"Don't think anythin' stronger'n this counts as a drink no more," he grumbles, as Remy slides into the adjacent seat. He had indeed identified Remy's signature scent of cologne, hair products, leather, and ozone. "M'be nail polish remover."

Straightening the papers, he turns to regard Remy. His expression, while typically serious, holds a note of grimness not typically seen. "Thanks for commin'."