She felt herself blushing, and desperately wished she wasn't. Considering the last time someone had told her she was attractive (and been serious about it) had probably been Sam when under the influence of the clock, she wasn't prepared for a blunt response out of Marco.

Nor really out of anyone, let alone in her favor. (Unless they wanted something. Hey, everyone could do flattery if they needed to.)

"You -- what -- you say that after I've been hanging on to your neck for the last however long?" She ran a hand through her hair, which was decidedly windblown, and looked away. "Flatterer." Not that she minded. It felt nice to have some version of womanly merit now and again, especially considering it was usually the elderly, dead, or afflicted who commented on it.

Unless Marco went temporarily crazy after morphing a few times in a day, she figured he didn't qualify for any of those three things. Not yet, anyway, and she'd prefer a never on the dead part. General preference for everyone, really, even to a degree the heartless bastard villains who quite probably lived among them. Zedd's wavelength, and the manipulators who craved whatever it was they got out of their manipulations.