If you asked René at the time why he approached the German man, he'd tell you that he's just interested in business. The man looked professional, slightly older- intelligent and organised. He studied the way the man's suit showed his frame, there was a feminine aura to it, despite the man not being feminine at all- at least- not while he's flirting with a woman. His facial hair was trimmed and well kept, his eyebrows seemingly professionally shaped.

He was jealous at how he could speak perfect German but could speak English in a fancy English accent, while he's stuck with his french one, sounding like he's struggling with every word. Many foreigners could barely understand him, so after a while he just kept his jaw shut. He kept his sleek black hair slicked back, showing off his widows peak, sporting a black suit with a dark emerald tie, people always told him that green suited him. He never cared to cover the scar over the bridge of his nose, his eye bags, or his tear stains, figuring that his future lover or whoever was willing to put up with him, would just have to deal with it.

But the German man had clean pale skin, his brown hair with hints of grey was fascinating to René. The man had rough hands he's obviously been into a fight recently, even possibly last night.

"What're you looking at, Leroy?"
Kieran's voice calmed him. Keiran has been René's friend since he landed in America, they bonded over how they both sported facial scars, 3 scars over Kierans left eye, and how they dislike America, Kieran coming from the east of Scotland.

René hesitates but points towards the German man, Kieran smirking at him.

"Gruber? You tryna fit in with the women?"
"What does that mean...?"
"Gawking-"
"I am not 'gawking'."

Kieran snickers and pats his back.

"I'm sure. Cmon, let's go meet him"
"And say what? I know nothing about him."
"You like crime, don't you?"

René sighs at Kieran's question. He was supposed to be a professional cyclist. Cycling around the beautiful views of France, the entirety of Europe, the world even. But a nasty crash left him unable to train for a couple years, giving up on his dream, figuring he's too old at the age of 26 to go back... He also makes way more money selling cocaine. He's shameful and tells his family he works for coca cola, his family whom he adores and in return, love him back. They don't like that he's out in America, a telephone home everyday of "maman... I didn't get hurt... I'm okay, I'll be home soon." Which he doesn't dread, he just dreads hearing his poor worried mothers voice.

"I don't enjoy crime, I enjoy l'argent."
"L'argent..." Kieran spits, not believing him in the slightest, doing a stereotypical Parisian accent, which always makes himself laugh, and René roll his eyes, occasionally a playful shove on the shoulder.

As Kieran starts guiding himself and René towards Gruber with his hand strongly on René's lower back, René struggles like a child until Gruber turns around.

"Do I know you?"
"Not yet!"

René has never wanted to slap Kieran harder in his life. The glare that Gruber gives him makes his stomach drop.

"This is my smart friend, René Leroy."
The handshake René receives from Gruber makes him scared...? Worried...? Strange. He's never felt like this before and he's decided he never wants to feel it again. His face burns but blames it on the weak American champagne sinking in.
"Pleasure."
Fuck. The way he purrs his words makes René feel like his organs are all hugging each other, somewhat nauseous.

"Bonsoir. Parlez-vous français?"
"Nein."
René swallows nervously at the blunt response.
"I... I do speak English."
He cringes at how he stumbled over his words, making a fool of himself- he thinks. Gruber seems unbothered.

"Keiran Mitchell."
"Hans Gruber." Hans purred, shaking the Scottish mans hand.

"So what brings a Scotsman and Frenchman to America?"
"What brings a German man?" Kieran challenged playfully.
"Money, Americans throw it out like the old Reichmarks."
René lightly chuckles at Grubers comment, intriguing Hans. "You like your history?"
"Of course."
Hans' cat like smile makes René smirk back.

"I was shite at school." Kieran sips his drink I the awkward air as he notices René and Gruber studying each other.

"You like money too, Mr. Leroy?"
"Ouais, I prefer it to starving."

Keiran only catches Hans' grin before he lures René away to a table, looking up to him René looking back at him with a flushed face and wide eyes. Kieran himself just snickering and walking back over to the food table, hoping that there's still cake left.

René has to suppress a shiver as Gruber sits across the table from him, embarrassed because of his unkept nature around Gruber.
He flags down a wandering server to bring him over a glass of wine, picking it up carefully with his gloved hand, wiping the glass before sipping.

"...any reason besides aesthetics for your gloves?"
"America is filthy."
"Fair enough then... Looks fancy... How much?"
They were fifteen dollars. Fifteen dollars from some crappy corner shop.
"...passed down from my father."

Telling lies is probably not a great idea, Gruber was smart- René could tell. And if he wanted to make cash without junkies and dirty needles, he'd have to start accepting and telling the truth...