"Gotta say, dat ain't somet'in' I gotta deal wit' too often. De bein' cursed. Trapped, yeah, sometimes."

Remy shrugs expansively, because he can't really say anything about the speed. It was a really simple lock and he's nearly the best there is at what he does for a reason.

He grabs some of the folders. "I get some scissors, I can make some use of dese." At this size, they aren't comfortable for throwing. Not that he couldn't. Just prefers to work with something a bit smaller.

Then he thinks back, considering as he scratches his cheek. "Dad got 'bout...two years maybe? 'Fore I started goin' out an' gettin' in trouble all my own." And that had been Remy being on his best behavior.