"I s'pose so. You wantin' a tour?" Eppie watched Eli's eyes scan the cargo area, and she wasn't sure what gave her that little start. He was polite, urbane, fancy-talking. That cool, exacting look-over that he gave the place, however, was something she knew. Something she knew so well that she'd grown up recognising it the way most children recognised the familiar tread of their parent upon the stair. She herself often used her fan and a toss of the head to blur her own tell, but he...he was subtle enough that she figured he didn't really have to.
The sly dog was casing the place, she'd bet her best bonnet on it.
Then again...might she just be seeing what she knew? Eppie knew all too well that rushing into certainty was a mistake that could get a girl's throat cut faster than she could say 'please, Sir'. She sternly told herself to wait. Wait, and talk to the man, and find out more. That wouldn't be hard - he seemed a rum sort, after all, and she wasn't against making new friends. ...especially new friends that could afford the sort of suit he was wearing.
She tossed a look back at her plate and glass left behind, and hesitated. "Or...when yer done stowin' yer dross, may'ap ye'd like to come out and 'ave a sit wiv me, yeah?" A smile, the sort that half-promises. "I shouldn't mind it, nowt one bit."