If Remy is honest with himself, John Constantine is his favorite guild contact for magical artifacts. The least likely to curse him, the most enjoyable to drink with, and, unlike all of Remy’s other contacts for researching heists, a sharp sense of humor. Slightly morbid, even nihilistic, but funny. And a good flirt. Remy appreciates a good flirt, as always, though he's always suspected that he and John would get along like a house on fire (bright, loud, terrifying, one or both of them would be hospitalized before it was through) and these days Remy is exceedingly happy hanging on Rogue’s every word.
Still, he’s happy to see the man again. It’s been a few years. They’re meeting in the same kind of shitty, dim bar they always meet at for their consultations, though not the same dingy shit hole.
Remy is early, and came straight from the airport. He could have caught a much faster, much more pleasant lift from Rogue, but he doesn’t want any of the X-Men to know that he’s still taking jobs. They’re all pretty uppity about him being a criminal despite their status as outlaw vigilantes, often bordering on domestic terrorist status. Anyway, it’s none of their business that Remy is looking into taking a job from a nice single mom in Jersey and has to make sure the grimoire she wants isn’t full of unspeakable apocalypse-causing mumbo-jumbo.
“Hey handsome,” says a woman who’s generously endowed in many ways, including cleavage, blood alcohol content, glittered eye makeup, and wrinkles. Normally Remy would flirt a little with her just to make an old lady happy, but he’s just seen John come in so there’s no time for that.
“Sorry, cherie, I’m spoken for tonight,” Remy says, and waves at John to catch his attention. Truly, the eligible ladies of Atlanta are missing out toight.