He'll do his pretend coddling (they both know that's the reality) of her later; Remy has no need nor desire to prove anything via his closeness to this woman. His arm around her is familiar and plainly platonic, his expression amused at her immediate aesthetic mirror.

"Everybody knows me somehow," he says, shrug in his voice. There's a sort of understanding commiseration to that remark, like he knows something of what Erik's been through today - and maybe he does, for more than one reason. This is the big glaring flaw in his plan of apathy, after all: he gets it. Completely. In his old age (ha), his loyalties to his people have begun to outweigh his ability to hate. (Oh, Creed, you'd just fucking laugh, wouldn't you.)

Easily, he herds them towards a round wooden table at the edge of the deck, surrounded by worn but comfortable chairs with plastic-covered cushions. It's all very rustic and homey, but it works. "I know we got things to go over, but I got a proposition for the two of you while we're here." A pause, both for them to sit and because he's Southern and that's just how he talks, "Let's just sit here for a bit. You look half-drowned for real and you-" hi, Erik, "...I figure you've heard some shit today."

'Some shit' is what he's going to leave it at. Because.

"We can get to our business in a minute. It's a beautiful night in our prison city an' this place has good beer with awful chips."

Just breathe, everybody.