So this is Gotham

(A quick heads, I'm headed to Italy here so I dont know how often I can reply, but figured I should throw the boy in! If anyone else joins you guys go right ahead, I'll post when I can.)

Why did Gotham always have to stink as soon as you left the general area of Wayne Tower? It was a dirty city, but did the people always have to be so dirty? Remy never minded grunge, but classlessness was a different beast.

"Mon dieu..." he murmured to himself, sitting on the stairs outside his apartment. He exhaled, releasing a small cloud of smoke. He considered the cigarette, wondering if the stink of the city made it worth keeping the habit. At least inside his apartment smelled fine. Still, on occasion there was a person who made the view interesting.

Remy watched a girl headed down the opposite side of the road, brown hair interrupted but a snowy streak. She looked a little lost - an obvious non-Gothamite, which frankly put the cards in her favor outside of this type of neighborhood. He wondered how obvious of a stranger he'd been when he showed up. Worse, how much of a local did he seem now?

"Need some help, darling?"

She was feeling friendly today; the girl fresh from a shower and a shopping spree. Her eyes were behind expensive sunglasses, shopping bags hanging from her arms. She'd spotted Rogue from afar. She'd snorted. Rogue stood out like a zebra among horses. She wasn't native to Gotham and THAT was for sure. So she'd approached. She wasn't all heartless witch.

"You looks lost," she purred, "Need some help?"

Remy watched the two girls with the mild interest of any idle individual. The one with the streak would make a easy mark, but he wasn't cruel. She didn't look flush with cash, and while Remy didn't consider himself any kind of Robin Hood there was no reason to pick over helpless girls.

The other, loaded for bear with shopping bags, was unmistakably Gothamite. Not especially approachable looking, which made her stopping for the girl at the bench a surprise. Extinguishing the cigarette on the stone stair, and flicking it away, Remy smoothed a hand through his hair, crossing the street far enough off so as to look casual, but catching the last of the white streaked girl's words as he headed down the street their way.

He hitched his step, picking up a touch of the south in her words. He could keep stepping, find some action elsewhere, but curiosity overcame him. Keeping a careful watch over the pretty Gothamite he took a few steps over. "Pardon, not my business oh' course, but I don't find many Southern bells dis' side of de water. Did you say you're looking for a street? Don' have a smart phone or someting' like that?"