Despite her rattled nerves, Emilie looked as calm as ever, the silence before an oncoming storm. Her legs were tossed easily over the edge of the fountain bowl, letting it cradle her in its heavy steel arms as she hummed softly to Rodeo's voice. She was found of his voice, the way its southern drawl lulled like a bedtime story. Emilie hadn't been prepared to be fond of Rodeo. No, in the beginning, her goal was to tear out his insides and string him up with them for the rest of his camp to see.
Now, he had become something of a friend. Or, well, as close to a friend as Emilie had outside of Ezra, and he was gone. It was only her in that empty train car down there. Her and the darkness and the rot, and even ghouls got lonely. Emilie wasn't just lonely. She was starved for attention, for companionship, and she was too high to even realize it most of the time.
When he suggested that she scurry down to an even playing ground, Emilie shrugged before doing exactly that. For someone who was wasting away as quickly as Emilie, she still managed to move with a surprising amount of natural grace. She lowered herself to the second tier, then the third, before finally dropping down onto the floor with a solid thud of her leather boots. "You saw me?" she asked almost dreamily, hand raking through her wild black hair. "Right, a movie star. Handprint on Hollywood Boulevard like Marilyn or Audrey."
Emilie laughed a little as she took a seat on the nearby concrete wall of the fountain. She had her knife strapped to her thigh, as always, but she had no intention of reaching for it. "Hot," Emilie sighed, clearly complaining about the heat. It was hotter above ground than in the tunnels, and it wore her down much quicker. There was already a sheen of sweat on her brow, but she didn't dare shed her leather jacket, lest Rodeo see just how much she'd been shooting up. Her arms were a startling sight, to say the least.