[ emma gives him a withering look, one of the usual, "you're really not that funny" glares that she always seems to have in her back pocket when it comes to faraday. her tone doesn't change as she slides up the skirt of her dress, using the delicately placed slit in the fabric to firmly secure the holster to her thigh. easy access to her pistol, when (hopefully "if") she needs it, and, fortunately, it doesn't at all affect the way the dress flows down her hips. ]

Unlike you, I don't have to spend hours preening.

[ like everything else emma does, she'd even been especially efficient getting ready for this party. her updo and makeup are pristine, the dark green dress highlighting her hair color and the curve of her body in the most flattering of ways, with a pair of near-extravagant heels that pulled the entire thing together. it's likely the first opportunity faraday would have had to see her dressed to the nines, but then again, emma's never gotten a good look at faraday in something so formal and, frankly, fetching.

were he anyone else, she might admit that (at least to herself), but agent faraday being, well, faraday, wild horses would have to drag that sort of comment out of emma.

turning expectantly to the other agent, emma scoops up her clutch, crossing her arms over her chest as she indicates their hotel room's door. ]

Can we head downstairs or do you need to admire yourself a little longer?