"They are," she stressed, pleased that someone else recognized this. "It's amazing how different they are by country though. France they're tissue paper. Netherlands?" Fox paused for drama, rolling her eyes back with a whistle. "If you've never had a sugar high so bad you worried about your heart jumping out of your chest, it's an experience."
His scowl confused her. Was that at his carbuncle's legerdemain trail, or at her? Maybe Grayson was onto her. "Thank you," she said, pocketing the earring in one of the half dozen fire suit flaps. "Change is awful. Besides, that'd be payment, which would mean I'd held your socks for ransom." She quirked an auburn brow. Ain't nobody got time for that. Besides, low hanging fruit was never satisfying. Lady. She laughed, a silvery cockleshell sound. No hand came up to cover it, no attempt to minimize it. He had a good smile though, so she ducked her head to keep it from looking like she was laughing at him. Besides, it seemed that was Roger's job at present.
"Good so far," she spoke to his turned back. When Grayson had turned away again, Fox beckoned Roger out more insistently, handwaving him forward. "No murder sprees this week, that's good. People have been ni-" her voice shot up an octave, eyes doubled in size. Fox shook her right leg like a hot coal had just miraculously appeared in her shoe. "Um, I uh --- I think I saw something. Over there. I'll go check."
"NO. No no. I'm not smuggling you. Get out!" she hissed once out of eyesight behind the corner of the nearest trailer, as quietly as one could forcefully do so. Wearing a 'one size fits all' jumpsuit had left nearly enough fabric around her legs, and everywhere else, to make curtains. Cleverly, Roger had shot right up one of them. "This wasn't the deal, get out!" she groused, squirming to try to catch him through the fabric.