Striking indeed; the Fool, when he notices Rutile, is immediately taken in by the vibrancy of their clothes, unable to stop himself from looking them over admiringly. (He is going to find out where those lavish threads come from, just you wait.)

Then--

"My garden?" The Fool looks bewildered, and then, "ah," and a sly smile, as he reaches down to collect up the little posy figurine and twists it about between his fingers.

"This one will fair better than my living plants, I imagine," he murmurs dryly. Then he smiles again, the expression warming more for his friend, and flourishes a hand at one of the empty seats nearby. "Do sit," he encourages, "I would love the company."