The Sharpest Lives

Naomi Carson || 28 || Cellular Regeneration "They hurt me and took everything I had. I think it's only fair that I do the same to them."

[gravitywon]

[naomi-carson]

gravitywon:

You know that girl you saw on Arkyn, killing all the Scarbacks?

[jackson-selvaggio]

“I remember,” he slurs and he doesn’t have to think about that answer. He knows it. He’s known it for a long time. After Eli had left, after his brother had died, Naomi had been the one who’d stuck around. When Bruno didn’t want to talk, when Lia was absent more than she was around, it was Naomi who he’d turned to more than anyone. More than Seamus, more than any other member of the Syndicate could really offer. So he remembers. How they’d spilled blood together, how they’ve watched out for each other, how she took a bullet for him and he doesn’t know if he’s ever gotten the chance to return the favor for any of it. Doesn’t think anything he’s done even comes close to what she had given him. 

The thoughts are too sentimental and it’s the first clue he has to the possibility he has a concussion. It’s not like him to get sentimental and choked up. She looks at him, motions slowing as she wipes the blood from his face. He doesn’t thinks he’s talking about the wounds. They will heal. She’s talking about that bag that got put over his head. About Ailie getting taking and about the possibilities of losing more than just a fight. He doesn’t know if Eli will live, doesn’t know who else is missing or if his sister will wake up. He doesn’t have those answers and he can’t rightfully answer her yes. So he doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t say anything he’s thinking, doesn’t delve into any of it except for the physical wounds he’d sustained. He looks down at his wrist. “Think it’s broken,” he says quietly, because they both know that’s not what she was asking. 

[naomi-carson]

He answers her question even though she didn't expect him to. The fact that Naomi had his back was carved in stone at this point. Anyone in there ranks could probably see it even though it wasn’t something she talked about at all since she rather let her actions speak on her behalf. There was a small bullet sized patch of skin just over her heart that was one shade lighter the rest of her that spoke to that. The thought has never crossed her mind and even if it did she's not sure what she do with it, but Jackson was both her greatest strength and weakness in a way.

Naomi continues to clean up the blood on his face. She takes care to keep her touch as light as possible, even though she was almost 100% certain that she was failing right now. It was so much easier to break, destroy, and bloody something than to fix it. She knew that Jackson should be in the hands of someone that actually had more medical experience or at least anyone but her. He deserved better than that, but Naomi can't bring herself to stand up and leave him. Not with the image of him being black bagged so fresh in her memory. Jackson quietly mentions that his wrist is broken and she follows his gaze and looks down at it. With her free hand she slowly reaches out and touches his arm and examines the injury, taking care not to actually touch his broken wrist or move it. "We'll have some take a look at that, but you wanna try answering that question again?" she prods again. 

[naomi-carson]

bloodlessheart:

The word strikes more anger than fear in her heart, though there’s plenty left behind from dragging Nick from that bar. Whether the Corinthian was directly responsible for that bullet or not, he’s still the one that stripped them both of their powers and almost got him killed.

“Yeah.” She nods her head, more agreement that she remembers than that it happened. That had been early on, when she still thought there was hope they’d be leaving this city any time soon. As it is there’s no point calling and trying to make false promises about when she’d be back. If there was before, this is too personal now, her inability to forgive and forget swearing that she’ll be here until she can erase the image of a bloody Nick Balleta from her mind.

But if there was any doubt who the woman next to her was, it’s cleared up now. It wasn’t coincidence after all, no more question why she was in that bowling alley. It might make it a pointless one when she voices it anyway. “Guessing you’re Syndicate?”

When they last parted ways, Naomi didn’t think much about their encounter afterwards. There were millions of people in LA and millions of those people had random chance meetings. Naomi pretty much expected that it was a chance meeting and the two of them would never cross paths again. 

Guess she was was wrong on that front. 

There’s a part of her that’s suspicious of the fact that they’ve met up again since she’s not Syndicate. There’s the thought that she might be Initiative and under cover, but there’s a man back inside the house that Naomi knows she’s been keeping an eye on. He was seriously injured and while the Iniative were monsters in Naomi’s eyes, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to hurt one of their own. Maybe. “Uh, yeah... guess the cat’s out of the bag. Surprise.” Naomi shrugged. Syndicate and one of LA’s most wanted. One hell of thing to run into in a bowling alley. “How are you holding up?” she asks quietly, knowing that she’s been watching over the bedridden man. 

[runaway-hall]

The phone is handed over easily and Charlie covers the screen with a curved hand, latex still covering her fingers to keep them concealed, as she stares at the sketch. Friday is talented, is her first thought because it does resemble the man he kicked down the door and made demands of them. Her suspicions of him are confirmed. She stood in front of him, had a conversation with that man. She had his phone number because he held sketches out, one of the woman beside her. The Initiative’s Friday is less talented, and probably not holding an ability in their DNA. But his face stands as a warning that none of them heeded. “Shit,” she mumbles under her breath as she hands the phone back, “Does she have any more drawings of him?”

[naomi-carson]

“I didn’t see any more of him. When I looked at her sketchbook it was mostly just a bunch of stuff I didn’t understand, a shit ton of boxing gloves, for some reason, and then him.” she sighed as she leaned against the wall behind her, her eyes locked onto the lawn in front of her. “I wish she would’ve have drawn something clearer like me getting the shit kicked out of me by him in a god damn alley or at least that shit that happened in the tavern... Maybe we could have been ready if that was the case.” It’s an unfair statement since it seemed like Friday couldn’t control what she drew, but then again these days she was wishing she had more information so she would arm herself with that knowledge. Sometimes she could still feel the pain from the blows she received from him even though the evidence of the damage was completely gone now. “You seen him before the attack?”

[ashten-dewitt-deactivated201909]

Ashten followed after Naomi, would have still gone outside regardless of whether the woman wanted her there or not. If they had to be at the Estate, then Ashten would stick around, but she couldn’t be standing around inside for much longer. Honestly, she wanted to be out in the city, do whatever she could to gather more information so they could find Ailie and Rhys as well as any of the others that had been taken. She understood why they had to wait; Eli and another mutant had been brought in with gunshot wounds, Jackson was beaten to all hell, and everyone else was shaken up from what happened. It would take a while for them to recover before they made a move.

She took up the cigarette as she stepped outside, glancing back at Naomi as she waited patiently for a light and her answer. She nodded to acknowledge her response, even though it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. At the same time, it didn’t surprise her that there were no new updates on the situation. 

She wished she had been there. She could have helped somehow, maybe even spared one or more of the people that had been caught. She hated lingering on such thoughts– couldn’t change the past, after all.“It’s going to be a while before we can do much. You guys took a rough beating at the tavern.”

[naomi-carson]

"Tell me something I don't know." Naomi grumbled. The animosity in her voice is in no way directed towards Ashten, but more so towards just the situation as whole. About how utterly helpless she felt as the days went by. About how she wanted to do something now, but she had no idea how even begin or proceed. About how she was more paralyzed than most because she was one of two of LA's most wanted and in more danger than Jackson because the Initiative knew who she was, still had her on file, and was apparently still looking for her.

Yes, the attack was probably something they should have expected, after all, they couldn't expect the Initiative to take their last hit laying down, that was for sure. But just because this was something was probably bound to happen didn't make it any easier. Although, there is apart of Naomi that thinks that sooner or later, someone going to have to get used to causalities. This was a war after all.

And who knows, with a Corinthian at their disposal now, Naomi just might be one of those casualties. Her powers wouldn't be able to bring her back this time around if he was within range of her and she’s not exactly eager to go through another test run to see if she’d come back to life if her dead body was dragged out of his range. The thought leaves a bitter taste in her mouth and she does what she can to push it back as she offers Ashten the lighter. "Was on my way over there when shit hit the fan. By the time I got there it was a mad house." she explained as she plucked a cigarette from the pack for herself and waited for the return of her lighter. 

[naomi-carson]

Dear future me

Dear future me,

I hope that you live in a world where the Initiative is gone or at the very least on it’s last legs.

I hope you’re living your life without having to look over your shoulder and you can walk down the street and not be constantly thinking about how someone might black bag you or how you’re going to have to fight and find the nearest escape route.

I hope that you can get a good night sleep and the nightmares have stopped.

I hope that those phantom aches are gone and that when you look at yourself in the mirror you can see more than the invisible damaged the Initiative did to you. 

I hope you’re something more than something to fear. 

I hope you’re still alive... 

[syndicate-memes-blog]

letters to

Leave one in my askbox to receive a letter to the following:

Dear person I hate,

Dear person I like,

Dear ex boyfriend or girlfriend,

Dear ex best friend,

Dear best friend,

Dear *anyone*,

Dear mom or dad,

Dear future me,

Dear past me,

Dear person I’m jealous of,

Dear person I had a crush on,

Dear girlfriend or boyfriend,

[bloodlessheart-blog1]

The position she stands in is a sharp contrast to where she was a week ago, uninterested in a war, or even staying in Los Angeles. Both might be true, but there’s a fresh urge for blood making her teeth sharper, and those options far removed. It’s part of why they haven’t left the estate since they dragged Nick’s body here, the other having everything to do with staying close to Elijah in case he tried to die on them again. But it’s left her little else to do in those moments while they’re sleeping, and she can’t justify hovering as though that alone will make Nick’s skin knit back together faster. She steps out the back just in time to hear the quiet threat. “Who?”

[naomi-carson]

There’s a strong urge to just chuck the phone because it has little use to Naomi now. After their strike and the news reports featuring her and Jackson’s faces, she stopped using it out of fear someone could track her if she made a call. The only reason why she kept it was because of the photo she took of Friday’s sketchbook. The voice that addresses her is somewhat unfamiliar and has her tensing subconsciously. The Syndicate was her family and any one outside that family in these trying times was going to be looked under a microscope. Still she doesn’t see any problem letting this woman know.“The Corinthian.” she states simply as she drops her hand to her side. That’s when Naomi turns and actually takes a look at the woman. “You’re from the bowling alley...” Naomi says slowly as the memory filters through her brain. in light of everything that had happened, that simple game they shared seemed like ages ago. Like happened in a completely different life time. But then again, it might as well have. Things were so much simpler then. 

[runaway-hall]

Charlie has zero plans to leave the Estate. Not with Eli still out of commission and only a few of them collecting at the Selvaggio home. There’s still people missing, like Ailie and she hates how much fear that chokes her with. None of them should be in the Initiative’s confines, but especially not Ailie. She doesn’t know if that kind heart could survive in there. A bit of sunlight might clear her head but it only blinds her vision, eyes squinting against the brightness as she steps up next to Naomi, missing whatever words she mumbled to her phone. “What’s that?” she asks, tipping her head in the direction of the picture she can barely make out as her hand presses against the butterfly stitches keeping the slice on her forehead closed.

[naomi-carson]

If Naomi had been gifted with the ability of laser vision, her glare would have surely destroyed the mobile device in her hand ten times over. And if she did have laser vision, she’d stand at the correct distance away and fire a red hot beam right into that Corinthian’s head. As much as she wants to think about the more than satisfying image of having that Corinthian dead at her feet, Charlie’s familiar voice interrupts her thoughts. Naomi lifts her gaze, lowers her phone or a moment, but the glare in her eyes remained. The further on they went in with this war, Naomi’s was certain that the look would remain stuck on her face.... but then again that wouldn’t be much different than house she was before all this started. “Picture of the Corinthian,” Naomi explained as she handed the phone over to Charlie. “Friday drew it before he even showed up here I think.” 

[jackson-selvaggio]

Jackson swallows thickly, nodding his head. At least she was okay. He knew she healed, but it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when she got hit. There’s still the memory of her taking a bullet in the heart. But she’d come back from that, just as she’d come back from anything, he believed. She starts wiping blood from his face, pressing the towel against where the worse of it had stuck to his skin. He lets her do what she wants, too dazed still to do much else. There’s another memory in his mind, though, and his eyes focus on her, despite being glassy and glazed. “You got me out.” It comes out as a statement and he means it as one. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. But there’s an underlying meaning to him saying it. It’s a thank you. The feel of a hood over his head, of cuffs around his wrist and he knows he could have just as easily been sitting in an Initiative van or facility right now. It’s always been a possibility for him, but just how close he’d come awoke a new sort of fear in him for it. They don’t know his name, otherwise the Estate would be swarming right now. He wants to keep it that way. He doesn’t ever want to be in their hands, he has a family to protect. 

[naomi-carson]

It was one thing to be in a firefight, knowing that any second your could die and that would be it, Naomi could deal with that and she fairly certain that it was a sort of chaos that she was painfully familiar with. Maybe even at peace with. However, it was a different thing to deal with the sight of Jackson being black bagged and dragged off. If she and Seamus hadn’t shown up and gone through the back, there was a strong chance that Jackson’s name would be among the missing. She’s not sure what she would do then and she doesn’t want to think about what they would do to him if he were captured. They were the ones that the Iniative was looking for after all.  “Of course. I always got your back, remember?” she says quietly as she presses the cool towel to an open cut on his face. 

The words are true enough, because she would always be there to watch his back, pull him out of a fire, stand by his side, or even take a bullet for him, but she can’t help but wish that she did more. That she could have gone in there to fight and brought back more people than just Seamus and Jackson. There’s a moment where she can’t hep but wonder if that must have looked strange to anyone. That the people she managed to get out of there were people she was closer to and knew better than most. Would anyone think she was playing favorites in her rescue attempt? The thought that someone might disgusts her, but even she can’t deny that while she would step in to protect any one of their own Jackson was on the top of her list. As she continues to do what she can to clean the blood off of him, her motions slow down. “Are you okay?”

[orionxhowle-blog]

The oncoming silhouetted shadow halted, replacing his attention from the ground to its change in pace. The shade revealed a slender figure, startled by something that wasn’t fear like Orion may have expected. Instinctively, his gaze switched on his surroundings. But her eyes were on him, and there was no lurking danger that could have caused her sudden altered route. He straightened, smashed the lit cigarette against the brick beside him, and stepped closer. The last time he’d seen her features had been at a sprint; charging at heavy steel doors sliding shut. He had rescued at least a hundred that day, but he would have traded back himself for her broken freedom. His fist had slammed into a mechanical exterior, left a gaping dent as he cursed at her captors from the other side. He knew what it was like to be devastatingly close to escape, and then drown in its failing catastrophe.

It had been years. They both looked worse for wear, no doubtably fending off a constant mental shift. “I never met you properly,” he began, a feeling of guilt swarming to come back to haunt him, “but I’m glad you made it. Out here.” Even though now neither place seemed better. “I did go back for you. I looked when you’d been moved.” Perhaps that’s when it no longer mattered and the Syndicate became involved. “Still, I am sorry.” I failed.

[naomi-carson]

There’s not a whole lot that can make Naomi freeze in place. She had seen the worst that humanity had to offer and then some during those long years in confinement. After everything she saw and experienced, Naomi had hardened into steel on the outside and she liked to think she gave off a convincing facade that she was unbreakable even though behind the scenes she was anything but. Everything she did was carefully planned so that no one would see those breaks or those vulnerable moments from her, but in this moment any thought to keep up a straight face was completely forgotten. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of astonishment and fear and her jaw was slightly slack as she tried to rationalize what she was seeing in front of her.

To be honest, if it weren’t for having been moved deeper inside of the facility and the noticeable increase in experiments and torture as more punishment, Naomi would have thought that the man who had tried to save her was a phantom. An illusion conjured up by a mind that was desperate for some semblance of hope, no matter how crazy it was. The nameless man apologizes and Naomi finds herself dumbstruck by it. She wants to say something eloquent, something to the affect of how she was glad someone was willing to try, but those aren’t the words that come out of her mouth. “I... I didn’t think you were real...”

[naomi-carson]

Naomi Carson Aesthetic (past)

Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?

[naomi-carson]

Naomi Carson Aesthetic (current)

Goddamn right, you should be scared of me.

[capinejghafa]

dutch caps: one blood

[naomi-carson]

Naomi’s outside on the steps over looking the Estate’s backyard and gardens. In light of everything that has happen in the last few months it the farthest she’ll let herself wander now for the time being. The last time she stepped outside the Estate’s gates she barely managed to escape and get back alive and the second time she went out the raid had happened. And both times that damn Corinthian was there. It’s that reminder that has Naomi staring down at her phone, glaring at the photo she took from Friday’s.  “I’m going to fucking kill him...” she growls under her breath as her grip tightens on her old phone and glares down at the Corinthian’s portraiture. 

[ashten-dewitt-deactivated201909]

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, “about as much as anyone else has been doing in here. I hate having to wait.” Like Naomi, Ashten too wanted to do something. She knew what it was like within Initiative walls, knew the horros inflicted on mutants from personal experience. And knowing that there were other Syndicate members and allies alike stuck inside? Ashten wanted to do her part to help get them out as quickly as possible. She wanted to leave, figure things out on her own, but they had been called to the Estate by Gwen. And until they would figure out where their new facility was, no one could do much.

Not that it eased Ashten’s mind much.

She moved away from the window, deciding to follow after Naomi. “Mind if I bum a smoke?” she asked, nodding toward the cigarettes in her hand. She didn’t smoke often, but now was definitely a time to, just for the sake of doing something other than staring out a goddamn window. There were others she still had to check on, people outside The Syndicate she had to see and speak with. Maybe they could figure something out, too. Anything to get them out faster.

She wasn’t going to stop Naomi from going outside. She had been cooped up since her face had been plastered all over the news. Ashten wouldn’t blame her if she wanted to go out. And hell, maybe that bullshit idea of fresh air helping clear the mind would help. “Hear anything new since Gwen had us all gather here?” she asked.

[naomi-carson]

As Naomi neared the doors, she was actually mildly surprised that Ashten seemed keen on following her. To be honest, she thought the woman would be more than happy to brood by the window and remain immovable while she spoke up to anyone that came near her.  While Naomi did want to be alone for a minute and to be surrounded by silence instead of having to deal with the panic in people’s voices or that damn Connor kid yelling and running his mouth for a fraction of a second, she didn’t exactly have it in her to turn Ashten away.

After the adrenaline had worn off, Naomi didn’t really feel like doing much of anything to be honest. However, She wouldn’t allow herself to admit defeat in any aspect because doing so just meant that the Initiative won and they were stronger than ever. 

Naomi silently pushed the door open and waited for Ashten to step through as she held out a cigarette to the woman. Her silent way of saying ‘yes you can.’  “So far no. Think we’re all still trying to put ourselves back together before convene. It’s only a matter of time at this point.” 

[naomi-carson]

jackson-selvaggio:

It’s ice that gets put into his hand. Wrapped up in a dish towel and he looks down at it for a moment because he’s not sure where to put it first. His wrist is broken, that much he can tell. His face is swelling and maybe that’s the more dire of the situations now because if his other eye swells shut, he won’t be able to see much of anything and the thought has him lifting the ice to his face. Pressing it against the side of his nose, which had long since stopped bleeding. His good eye lifts to look at the person who’d handed him the ice and he realizes it’s Naomi. That it took him that long to figure it out is only a testament to the extent of his head wound. Pistol whipped, broken nose, his head bashed into a table multiple times. He thinks he needs a doctor, but they don’t have the luxury of it right now. There are people here with more pressing wounds than his and he’s aware one of them is his brother. He licks his lips, because he’s also aware that without Naomi, without Seamus, he wouldn’t be at the Estate right now. He’d be in the hands of the Initiative. “Are you hurt?” he asks, all he can manage for a moment. 

Naomi stares dumbly down at the ice a she had handed him because this isn’t her expertise. She’s built to destroy, not to heal and put things back together again. And with her natural ability to put herself back to 100% even after the worst of beatings, it didn’t give her much reason to study the fine art of first aid. Although now that they were engaged int a full scale war, maybe it’s time to start leaning. Not for herself, but more for others even if she won’t be able to help with the bigger injuries like the one upstairs. Naomi tilts her head and scoots a little bit closer to take better look at the injuries on Jackson’s face and head.  She doesn’t even know where to begin to try and help him, but the most she can say is that in case he has a concussion, he better not fall asleep. The most she feels that she can do right now is help him clean up the blood. There’s another damp towel in her other hand and she lifts her arm to start wiping away at the blood on his face. If it’s forward of her, Jackson can just tell her to stop. She gently presses the towel to the side of his temple and prays that she’s not hurting him any more than he already is. “Not anymore. You know me. I bounce back fast.” she says quietly, momentarily glancing down at the large tear in her jacket where the bullet had torn a small chunk of flesh out. It looked like nothing had happened at all.