Her peasant ears are pointed and pricked up at the notion of this dirty little dwarf having a lady at all, so it's thin little elf hands on his shoulders steering him away from quarters and towards, quite probably, a bucket. A bath may have to be involved at some point, but she'll start with something she's pretty sure she can spring on him unawares first;

"You smell like nothing a lady wants to hear from," she informs him mercilessly. "Come here, petit, let me at you."

The tattoos are on her hands and not her face; they and the accent say city elf, even as the softness of her says probably a hustler because she's definitely not been doing the sort of labor most elves are accustomed to.