Rodeo doesn't see it as being all that sad or shitty, no matter how strange the place could have seemed to others. For a man who had only known a couch as a bed his whole life, he's all too understanding of how precious it is to have a place to call your own these days. The train car might be rusty and dark, but there's something so very fitting of this shadowy cocoon. With the door closed it's like a cold candlelit womb, and Rodeo casts his eyes around the half-dark to take it all in.
"It suits you, shadow queen," Rodeo decides, shifting to shrug off the backpack slung over his shoulder. He opens it up, bowing his head as he reaches inside and finds what he's brought by touch. A few cans of food (chili, chicken soup, syrup-soaked peaches, mixed vegetables,) a little stereo, and a bottle of bright wash-green liquor. He kneels down and sets out his offerings in a row at Emilie's feet, then lifts his face to look up at her. "I brought presents. You hungry, my darlin'?"