[ It's sweet, him asking her permission. People have started treating her differently now that she's more well-known — Eddie and the Dead Girls are more than an indie band, now, that's a given, but it's not like they're selling out stadiums or anything, they're not famous-famous — but it's very rare for anyone to treat her with delicacy or sweetness. She doesn't really cultivate the image for it. And maybe, maybe if she got it all the time she'd get annoyed by it, but right now it's a novelty, and the look in Tommy's eyes has her own pulse ticking faster.

She's not even annoyed when he breaks for a moment, almost snorting a laugh as he hands her the pipe. She's laughing, too. ]

What? No, no way. I've definitely never set my bed on fire before, not even once. Or twice. [ She leans away for just a moment, just so she can stretch out and carefully place the pipe on the little nightstand by her bed, on top of a (clean) plate from a previous room-service order. ] Or three times.

[ Turning back to him, she wiggles a little on the bed, readjusting the way she's sitting to make it easier for her to reach out and twist her fingers in the front of his too-tight shirt to tug him up to her level. ] C'mere.