Rodeo almost sniggers when Bishop compares Emilie's eyes to the Furby's, but something stops that laugh in his throat. It's a bizarre feeling-- junkies like her are constantly the butt of jokes between him and his men, but something bothers him about laughing at this girl. The mad look in her eyes just doesn't strike him as funny at all.
"I don't like it either, sweetheart," he mutters, pushing off of the shelf and stepping away from it. He keeps watch on Emilie while Bishop goes through the bag, because even though he finds her disarmingly pitiable, he knows better than to actually let it disarm him. Desperation makes even the most pathetic junkies dangerous. He waits for Bishop's verdict on her offerings, and when his Chaplain tells him that it's acceptable he nods and takes a step towards her.
"You did. But 'fore we make this official, there's a couple things I gotta know about you." He doesn't have to tell Bishop to pay attention here. The questions are customary, and a suspicious answer has disqualified other prospective dealers in the past. "First of all, you got a name, darlin'?"