Emilie wasn't even a little bit ashamed of her destroyed train car, and she only waved Clover in with a nod of her head in the dark. She'd turned over all of the candles, a mess of wax on the floor and the walls, but there was still one burning in the far corner. It offered just enough light to cast eery, strange shadows over everything the flicker could touch. They moved and bent and hissed like some some of macabre dance.
It would be nice, Emilie thought to herself, to have someone to trip with. Ezra never did the Prax, despite how many times she told him how quickly and easily it would make his troubles melt away. Never before had she actually done the drug with someone; she was always either dealing it or hiding it away, not daring to share. People killed for less than a hit down here, and even she knew it was only a matter of time until someone got brave enough to try and jump her for the large amount of Prax she'd been carrying as of late.
Clover wouldn't jump her, certainly. She had to know better. She had to know that Emilie would gut her before given the chance, didn't she?
Still, the thought of having company while she lifted off, if only to help ease some of the ache of loneliness she didn't want to examine, was a pleasant enough thought that she was already pulling out the little tin that had the drug in question. "Sit," she urged, patting the empty spot next to her, one not littered with glass or trash, and she waited for Clover to do as she was told.