Since Enjolras had not yet ventured through any doors, and he wasn't yet familiar enough with any modern fashions to even attempt to dress himself ina similar style, he was currently sticking to his own clothes that had magically appeared in his apartment. He looked very much like he'd stepped straight out of a period drama - fairly snug black trousers, military style black boots, a cream shirt with large, puffed sleeves, covered by a fine, dark green waistcoat with faux-silver buttons. He'd left off the cravat, that counted as casual. Pinned to the waistcoat, just above his heart, was the tricolor rosette of the French Republic.
When Dan spoke, Enjolras was glad of the disruption. He tore his eyes away from the images adorning the walls of the cafe, and turned his attention to his fellow volunteer. Apparently the name Dan was as common to the English-speaking world as Jean was among the French.
"Hello, Dan," he greeted him, his accent thick but his words clear enough nonetheless. "I'm Enjolras. It is a pleasure to meet you in person at last," he said, accepting the other man's handshake.