Emilie's fingers curled around the Wash and she pulled it close to her chest out of habit and instinct, lest Rodeo change his mind and want it back. Everything Emilie acquired, Wash or not, was something she had to work for. Or kill for. Either way, it was hers, and her animal instincts told her to keep everything away for herself. She tucked the Wash inside her hoodie and flashed a smile at the both of them.
"Good for it," she assured Rodeo with a vehement nod. "Nobody fucks with me down there. Know better." For the most part, it was true. Emilie had a reputation for being mean and merciless, especially if someone started the altercation first. Just a few days ago, a junkie had jumped her in an attempt to get at the Wash. She didn't kill the fucker, but he was now wondering around the tunnels without any eyes. He'd die soon enough.
She cast her "Furby eyes" over to Bishop, but she didn't smile for him like she did Rodeo. There was something about him that set her nerves on edge and made her want to scratch and shift on the balls of her feet. "I understand."