Underground Lab/ Seafoam Islands |Late Morning (11)
Red wasn't quite sure what the old man was thinking in that drought of deafening silence, his gun still cocked against the bobble head in front of him, and as long as it wasn't repercussions for him, neither did he care. His mind paused at the revelation of its own indifference and loathing, but it quickly passed as the door finally relented, revealing an almost comically irked Blaine. And what has his panties in a bunch? he mused, somewhat elated to have the riddler and jokester see the tables turn on him. "Not...now," Blaine grated out, soon followed by a concerned yip from his pup growlithe, who went to tending to the old man's hand.
Though the old man's eyes were shielded by the strange spectacles he always wore, Red could tell Blaine's stare was going right to him. "Put him in one of those chairs and make damn sure he doesn't touch anything. I wanna know who the hell this guy really is before we start putting any new holes in him." A gentle press from the end of Red's barrel to the sweaty bowling ball of a head before him did all the talking for him. But since this guy didn't seem too bright in times of crisis, he added a soft -but not gentle- "You heard him. Go." He followed closely behind, keeping his gun trained on the man even as he sat down.
But even as Red was doing his job, Blaine still insisted on playing the paranoid mother. "Where's my Charizard?" Red only scoffed, not paying the man an answer. Surely he saw the giant dragon off to the side on camera? But at the mention, Blaine's charizard strode happily into the room, grumbling happily the only way a dragon could. Taking only a few moments, Red withdrew the pokeball, as well as the bag of items fetched, and tossed it in Blaine's general direction, not particularly caring where it actually hit. Nevermind there were loose dirty needles and such in there. Eh. Blaine could handle himself. Besides, he was doing his precious duty: keeping an eye and gun pointed promptly at the squirrely prisoner.