A compliment. She supposes that there was a bit of a compliment in her words, true enough, and she's glad for the fact that Eames seems to have pointed out the only part of it that Faye really thinks of as such. The rest of it, his being unwilling to submit to the orders of others, his being charming, his being unpredictable, they're far from things that Faye acknowledges as being good on face. Instead, those are all traits that she finds herself drawn to, for better or (usually) for worse. Faye's told a number of people through the years, that she's descended from the Romany people, and while that's certainly a lie in the practical sense, she chose that identity for a reason. Always running, dreaming, painting the world in her own colors, the sound of that romantic sort of life is better to Faye than almost anything else. That it's gotten her into plenty of trouble, too, is something she doesn't think too deeply about.

She pushes a few more markers over on the table. "Take the compliments where you can find them," she grins, "I don't hand them out often."

Especially not when legitimate, as far as Faye's concerned, only reflects how things look on paper. No one's all that square. Everyone lies, everyone's a hypocrite, and all to varying degrees. This man in front of her is certainly no exception to that.