There would be a steady line of French cursing coming from Remy if he could actually stop coughing and breathe. Which wasn't helped by the fact that every time he started getting it under control, he got another smell of himself.

Finally, though, his lungs stopped rebelling and he was able to start catching his breath, nose wrinkling up as he did so. "Ugh. 'Course dere was a polecat in dere. Jus' like dat dirty salope to do somet'in' like dat." He pushes himself to his feet with another cough, looking down at himself. "I ain't sure we got enough tomato juice in de world to deal wit' dis."