A young man, also in his twenties, is taking notes in Arabic in a small graph-paper journal, a couple of seats down. At Simon's surprise, he glances up and -- after a moment -- smiles.

"She can take a bit to get used to," Quatre says. He's shucked his suit jacket (the bar's keeping it), but he's still wearing the rest of his three-piece suit that's only real splash of color against the shades of blue is a butter yellow cravat with matching cuff links. He extends his right hand. "Quatre Winner."