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Indie Raymond "Red" Reddington from NBC's Blacklist. Private. Selective. Mun/Muse 21+. Dark Themes present. Please read rules/bio before following/interacting. Written by Erick

whcwashe:

“No, I’m — I’m really okay, I’m more of a tequila person ….” She paused, huffing out a breath and glancing towards the door. She didn’t want to stick around any longer than she had to, she didn’t want to know his name. She didn’t want to know the name of whoever he had tied to that chair, and she CERTAINLY didn’t want to involve herself any further than she absolutely had to. “I’ve never tried a wine I really liked anyway, I’m sure you don’t … drink it nearly as sweet as I do.”

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“I have terrible luck, that’s all. It’s genetic, honestly.” If you wanted to call it luck. Her abilities had never brought her GOOD fortune. It seemed accurate enough. Chewing absently at her lip, she scraped her foot along the floor and glanced back at the door. “Listen, I won’t — I won’t run off and call the police, I promise. I’m not – I’m not trying to cause any trouble, I just … I’m just gonna go HOME, y’know?” She paused, clearing her throat as her fingers tapped at her knee. “You won’t ever see me again, I swear to god.”

Red smiled, “Ah, Tequila. You know, there’s a great little private distillery just outside of Tenochtitlan. Wonderful stuff, that batch, I believe it’s called something like ‘El secreto de la Vida’, the secret of life,” his tongue clicked against his teeth, “I would have brought some if I’d known I would be having company.” There was really no point to telling her these little factoids, but that was just how Red was. “Strong stuff, that. Last time I drank a full bottle with Juan and Victor, I wound up half naked on the steps of the biggest cathedral in the city.” He poured some of the off-white liquid into the glass, handing it to her while all but ignoring her discomfort. “You’d be surprised. This stuff? It’s like candy and wine had a baby.” 

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Genetic bad luck? That seemed neither possible nor plausible, but who was he to argue? And now she wanted to go home, to run off without even participating. Shame. “I believe you, but you’re part of the conversation now, you can’t just leave, Liv,” a smile thrown at her, then back to his bloodied acquaintance. “You see, Steve here happens to have stolen something from me, something I value above little else, and he says he’s sold it, but he just won’t tell me who. Steven, honestly, it’s quite rude, and we could all be on our merry ways if you just answered the question. Look at this, you’re making our guest uncomfortable. None of us would be in this position if you just answered me,” he paused, an almost visible idea sprouted. “Would you tell our new friend Liv? If she asked you where you’ve sold my thing, would you tell her instead of me?”

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