Remy was squirming. It had been a long time since he'd gone near rope-escape, and he wished he'd spent more time with Etienne on it. He wasn't nearly as bendy as he had been when he was twelve, but he'd never thought anyone would ever actually catch him. Or want to hold him hostage.
Part of the problem was that he was being held in what was essentially a glorified closet. He didn't have enough room to rotate his shoulders to get his hands in front of him, and his fingers were too stiff - came from a few of them being broken - for Remy to undo the ties from the back.
Remy looked a lot worse than he was - which was death warmed over - due to the fact that his captors were having trouble believing that Remy knew everything he did because a deck of cards told him so. Louisiana was more voodoo than wicca. Sure, he had a massive black eye and his nose was probably broken, but head wounds tended to bleed a lot anyway which made him look like a mess. He was fine! Really. Or so he'd insist to anyone who bothered asking.
Still, Remy was used to a lot of strange things in his life. But having a chick stick her head through a door wasn't one of them. Which caused him to go very still and stare, and wonder if maybe his head was more thoroughly damaged than he'd initially thought.