Balaur had a habit of sizing up anyone he met for corruption potential, ranking from pure to a waste of time. His first impression of Tristan--aside from his alleged angel hunt, of course, which obviously meant the man was darkened to a point that left the demon beaming with joy--led him to believe the other man would prove to be a fruitless effort, which made this meeting purely a business venture.
"'God damn,' huh? What a fitting choice of words." Almost immediately after Tristan took his chair, Remy said dryly, "Have a seat. A sinner and a priest walk into a coffee shop--yes, that does sound like the start of a joke, doesn't it?" A small, wry smile flickered at the corner of his lips before vanishing. He lifted his almost cooled coffee to his mouth and took an obligatory sip. It was awful, but it made their conversation look that much more normal to outsiders--or, at least, it lended some normalcy to himself.
"I heard from a friend of a friend of some sort of acquaintance of yours that you have a winged insect problem. Would it ease your mind if I dropped you some hints as to my interest in the matter? I know it must be confusing with my outfit." He waved a hand to indicate his apparel emphatically. "Would it satisfy you enough to know your little birdy is a natural enemy of mine, or do I have to go into more detail?" Remy's eyes gleamed wickedly in the low ambient lighting. His powers were unfortunately limited while he was in another's body or else he'd be more than happy to give a display of his true nature. In Balaur's current position it would seem more like he was haunting the establishment than giving a true show of his natural force. "Are you sure you don't want any coffee? It's good for the nerves, I hear."