R was tired. More tired than normal, since his sleep schedule was always fucked up, but a bone-deep weariness. He could tell Mama was getting close to relapsing into her old ways and he was Apparating home every few hours to check on her. He was tense and on edge and every single one of his nerves were frayed.
And yet here he was, at work, in a suit, hair slicked back and an easy, self-confident grin plastered on, the practiced one that became his default expression any time he felt out of sorts. Thankfully it hadn't been too busy all things considered, so he'd had a chance to at least sit down and get some food in him (Nari had been serious about providing him with cookies, he'd eaten way too many, and Mama had forced a container of soup into his hands before he left with that tight, manic smile she'd had lately) and rest.
He stood up and brushed the crumbs off his mouth as the man entered, and he did a quick survey. Long hair, kind of sloppily dressed, and were those sock with sandals? R had to fight down a laugh and instead channeled his amusement into greeting the guy, playing up his accent since this guy was most likely a tourist and tourists loved the accent.
"Bonjour, monsieur," he said, inclining his head as a sign of respect. "Bienvenu au musee, Le Petit Trianon. How may I help you?"