Remy listened carefully to what Joker had to say, analyzing each word, trying to find a flaw or way into the man's brain, find a way that two could play at that game. But once the knife dug straight into what he was certain was a vital organ, he growled again, eyes clamping shut as he healed from it.
"Nah, kinda used to it," groaned Remy, "not gunna say I'm one of t'good guys, neit'er. Killed more'n enough t'say I ain't." He peeled his eyes open and took a deep breath, trying to clear the pain away, not go into shock, and for fucks sakes, try and reach something other than the chair with his bare fingers.
"You don't know 'nough about me, m'afraid. You gunna have a tough time wit' t'psyche part of t'is." He huffed as he felt the healing slow. He was glad his blood was renewing constantly, or else he'd likely have passed out from blood loss by now.
"You know what sickens me? T'fact you look like you ain't bathed in months."