Unsurprisingly, the ghoul didn't tell her brother about this little meeting, mostly because she knew that he would insist on coming with her, and this was something she needed to do alone. It was a pride thing, certainly, that had her determined to go alone into something like this. Emilie knew, after all, that the Dog King wouldn't be coming alone. He'd make sure the odds were stacked against her, lest she get any wise ideas.
But, oh, he had no way of knowing just what sort of ideas she really had.
Emilie wasn't a patient woman, but in this case, she could bide her time. She needed the Dog King to underestimate her enough to let them be alone. Let him think that she was some strung out waif whose only motivation was Wash. That would make his surprise so much more poignant when she tore him limb from limb and then strung him up for the rest of the ghouls to see. Then, just like they had with Sister Slaughter, they'd follow Emilie. She'd be the Queen in a city of lepers and outcasts, and that suited her just fine.
When she arrived, she moved silently and skillfully through the doors, a handmade leather satchel in her hands. Inside was everything he asked for -- there were some supplies, a few medical items here and there, and there was even a large, expensive bottle of whiskey. Emilie didn't speak at first as she moved through the shadows, her broken (now wrapped, thanks to that girl Ezra brought her to) fingers resting absently over the bowie knife at her thigh.
She just wished her hearing would come back in that ear Sarge slapped. Apparently, there was a chance it would always be muffled. At least it stopped whistling.
"Gifts," she finally said, a slow smile peeling at her full lips. "Like Christmas." With that, she holds out the satchel, brilliant eyes sizing up Rodeo and his fellow mutt.