"Sometimes de polite way of doin tings takes too long, d'accord?" Remy had to smile at Kevin's greeting, entering the room and closing the door himself to stand and look over the mess. Ultimately, he focused on Kevin, realizing more keenly that he'd missed the dark boy and his sarcasm with a dose of dry wit. "'Sides," he added, sauntering over to the desk on the other side of the room, scooting up to perch there - whoever's desk it was - "Dey wouldn't take me back here."
The statement, by itself, was meant as a joke, but Remy dropped his gaze and his smirk faded some as the realization hit him that, no, if Charles knew the kind of work he did and for who, he would not take him back.
As Kevin approached, Remy looked up and accepted the box. "For me? Ah hell, you didn't have to do dat," he grinned, setting the box on his lap to open it and, as he discovered what it was, and Kevin asked about New Orleans, he pulled the bourbon from inside his jacket and held it up with the two glasses.
"Matter'o'fact, I did. Great minds, ami. Great minds." Remy was already untwisting the top of the bottle, "Now don't give me no trouble. Take a drink. It'll put hair on your chin," smirking at Kevin, Remy poured them both a glass.