Remy sighed as she lowered her arm from the device, then reached down to pick her shirt up from the nearby table. She hadn't met the young, nebbishy man that currently bore the weight of Meela's displeasure very often, but he seemed to be doing the best he could. He probably couldn't be blamed for just trying to help. She hoped that nothing would happen to break the young man of his good-natured optimism. At least, not before he could break away from whatever debt he'd managed to incur.
"You needn't worry, monsieur," Remy said, daintily doing up her shirt over her dark blue bra, "Whatever secrets I may hear are safe with me." She smirked a little, "I wouldn't have much of a business, otherwise." She looked at the man's state of dress, dishevelled and a little threadbare, "Lyudmila should pay you better, Dmitry. Or you should find the time to shop for yourself. A young man should not be so shabby, especially not here." She grinned, then turned her attention to the Russian woman.
"As for you," the French woman said, turning to Meela, "You're rather generous in paying your…employee's debts, hm?" The smirk got a little wider as she finished doing up her shirt, leaving the top three buttons open, "But I accept. You could bribe a Tsar with that, no? I don't want to know how you got it, I'm sure." She stretched and took another deep breath, lacing her fingers together and raising her arms high with a long, contented sigh as she wrung some tension out of her muscles. Then she turned, looking at the good Doctor.
She'd had something acidic on the tip of her tongue, but managed to swallow it down just before it sprang loose. McGuire may have been a little bit of a fussy worry-wart, as far as Remy was concerned, but the man did seem to know his business. She still didn't know who had designed her artificial arm, or how it had been manufactured so quickly, but the good doctor never seemed out of sorts about it, despite the fact that she'd never seen another one quite so deeply interconnected with a person's body. The appointments were inconvenient, uncomfortable, and annoying but, as she realized with a pang of guilt, probably more necessary than her pride wanted to admit. She rubbed her left forearm with her living right hand, feeling the scar in the metal from where she'd been careless with a cutoff wheel. Nothing but cosmetic damage, but…
"How does…oh…next Thursday afternoon sound, Doctor?" Remy said, a certain amount of chagrin in her voice, "As long as it doesn't take more than an hour or two, I think I can spare the time."
She reached down to pick up her coat, shrugging it on over her lean, strong form. It fell almost to the ground, and she buttoned it closed, her left hand glimmering dully in the clinic's bright lights.
"As for anything else, I think Meela's suggestion is a good one," Remy said, doing up the last button, "I could use a drink, and it isn't far. Come on, Doctor, get your coat. There's more to life than paperwork, yes?"