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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

lionessamiele:

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Starling had been whisked to the Post Office in an SUV. It’s windows were tinted darker than midnight and Director Harold Cooper sat at her side in the backseat updating the experienced agent as to the current happenings of his black ops division.

So this was the fucking source of all the recent turmoil in DC. Fucking in the FBI top ten Raymond Reddington and his spilling secrets to the FBI.

Her top secret clearance was approved as they were hastily driven to the black ops sight.

Agent Starling entered a rather blank conference room to be greeted with the sour expression on Reddington’s face and the announcement that he would not be talking to her.

“I’m sorry to hear that Mr. Reddington,” her Appalachian accent sincere, “I was hoping we could continue your work. Save more innocent people. It’s hard to move on when you’re in pain.” She took the seat across from him and assumed another hat she wore well with crime victims, the one of counselor, her eyes understanding and accepting. She still held the credentials she earned so long ago. “Would you like to discuss your loss?”

Starling wondered what it was about her that deemed her ‘the monster whisperer’ by the brass. Dr. Lecter, and now this. She wasn’t sure which man would be more trying.

What was it he’d heard from the psychiatrist? She had a way of worming under the maille of your armor. Perhaps that was why Red had switched to a different type of metaphorical armor, kept a tight lock on any and everything getting out. But he was vulnerable, with Lizzie’s death, he wasn’t sure if he had complete control over anything new getting in.

Interesting, a Southern girl. She looked it, but there was something else there, something that made her more than just a two-bit hick playing dress-up. She was trying too hard, though, which left a bad taste in his mouth, like sucking on a greasy penny. “My ability to move on or lack thereof has nothing to do with the work I’ve been doing here. They’re not related.” A lie said with so much certainty had to contain a kernel of truth, didn’t it?

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Deadpan, the ‘you have got to be kidding me’ stare he leveled her with had made much bigger men falter. “Not with you, Agent Starling. I’m not your cannibal psychiatrist.” Though he had met Dr. Lecter in the past, the two differed enough, at least in his own mind. Eating people was a line he did not cross. “Unless of course you’re here to tell me I have no choice, then my answer is definitely no.” Raymond Reddington didn’t get forced into things easily.

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