It was probably ridiculous that Remy had had better morals when he was a criminal; as a thief he had been opposed to violence that didn't serve a purpose and he certainly didn't go around killing people. Even when they deserved it. However, incarceration certainly wasn't making him mend his ways, if anything it had made him worse. A few months on Revolve and that part of him seemed long gone or at least buried.
He wasn't bothered by the knowledge that the man in front of him was a killer. Hell, it just meant he'd probably do well on the island. Secretly Remy hoped that not only would the big guy kill someone when he let him go, but he hoped a few guards or owners got caught in the crossfire. It'd make the Cajun's day.
"Don' gotta reassure Remy of nothin', homme," he replied as the other arm was freed. "Dey got a disturbin' amount of people runnin' dis place dat deserve the same," there's a hard edge to the syrupy drawl of his voice, but it's softened by the smile he flashes up at him as he starts on the lock at his waist.
"Oui, Remy LeBeau," he introduces himself, a wicked little grin of satisfaction on his lips as another set of tumblers fell into place. Crouching to start on his ankles, he couldn't help but chuckle, teasing softly, "Kitty, henh? Careful, might take y' up on dat. Do y' come when you're called?"