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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:

                                                         his  face  twists  into  an  almost  comical  expression  of  deep  thought.    “  eh - h - h  —  YEAH,  but  it’s  kind  of  a  slippery  slope,  y’know?   i  can  do  a  lot  with  just  a  name,  and  i  know  other  people  can  too.  “    an  exaggerated  shrug,  for  all  intents  and  purposes  as  insouciant  as  his  voice,  as  the  friendly  smile  fixed  to  his  painted  face,  but  his  eyes  are  where  the  paranoia  takes  root,  growing  steelier  with  each  word.   the  laugh  is  unexpected,  both  eyebrows  now  shooting  up  in  an  unimpressed  parody  of  surprise.   this  …  CHAT  of  theirs  is  at  an  important  crossroads,  and  at  this  point,  he’s  all  but  waiting  to  take  action.

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 he  has  to  admit  to  himself :  the  man  is  fucking  weird,  but  he’s  GOOD,  too.   he  can  practically  sense  it,  idiosyncrasies  that  throw  a  person  off - guard  and  a  way  of  speaking  that’s  deceptively  affable.   this  guy’s  SMART.   smart  enough  to  put  crosshairs  on  him  before  he  has  a  chance  to  reach  for  his  own  sidepiece,  for  example.   shit.   he  doesn’t  react,though  adrenaline  brings  new  electricity  to  his  skin  and  makes  the  .45  strapped  to  his  hip  feel  like  it’s  scalding  him.   there’s  no  fear  in  the  disinterested  gaze  he  turns  down  on  the  other  man’s  weapon,  not  even really  anger.   to  be  totally  honest,  it’s  nothing  NEW.   and  not  particularly  exciting.    “  yikes.  “    mild  and  unimpressed.    “  you’re,  uh,  really  banking  on  me  not  having  a  bulletproof  vest,  huh?  “    not  that  it  actually  matters ;  a  threat  is  a  threat.   reckless  to  the  last,  he  turns  his  back,  hooks  his  foot  around  the  leg  of  one  of  the  less - bloodied  kitchen  chairs  and  drags  it  closer  with  an  ugly  screech  of  wood  against  wood,  takes  a  seat  and  smiles  at  the  other  man  with  eyes  like  knives.    “  TALK  AWAY,  bud.  “

“Oh, that’s not up for disagreement,” he said, the smile still there, “but there’s a reason Rumpelstiltskin never used to scare me as a kid. There’s power in a name, yes, but it all depends on what sort of power you put into it. Mine, for example. Raymond Reddington.” His words acted as enough of a bow for his back to stay straight. This kid was interesting, with his face paint, it was like he was trying to make some sort of statement. Red supposed it was enough to obscure his face for whatever purposes he needed, but it seemed like so much extra effort, and a waste of good point. 

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There’s a myriad of reasons why he pulls a gun in situations like these, but it all boils down to the upper hand. If you’re the first one to pull the gun, you’ve got it, and no amount of talking or manipulation can make you lose it–at least not in that first bit. Another laugh resounds through his words, “Vest? Why would I care about a ᴠᴇsᴛ? They tend not to protect one’s face much, and I’m sure that finger paint isn’t going to do much good, either.” It’s slight, but he can tell this isn’t the first time the younger man has had a gun leveled at him. Red hadn’t even taken care to aim it yet, it’s simply pointed, his wrist resting near his waistband. He notes the recklessness, apparently this kid isn’t afraid of him. Well, not afraid yet, at least. And rude, too–not even offering Red a seat, too? That didn’t bode well for him. “I won’t debase myself and ask if Marcus is alive, so that’s out of the way. Where was he when you completed your contract? And where are his personal affects? I’m sure you’ve still got them, intent on disposing of them to give authorities a tough time when they find the body,” he squinted, “Or if they do.” Another pause, “I’ll take his affects off your hands. Now, please.” His cell phone would prove some good, at least, in finding the associate he was looking for. 

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