Bombshell. Emilie liked the sound of that, always a sucker for flattery and compliments, and she couldn't help the girlish flush of her pale cheeks as she pulled her mile-long legs up beneath her like a coiled snake. She could have struck at any moment, viper quick and just as deadly, but she wouldn't dare do something so stupid when it came to her dealer, currently the only friend (if you could call them that) Emilie had.
Like that, with a blush to her cheeks and a little self-satisfied grin on those wickedly plush lips, Emilie almost looked like the twenty-one year old that was still beneath all the wash and the utter brokenness. Almost. When he offered her the cigarette, she shook her head in polite rejection and scrunched up her nose in a kitten-like expression. "Don't like the smell," she admitted, though it didn't seem to bother her coming from Rodeo.
The way Rodeo fanned her actually made her sigh in relief, a hand absently lifting up to scratch her itching, weeping arm beneath the leather of her jacket. "Better now, yeah," Emilie sighed, and she lifted her gaze to Rodeo's own beautiful pair as she waited for him to join her where she sat on the fountain. She tried not to fidget too much, but it was hard between her nerves and the come down of the Prax. She'd need a hit soon.
Very soon.
Emilie shuddered and nibbled softly on her fingertips, a bad habit she hadn't been able to curb. "Don't know how you stand it up here. Too bright and too hot and too hard. It's dark and hazy down below. Softer."