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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

inscnus:

                                                 “  uh,  because  contract  killing  usually  comes  with  a  pretty  BLANKET  non - disclosure  clause  attached  to  it?  “    a  flat  intonation,  raised  eyebrow  going  higher,  and  despite  his  best  efforts  to  sound  neutral,  light,  a  taut  edge  creeps  into  his  voice.   this  is  not  a  sharing  profession,  and  someone  trying  to  get  in  his  business  is  fishy  at  the  very  least.    “  damn,  what  a  shame.   i  have  a  table  out  back  and  everything.  “

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                             painted  lips  press  together  in  a  tight  smile,  bloody  gloves  leaving  smears  of  red  down  already  dirtied  denim  as  he  wipes  them  absently  on  his  jeans.   if  this  guy  ends  up  having  a  PROBLEM  with  him,   it’s  not  going  to  be  resolved  peacefully.    “  marcus  flint.   forty - seven.   used  to  be  a  weapons  guy.   only  reason  he  isn’t  anymore  is  because  he  thought  it’d  be  smart  to  try  and  trade  my  job  details  for  a  couple  extra  grand.   you  can  see  why  we  had  WORDS.   as  much  as  i  hate  stepping  on  other  people’s  toes,  i  don’t  take  that  shit  lightly.   so  now  you  tell  me,  is  there  a  problem?  “

Contract killers. There was, of course, a use for them, but Reddington greatly preferred to make use of other avenues––or to do it himself, depending on who did what and how big of a slight against him it was. There was a hint of disdain in his voice as he spoke. “Of ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ it does!” he erupted in laughter that was more than a little condescending, “I’m not asking who hired you, I’m asking about the current state of your clothing and where the new –– design came from.” A small snort, maybe he’d make this arrogant shit choke on a ping pong ball if he didn’t answer the damn question. 

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Ahh, cooperation. Good, much easier this way. Red stands there, stock still, letting his taste buds catch and drag down behind his teeth, mouth slack, before moving like some jump-scare attraction at a haunted house. “Right! Well, I know Marcus––knew him now, I suppose––but he wasn’t who I was looking for.” He licked his lips, another pinched, but more genuine, smile plastered on his face. “He was a good friend of the person I’m looking for, though. If he’s dead, that means I can’t ask him some very important questions. Short answer?” A gun appeared almost from nowhere, leveled right at this guy’s heart, “––yes. We’ve got a bit of a problem. Thankfully not the one I assumed. Sit. Let’s you and I have a talk.”

  1. criimeconcierge reblogged this from murderbrokea
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