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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

deu5exmach1na:

A tilting of her head to his comment, accompanied a knowing smile, an admission that she knew he was right. It appeared, as in her simulation, that her little act had garnered his attention. Anything spoken would not help her cause, it would do the opposite. She can see the wave of his hand in dismissal, hear the polite announcement of his departure. But it doesn’t happen.

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He moves chess piece, he stays seated opposite her. “I appreciate you giving me your valuable time, Mr Reddington.” Mac speaks as she opens the bag situated upon her lap, retrieving small flash drive. “ A heinous individual who has unfortunately has avoided capture for quite some time. I suspect that he’s  sufficiently high up on your b l a c k l i s t, but no one seems to be able to track him down. He doesn’t seem to like you very much at all.” She slides the flash drive across the table towards him, her hand decisively moving a piece on its return journey. “That is Lincoln Calarook’s position as of 30 minutes ago.”

Something’s going on. Regardless whether or not this woman has information on someone he may or may not be looking for, something else is going on, and though at any moment someone could come out of the woodwork and try to put a bullet in his head, this aura about her sets his  t e e t h  on edge, his senses tingling with warning. Not of any imminent danger to his person, but that there was simply something  o f f  about her. He doesn’t like it, but he hasn’t yet divined how to figure out what it is and stop it. 

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At least she knows his time is valuable and he’s doing her a service by sitting and listening. It was hard to find people who did that, honestly, even with his current position. His features steel as she speaks, before a tight, false smile slides onto his face. “You’ve just described over one hundred people on this continent alone.” But Red is eyeing the flash drive as the metal slides against the stone. Though focused on it, he notes her next chess move. Lincoln Calarook is a name he hadn’t thought about in at least a year. Cold, blue eyes flick from the flash drive to the young woman. “There’s something in the air, you know, something that says you’re not telling me everything,” the white noise around them seems to fade as he considers his next words, “that I shouldn’t trust you or your flash drive.”

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