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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

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there was but for a small time he relied on the authorities to find DIARMUID. they had told him over and over again that they would – but as days passed, he grew less and less faithful. that’s when he decided to take matters into his own hands. eventually, it had led him to this location. no matter WHERE he was, no matter how fast he went – they were always a step ahead of him. he would have thought this was the final destination, judging from how men guarded the entrance. he MARCHES, mind focused on one thing and one thing only: SAVING THE BOY.

one of the men tell him to STAND DOWN. to turn around while he still can. they withdraw guns, but he continues his march. they edge closer as he does, his mind disregarding any and all consequences by that point. he quickly turns to one of the men, movements abrupt and fluid. he flips the man in front of him to block the barrage of bullets headed his way. hand reveals the KNIFE he had been sheltering underneath his sweater, the blade immediately digging across the man’s throat as he swiftly switches weapons. the man falls over, and the GUN raises. there’s not a single moment of hesitance before he starts shooting as well, taking down the other men as if they weren’t a CHALLENGE at all.

the grip on the gun causes his hands to SHAKE with RAGE. he throws the now useless weapon aside and he immediately kneels down to PLUCK the knife from the dead man’s throat. the mute could care less about the blood to soak his hands and weapon. the blood to splatter across his clothes and face. he keeps his dark orbs fixated on the DOOR. he rises, marching to the entryway and kicking his way in. he stomps in somewhat, only to finally recognize the gun being pointed at him. he stops in his place to hear the man call to him. the man tells him that diarmuid is OKAY. that he’s safe somewhere. then he speaks about how he won’t obtain said location if he attacks. at his question, the mute only TIGHTENS his grip around his knife. eyes harden, the state he’s in should tell the man plenty.

As the man comes closer, it’s frightfully apparent he’ll have to assign someone to make some very tough phone calls to some family members. Well, at least they died for the cause of proving Red right. He’d heard about what the mute could do, what wreckage he could leave in his wake if he was properly ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ. At the very least, he did get the man’s attention. He was in no state to go anywhere, so the bulk of their dealings would stay within the confines of this dilapidated hovel of a loft. Beggars can’t be choosers, though he would have preferred more chairs. 

“Here’s a question, you could have simply disarmed them, incapacitated them and left them there, groaning, perhaps with a few bones ᴘʀᴏᴛʀᴜᴅɪɴɢ here and there, but alive. But they’re all dead, aren’t they?” He knew he wouldn’t get more than a nod, if that, from the man, but the words had itched at the inside of his throat until he spoke them, like they had been trying to crawl their way out of his esophagus whether he wanted to or not. His finger disengages from the trigger, both palms face the mute as he puts the gun back in the holster. “A show of good faith.” He wouldn’t kill the mute now, he needed him. 

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Spiderwebs cast as his mind begins working, the countless variables always changing left Red with an immense amount of planning even just to pull this off. “What you’ve ᴅᴏɴᴇ to my people out there, I need you to do it again.” He was more than certain that would require more explanation, but of one thing he was far more certain: The mute needed to calm down before they got to hashing out the business end of the deal. “Drop the knife, drink some water and take a breath. No sense talking to you while you’re all – worked up.”

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