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Remi watched her begin her work with a certain degree of fascination. He could sew well enough to keep his clothes from disintegrating, but he certainly didn't have her skill. It was quite a thing to see, and the warmth of whatever alcohol she'd gifted him with was slowing his thoughts pleasantly.

Beau acknowledged her attention with a wag of his tail (bone still firmly in-maw) and went to curl up before the fire to give it another thorough gnawing, as was his duty. The sight renewed Remi's smile, this one lighting his eyes as a smile should.

"Well, you see, I was told to deliver a message to the Commandante's office in Castor (a nice place if you've never been, quite a charming little port town down the coast). I took Beau, as he accompanies me everywhere. I hadn't been to our offices previously, but Beau had been welcome at all of our outposts, so I didn't think a thing of it." He chuckled softly at the memory, shaking his head.

"So, I went in and made to deliver my message, and the Commandante had just told me I was dismissed when all of a sudden Beau went stiff as a board, his eyes going wide like saucers. I'd never seen that look on him before. I glanced where he was looking and saw what I at first took to be a bear cub, but the Commandante apparently kept the biggest, fattest, fluffiest black queen-cat you've ever seen."

He leaned back in the chair with a sigh, his head lolling back on the rest as he looked ceilingward, the memory playing out before his eyes. "Before I could say or do anything, Beau let out this almighty 'woof.' I've never heard him bark like that, it was as if to call down the Angels to war, or wake the dead themselves. Rattled the very windows and floorboards.

"Well, I'd have taken this cat to be made of sterner stuff, and perhaps the cat had too, but she leaped from the chair like she'd been launched out of a mortar and wound up clinging to the Commandante's wallpaper and would not be moved for all the silk in Zhongguo." By this point he was chuckling aloud with a boyish grin, shaking his head at the memory.

"Well, I had been dismissed, so I took my leave with Beau as fast as I could. I was served my walking papers a few days later, but not before I found out that apparently the Commandante's prize purebred cat had shed every last scrap of fur she had the very next day."

"I suspect it was his pride he was protecting, rather than the cat. Men who keep cats rather than dogs, hawks, or horses in that line of work tend to be the subject of more than a few unkind jibes, and therefore sensitive of the subject."

He tilted his head with a slightly owlish blink, the whiskey, the late hour, and the long day combining to slow his thoughts as he observed her handiwork. One eyebrow raised, impressed at her progress over such a short span of time.

"You really are good at that," he commented curiously. "It already looks like a shirt."

He chuckled with a smile. "You can just call me Remi," he offered with a wry, tired smile. "And you well might, but I'll sleep in this chair as happily as anywhere. I'm just glad Beau and I aren't so annoying that you'd turn us out on a night like this," he teased with an easy grin.

The dog thumped his tail on the floor at the sound of his name, but otherwise ignored Remi for the tasty bone he had clutched between his forepaws.

"So the independence is a family thing, eh?" he continued, still smiling. "Well, I for one respect that. The world's a harsh place and that kind of strength is sorely needed; easy to forget in the heart of society and civilization."

The mercenary nodded slowly as he mulled that over, staring into the fire as he thought. "In Gallia, what name you use for someone is a measure of... of intimacy, I suppose. Surnames are used among those who don't know one another well. First names among those who do, and pet names among those who are very close." He chuckled, looking back up at her with a grin. "And the use of one's entire name most of the time means you're in trouble."

Opening his widespread hands, he smiled, his words slightly indistinct with the effects of the alcohol he'd imbibed. It was strange that he'd felt safe enough to do so; drunkenness was a vulnerability he could seldom afford, but he did feel safe here at her fireside. And the blurring effects of the alcohol on the ghosts of the past was... welcome, to say the least. "What you've found in a derelict sword-for-hire to respect, I cannot say, but neither will I turn away the gift of your kind regard. Call me as you like."

He rumpled Beau's ears slightly as the dog came to beg for affection, giving his oldest friend a fond smile as the dog's tail thumped lightly against the floor. "Would that I could find someone in this blasted city in the mood to hire a Gallian sword," he grumbled softly, but the annoyance couldn't last. "Maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow."

Having gotten to his feet (with a little more effort than usual, thanks to the uncoordinating effects of the whiskey), Remi looked at her curiously. "A proposition?"

Remi was distracted by the sight of the shirt, his face breaking into a boyish grin. "Why, that's better than the old one!" he declared, holding out his hand to accept the new shirt. "You are a wonder, aren't you?"

Beau got up from his place at the fireside as the two humans rose, looking between them curiously (with his treasured bone still clenched 'twixt his teeth). His ears were perked and golden eyes curious as he attempted to ascertain whether they were actually going somewhere else at this late hour, but he quickly realized they were just doing silly human things and flopped back down to watch.

He smiled slightly at the pat, having endured her inspection with wry amusement. At her question, he nodded. "I've heard a few rumors, but nothing really concrete. Something about an ancient war with wolves? But the Queen recently reinstated their title of Warden, so they say."

He followed her gaze to the window and suppressed a shiver at the sight of great, fat flakes smashing against the window at the mercy of a fierce wind. He and Beau had almost been sleeping in that tonight; that would not have been pleasant. Not at all.

As she turned back to him, he frowned slightly. Even through the haze of alcohol there was something furtive in her manner. That was troubling; whispered secrets reluctantly told seldom led anywhere good. But he had much to be grateful to her for, so somewhat against his better judgement, he urged her to continue. "Somehow I don't think you mean to tell me that the Queen is looking for someone to train her new Wardens to fight," he guessed with a wry smile.

Remi tilted his head, a twinkle of knowing amusement in his green gaze as he regarded her with a slight smirk. "And of course, you haven't been specifically ordered not to do such a thing," he ventured, "And so have disobeyed nobody's wishes, let alone Her Majesty's."

He paced a little, his steps slow. "It does sound like the sort of venture that could use as many men as you can find who've seen battle, either to swell your numbers or help teach those new to war..."

"It also sounds like the sort of venture that a man might swing for, were it discovered," he mused, his expression falling away from entertained joviality and into pensive lines. "Am I wrong?"