straighter. It takes the effort of both of her hands, largely to compensate for the fact that she is shorter than the tree, though not by much. Others around them are much taller and fatter, but they don't strike the same chord as this one does. This one seems to need a home greater. "This one just seems right somehow."

She cannot explain it. But at the mention of her apartment, a new sort of color reddens her cheeks, hopefully hidden due to the cold. It reminds her of something that she has been meaning to bring up to him. "It isn't about getting it into our apartment at all."