Remy wore a small, crooked smile on his lips as he stepped through the portal; the one that meant he was amused with the world and its many little jokes on him. He rolled his shoulders, stretching, looking over the distant city before he turned fully to Neria, eyebrows arching at the ready pose she'd fallen into.

"Just me, cherie," he said. "No need to fret." He wore the battered leather armor he'd picked up masquerading as a bandit in Dolorosa years ago; it fit in, almost, although the dark and red of his eyes didn't and never would. But that was true in almost any world.