Remy LeBeau was, as always, swaggering down the street in well-cut dancing clothes that had that rumpled look without actually trying that came with being a charming rogue. He knew the bar Samira ran, actually a patron of the little shindig, and was taking the staight route from portkey to the joint.
His smirking grin grew wider when he saw her, looking quite the sight. Before any bolder men came by, he popped over, dipping a bow to her.
"And I was right, nothin' ol anywhere in sight, mademoiselle."