seamus-tiernan

"Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance. Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to sufer." - Mark Z. Danielewski Seamus Tiernan ✘ 47 ✘ Telekinesis

[seamus-tiernan]

restless » gwen & seamus

[gwen-vale-blog]

It’s almost a relief when Seamus walks through the door, because he’s always been of sound mind and fierce loyalty. If she’s not one to ask advice from anyone, she wouldn’t turn it away if he’s come here to offer her any. Everyone wants answers, a direction to strike back at, but she’s well aware how quickly impatience could lose her everything. By now she has a headcount, an idea who’s hurt, who’s missing, and who they’re probably trying to break. Ailie might’ve already shattered, and there’s something close to genuine concern mixed with that uncertainty.

Anyone else, they would receive a familiar and useless answer. They strike back. They get their people back or shed blood for every drop of theirs already spilled. Few details offered when there are old files and stolen ones she’s still going through for any clues. “We need to find out where they took our people. Neutralize the Corinthian. If we could manage both with one stroke it’d be ideal, but I don’t know if he can be taken alive.” There’s little investment in the thought either way, because his death would serve her just as easily. “Do you have anything for me?”

[seamus-tiernan]

They aren’t in a prime position because there’s a veil still draped over their eyes. They go into their new steps blindly. Where there people have been taken, none of them know for certain and it could take months to figure out where that location is. For a moment, he entertains capturing the Corinthian may be their best target to focus on but he wonders if that man could crack. The Corinthians are a different breed of Initiative entirely. Seamus sighs before shaking his head, “Nothing new to report, unfortunately. Only my assumptions.”

And he offers those easily. “We still have Jackson and Naomi, their prime targets. It’s unlikely that Corinthian has gone far from the city,” he reasons before his tongue clicks at the back of his teeth, “But who knows if they’ve kept our people nearby. Ideally, the Corinthian has all the answers we need. But trapping him and getting our answers, I don’t know how likely that is.”

He’s certain no one has asked and he uses the comfortable moment of silence to inquire. “How are you holding up, Gwen?”

[seamus-tiernan]

Do you plan on going after the members who are missing?

After careful planning, yes. We can’t rush into the Initiative like chickens with our heads cut off. We’ll be prepared.

[seamus-tiernan]

Are you disappointed Eli survived?

There are other blessings to count.

[seamus-tiernan]

restless » gwen & seamus

It used to be Bruno’s office. It still feels like his and that has less to do with the respect he has for Gwen and more to do with years spent inside there four walls watching a man protect his own. The raid on Left Blank is nothing that could be saddled on her shoulders with blame. They all knew retaliation would be a missile heading straight for them. And now they knew their strengths, their numbers, their Corinthian. Now they could be better prepared and Seamus feels the weight of the handgun strapped to his side as a reminder of that.

He sits in a small chair across from hers at the desk where she’s set herself like some graceful jungle cat - beautiful of course but there’s no mistaking the strength in her arms, the danger flickering to life in her eyes. She isn’t a woman to be crossed. “What’s our next step?” he asks, taping the rubber end of his cane lightly upon the carpet with a dull thud.

[itanista]

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. Da-THUMP.

Connor’s apartment…looked like any nineteen-year-old’s apartment would be if he had too much money and lived alone. The furniture was all black and glassy, there was a TV, discarded pizza boxes and fast food bags on the floor in a growing pile, and everything that wasn’t immediately used to eat or set things upon was covered in a tiny layer of dust, because when do teenage boys even contemplate dusting? At the moment the coffee table was pushed out of the way, and “Dance Central” hammered out a thrumming baseline as the boy did the goofy dance lines the game gave him, killing time and energy trying to say busy.

“I was there for you in your darkest times, I was there for in your darkest nights,” He sang under his breath, hitting choreography he’d hit a thousand times in an effort to stay in time. He’d have kept going until he heard his doorbell slice through his music, and he hastily waved a hand at his xbox to force it to pause. “Coming!” He said, wondering who even knew where he lived, or wanted to see him anyway.

[seamus-tiernan]

Each step is easier today even if there’s still pain with the inhale of his lungs. The ribs would take longer to adjust but he’s in the end stages of healing. The bruises are almost gone, mere tints of yellow on his flesh where busted cuts used to lie. In another week, it might appear that Eli had never attempt to pummel him into the ground. Something stopped him, however; and it’s that part that sits uneasily in his gut. Why? Eli is a monster, always has been. He used to enjoy feeding meat to that hungry beast. But loyalty couldn’t have stopped Eli’s fists. He gave all that up the day he ran, the day he betrayed them.

Seamus is doing the round, mostly to keep himself busy. But he wants to be certain on the names they’re missing and he knocks on the door of Connor’s apartment instead of calling. He refuses to leave a paper trail if he can avoid it. There’s a scramble of someone inside, a chirp of a word that sounds like the boy and Seamus leans his weight upon his new cane as he waits for the door to open.

[kass--thetelepath-deactivated20]

The respond she gets is one that has her setting her jaw, a heavy sigh laced with irritation leaving her. She had heard about Eli leaving. It was dramatic, and traumatizing, she was sure. But he was here now. And he seemed to care. She couldn’t judge anyone from running from something bigger than them. It may have been before her time, but Eli was still part of Syndicate to her. 

She doesn’t miss the frown Seamus gives her. A roll of her eyes in response to him. “Too late I guess. Eli here’s now. When we need each other. Does that not satisfy you in the slightest?” 

[seamus-tiernan]

”It won’t stay that way,” Seamus confides a secret that he would admit to any of them. In fact, he had. Anyone who would listen had been told not to grow accustomed to Eli’s presence. After all, he broke the most important rule of the Syndicate and any member that betrays them does so on pain of death. Eli’s sentence had been passed years ago but not his execution. Why have they grown soft for him? What is so different about Elijah?

He shakes his head, the rubber end of his cane colliding sternly with the floor as he pushes up from the table. This is not a conversation he wants to have. “Of course it does not satisfy me,” he remarks as he stands with a pained grunt, “He isn’t here to be your best friend. He had the most to gain from Bruno’s death and none of you see that.”

[kass--thetelepath-deactivated20]

Light eyes narrow into slits when she watches Seamus for a long moment. She wanted to say she’s surprised, but she’s not. She may have no read his mind all the time, but it didn’t take all of that to figure him out. 

When he speaks the name, she probably shouldn’t have been shocked, but her bottom lip gets tugged into her teeth, thinking briefly. She knew better than anyone the riff between Seamus and Elijah. She crossed her arms over her chest, giving a heavy sigh with the words she says next. “I don’t think that’s his intention Seamus.” 

[seamus-tiernan]

“It’s always his intention,” Seamus states simply, almost blandly as though he’s reading off a newspaper headline of mild interest. But it should be just a fact to all of them now. Even before he ran off with the intention of never being seen again. Eli had always been best at destruction and it should come as no surprise now that it’s still what he achieves at best. He may even admit it, Seamus believes. It would be wise of him to.

If he should be accustomed to people taking Eli’s side still, he isn’t and he frowns up at Kass at the suggestion. “It’s the only thing he’s good for. Don’t get used to him being here.”

[naomi-carson]

S.O.S || Seamus & Naomi

[naomi-carson]

Her wound isn’t healing. She can feel the way the wound aches and throbs and she can feel the way the blood that doesn’t soak into the uniform drip down her arm in small rivers. But the pain is secondary. All she can feel right now is red hot anger. Anger towards every single agent storming this place and shooting down innocent people and bagging anyone that resists, towards the world as a whole for letting this fear take hold enough so witch hunts like this could happen, but moreso… she’s angry at that Corinthian.

As petty as it seemed, for Naomi, that Corinthian was the one that got away. One of the few enemies she couldn’t quite beat. Yes, that night she managed to escape and some might even call that a victory in it of itself, but to Naomi if that fucker wasn’t dead in a puddle at her feet, it was a loss. And there wasn’t anything Naomi wanted more than to be the one to deliver that killing blow. To be one to stare him down as she raised the barrel of the gun and unloaded a clip into his head until nothing remained but a pulpy mess.

In fact, Naomi’s half tempted to do so right now. She just wants to just burst back into the bar, find that smug bastard and permanently wipe that smirk off his face, but Seamus is there reminding her what she needs to do and what her priorities are. She growls and grits her teeth, but she agrees. She’ll have to wait for another time. Maybe when she’s got her hands on that sniper rifle Seamus promised her.

“Fine!” she barks as she gets up and unleashes another round on the last of the SWAT team coming through the door from behind her cover. The last of the bodies hit the floor and by that point, Naomi is out of ammo. She drops the now useless weapon and signals for Seamus to get up. “I parked a couple blocks away from here. Think you can hang on till then?” she asks as she picks up another rifle, checks to see if it’s loaded before she makes her way out of the door, gun raised in front of her, ready to mow down anyone that stands in her path.

But no one’s there. At least not directly in front of her. Off at the end of the alleyway she can see one of those SWAT members dragging a struggling body away with a black bag on their head. She doesn’t see the person’s face, but she’s been around him long enough to recognize him anywhere. A surge of protective anger swells through her and Naomi unleashes hell onto the unsuspecting SWAT man. She pumps him full of bullets until he drops in a puddle of his own blood. There was no way that they were going to take Jackson. Not if she could help it. 

[seamus-tiernan]

Naomi wants revenge. Of course she does; Seamus couldn’t fault her for that. But today isn’t the day to carve victims’ names into the flesh of their enemies. They’d been taken off-guard when they shouldn’t have been surprised by a raid of this magnitude. Not after the damage they dealt like holy fire to the Initiative. They sabotaged their weapons, massacred their soldiers in large quantities. A nice little dent had been made in their armor to expose just how weak they could be. And perhaps people of their kind around the world watched the news and saw the thick, black smoke rising from ashes of these building and just knew it had been mutant activity, saw the funeral pyre as a call to arms. Because as long as their people are cowardly, nothing will change. They will always be hiding from the light.

His soldier isn’t happy to be told she couldn’t chase after the Corinthian she wants to deal so much damage to in retribution, but she listens and concedes. Because Naomi has always been an intelligent girl. She takes risks when she needs to, but running back into battle unprepared against a Corinthian is not a risk they can afford. They need their best alive, whole, and without a black bag over their heads. They need Naomi and Seamus isn’t going to let her chase some selfish desire tonight. Maybe in a few weeks he’ll unleash her.

“Right behind ya,” he swears, pressing to his feet and abandoning his cane somewhere in the chaos of a massacre. He grunts as he stands, the sharp pain of broken ribs a daily cross to bear, one he could only been unsaddled with if he’s allowed to heal. The Initiative has decided against that. He rushes after Naomi as quickly as he can into the dry heat of an LA summer where he expects more soldiers waiting. But the alley is almost abandoned except for a prisoner being dragged to a vehicle. He know that frame anywhere. He helped raise that boy and he’s just as quick as Naomi to take off, despite the pain radiating through his entire body.

He doesn’t call out the young man’s name, even if he wants to. The word is lodged in his throat as if the fear that he’s witnessing the loss of another Selvaggio namesake chokes him. His companion takes care of the one attempting to incarcerate Jackson while he rushes off to the boy as he drops to his knees, still blinded by the bag over his head. Seamus is quick to rip it free when it’s a blight upon their society, something Jackson should never have to endure, that suffocating darkness.

But what the tearaway reveals is a face that doesn’t resemble the Selvaggio son at all. It’s too swollen, too bloody and it makes his veins close in shock. But there’s a name on his lips that sounds like Seamus’ own name that provides something like hope. “C’mon, kid,” he urges in his gruff voice, bending down to help aid the injured friend to his feet, “Let’s get you home.”

[naomi-carson]

S.O.S || Seamus & Naomi

[naomi-carson]

Once the attention is away from her, Naomi starts firing again into the SWAT agents again. She continues to do so in short bursts so that the don’t notice that it’s her doing all the shooting in all the chaos. So far it was proving to be working since no one had taken notice or had done anything to stop her. That is until she spotted Seamus struggling with his cane. Part of her braces herself to block whatever he might throw at her seeing as how he could mistake her for an Agent, but he doesn’t. Naomi lowers her gun and grabs onto the Seamus’s collar. All part of her charade.

“A simple thank you would also suffice,” she quipped through her mask as she yanked him back towards the kitchen that she had came from. “Move it!” she barked as she pulled him into the kitchen. However, her exit was no longer clear. Other members of the SWAT had gotten the same idea or whoever was in charge of that otherwise useless bunch had ordered them to come through the back. Naomi turns just in time to catch the first of the SWAT members coming through. “Get down!” she orders Seamus before she turns and starts firing on the faceless SWAT team that just enter the door. 

With the way they’re ready to file in, Naomi is able to mow them down one by one for a few good seconds before they begin firing on her. Naomi curses under her breath and quickly ducks for cover. She might be able to heal from anything and even come back from the dead but that didn’t mean she actually liked being pumped full of holes and having to dig and or push the bullets out of her body. 

However as she goes down one lucky bullet manges to wing her arm. It’s a scratch when compared to some of the other injuries she sustained. Still she can’t deny that it stings like hell. There’s a tear in the swat uniform she’s wearing and she can feel that there’s a small of chunk of flesh that’s missing. Naomi takes a depp breath and starts to focus on the the spot where thebullet winged her, willing the spot to stitch itself together much fastr than it would if she just left it be but nothing happens. 

“Is that fucking Corinthian here?” she hissed at Seamus over the clamor in the kitchen. 

[seamus-tiernan]

Naomi plays the part well, grabbing at his collar with a mimed roughness that only aches because his muscles and bones do. Every movement, no matter how jarring, is painful, like his ribs are threatening to puncture his lungs. He does as he’s instructed, pressure by the hand of his own comrade, parading like a SWAT officer - a brilliant disguise she takes on well. He’ll be proud of her tactic later. Once they’re back at the Estate in one piece, surrounded by their other Syndicate soldiers standing as survivors, he’ll scold her for disobeying his hinted command to run far away from Left Blank while simultaneously embracing her as his form of gratitude that she still burst through the door despite his plea.

When she orders him to get down, Seamus plummets quickly to the hardwood floor, grunting out a pained moan when his chest collides to harshly. If he’s already battered and bruised, this fight for their lives is going to make it a lot worse. He’s getting too old for this.

All he can truly make out is boots - the hurried feet of terrified mice and the heavy stance of exterminators wishing only to hunt them down. Perhaps certain shoes are familiar. He can’t find Charlie’s converse sneakers she wore today, choosing comfort over style on a day shift. Gaze shifting down the bar, Seamus’s eyes land on a face all too familiar, even though it shouldn’t be. Eli, a red stain on his clothes that’s difficult to establish as a bullet or a stab wound with the dust being kicked up in his eyes. The boy is hurt, badly. His skin already looks pale and he’s dying right before the once-mentor’s eyes.

It’s just what he wanted. To watch this boy die. The traitor. It’s a small victory, even if the rest of the day is counted as a loss. Let him burn in this tavern. Let him drown in a pool of his own blood. It’s a better fate than he truly deserves. And the biggest downside is that he wouldn’t be able to stick around and watch. He wanted to tear the truth from his teeth - that he’s the one who murdered Bruno Selvaggio

The kitchen door swings shut, blocking his view of the dying man. It places his focus back on Naomi as he struggles to regain a more regulated breathing pattern, one that’s less painful. He presses his back against the counter to aide with that. “Never seen what he looks like,” he confesses, stare drifting to the tear in her suit of armor that has him nodding his head, “But I’m guessin’ that’s a yes.”

Maybe he catches a spark of revenge in her eyes that has him speaking swiftly. “Hey, we are not here to kill him today. We’re getting out: me and you. Takin’ whoever we can along the way. Take ‘em out and get ‘em out. No special cases.”

[seamus-tiernan]

Do you regret fighting with Eli?

Never. I don’t trust him still and I will always protect my family.

[kass--thetelepath-deactivated20]

Light, intense eyes focus on Seamus for a long moment, and for a brief second she wonders if he wants to reveal information, or if she’s gonna have to read his mind to find out. Either way, she was probably going to figure it out. She catches his state and can tell he has been to the hospital–which means anything urgent has been taken care of hopefully. But he still looks like he’s been run over more than a few times. She hopes he just got into a…misunderstanding with someone. Really anyone but someone part of the Initiative.

She doesn’t want to bother, but her curiosity got the best of her. She stands closer as she hears his words, swallowing softly after a moment. “Oh? Who did it?”

[seamus-tiernan]

Kass is their mind-reader. She doesn’t need verbal admissions to draw confessions from another being. Just access to their thoughts and he doesn’t have a way to board up his skull from her prying ability. It’s better he’s honest. The last thing he wants is her digging around in there and finding skeletons he’d prefer to keep buried. Seamus adjusts his sitting position with a pained groaned, a hiss as a sharp jolt sends his spine rigid before he’s settling back into his seat. Every breath is tiresome.

“Eli,” he tells her honestly, “The prodigal son returned to do more damage.”

[naomi-carson]

S.O.S || Seamus & Naomi

[seamus-tiernan]

naomi-carson:

There’s no response on the other line. Just a bunch of unintelligible noise that Naomi can’t make out. For a moment, Naomi can’t help but think that the man butt dialed her, but she takes another moment to continue listening. It’s only an extra few seconds, but that extra few seconds is all she needs to tell that her something has gone terribly wrong. She turns up the volume to it’s maximum and listens carefully and she can hear the sound of furniture clashing, people screaming, shouting, and scrambling, and then gun fire. 

It was a good thing she was at a stop light, because for a moment Naomi could do anything. She couldn’t breathe and all she could do was stare at her phone as cries of anger and desperation came through as tinny static punctuated by commands to ‘GET DOWN’ and declarations of ‘YOU’RE UNDER ARREST’. It didn’t take very long for Naomi to put two and two together. There was a raid  at the tavern and her people were in there. 

Naomi’s fear of the Iniative and fear of raids like this that would result in her getting black bagged should have sent her in the other direction. Should have her skipping town especially after the fight with the Corinthian, but Naomi’s loyalty to the Syndicate and the people she knew that were inside that tavern right now over rode that fear. She didn’t want to get thrown back in a cell, but she sure as hell didn’t want anyone else going through that. 

And so Naomi swallowed her fear, gripped the steering wheel tight and floored it the second the light turned green.

Naomi managed to avoid major streets and traffic. But soon enough she was starting to hit road blocks and see officers diverting traffic. It happens enough times to where she finally finds a hidden spot to park her car so she can get out and make the rest of the way on foot. Naomi clung to the shadows, ducked and weaved between buildings and hid wherever she could whenever she even got the smallest inkling that someone was coming towards her. It was only a matter of time before her paranoia started paying off. As she ducked behind a dumpster, she watched as a line of police officers and men in SWAT uniforms come charging by the alley she was hiding in. That’s when an idea struck Naomi. Once the idea hit her, Naomi grabbed her phone. It was long shot that Seamus would even be on his phone, but she had to try.

coming thru the back  DON’T SHOOT ME

With the message sent, Naomi set her sights on the SWAT members coming in. She waited patiently for another group to pass by and once she set her sights on the last of them coming by, Naomi picked up a rock and chucked it at his helmeted head. Sure enough, the man took the bait, turned around and stepped into the alley. Once he was close enough, Naomi pulled the knife out of her jacket and plunged it right into the underside the of the man’s jaw, the one open spot in his armor, killing him instantly. He dropped to the ground dead and Naomi didn’t waste a second pulling his clothes off and putting them on over her own. Within a matter of minutes she was dressed like one of the enemy. She pulled the goggles and mask over her face and grasped automatic rifle in her grip. Perfect disguise. 

Naomi quickly hefted up the body and dropped it into the dumpster, not without great effort, and joined with the rest of the fallen man’s squad until the Left Blank was insight. Once there, she broke off from the rest of the group and headed towards the back entrance. Naomi quickly barreled through the door gun raised. The first civilian she came across had a look of terror on their face, no doubt thinking that the bullet in that gun was meant for them. To them another solider had come through to block off an exit, but they were wrong. Not a single police man or swat member paid her any mind it was then that she raised the rifle and started firing on them, taking care not to hit any of her own or innocent bystanders. There was confusion as to why their own were falling and Naomi took advantage of the confusion to stop firing and continue the charade. As she does so, her eyes keep a sharp eye out for Seamus or anyone she might recognize. 

Chaos reigns, started by someone yelling, commotion near the bar that he doesn’t quite catch who the start is. But it must be obvious to the Initiative and the SWAT team that no one in this establishment would go easily or on their enemies terms. They would all fight and flee. They’d rather be taken out in body bags than just black bags covering their heads to shut off their eyes from the remote locations they’re transferred to. It’s a scare tactic as well, an effective one. Many of their own kind have memories of their loved ones snatched away with black bags, their last memories of those people.

Seamus has one goal, a simple one - to get out with as many of his compatriots as he can. Charlie had been behind the bar but there’s too much happening to see if he can spot her. He pockets the cell phone swiftly without looking at whether Naomi is still on the line, praying she gets the hint to stay away. She’s in more danger than most of them and it doesn’t escape him that Jackson is among the patrons of the Left Blank tavern today. He’s a sketch to most of these men, the penciled outline of a face that murdered their brethren. They might want to kill him to avenge those fallen soldiers but they wouldn’t. Not today. They need him alive for answers and he’ll leave this bar with a black bag over his head if they don’t get them out.

But as Seamus takes a painful step, fingers clenched around the cane that will only slow him down, he cannot make out where the Selvaggio son has run off to and there’s a female SWAT soldier stepping in the way that has him ceasing all movement, like perhaps standing perfectly still will keep him invisible. She doesn’t see him at first, perhaps because, in the chaos, she’s taking out a few of her own comrades before aiming back at the innocent and not-so-innocent bar patrons. It clicks instantly who this one is.

“That phone call was to stop you from showing up,” he scolds upon a hiss as she slides up next to her, grunting through the pain of movement and broken ribs that will take too long to heal. But at least they will. The fury and revenge he wishes on Eli, that wound will never heal. It never had and he only pulled it open with knife-like fingers to make the cut even deeper. But he’s relieved she’s here at all, familiar with the exit through the kitchen and armed with a gun against their enemies, especially that Corinthian, still unsure as to which one but he guesses it’s the one to kick down the door with all that cocky pride, like a cat finding a den of mice.

[naomi-carson]

S.O.S || Seamus & Naomi

She had left the Estate once and not thirty minutes of being outside and walking about, she ran into a Corinthian and barely managed to escape. Maybe it was because she learned to deal without her powers, maybe it was of sheer luck, maybe it was a combination of both, but she had some how managed to get away.  But not unscathed. 

Once she had managed to get away from the Corinthian, Naomi’s powers returned to her. Instantly, her body kicked into overdrive to quickly heal the damage the fucker managed to do. She had come into the Estate that night otherwise completely fine once again, but the dried blood from the encounter still remained. 

Naomi didn’t like to brag, but she was fairly sure that she could put herself in the top fighters in the Syndicate, but even she had to admit that the guy was good. Not only did he have mutant stopping powers, he could actually fight unlike the other Initiative agents she had killed before. The mere thought of it reminded her of the conversation she had with Seamus. About the suggestion to arm themselves with sniper rifles to put some distance between them and the Corinthian. After Naomi’s encounter with him, that idea was looking more and more appealing. That and now she was more certain than ever that she wanted to be the first person to get her hands on one. Then there was the obvious fact that she needed to get the word out that she now knew what this guy looked like. 

It seemed like almost perfect timing that Seamus called her up, asking if they could meet up at the Left Blank. While she was far from eager to go back outside and run the risk of running into the Corinthian again, while very unlikely, her one time encounter had her running a bit more on the cautious side of things, she knew that she couldn’t stay confined for very long. And so she ventured outside, double checked to make sure she had put on a set of different plates on her car, grabbed her old phone that had the picture Friday had sketched, and headed out. 

Naomi was in her car nearing the bar when she received the call from Seamus. Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion because one glance at her car’s clock told her that she was still early. Naomi quickly put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Seamus, I’m coming and I’m on my way there.”  she said as she turned onto another street, getting that much closer to the favored Syndicate spot. 

[seamus-tiernan]

There is too much Seamus needed to discuss with Naomi that it had to be done face to face. But the Estate seemed like a poor meeting place when he wanted to ask her about Eli. How he looked, if he had said anything to any of them about the bruises he probably retained. Charlie looked horrified when he finally agreed to meet her, informed him that she already spoke with Eli and knew he would look awful. And while she busied herself with tidying up his apartment to help him out and brought over a few groceries to keep him fed, she made it clear that she wasn’t choosing sides on this one. That they’re both wrong for it. That she’s going to ignore it and he almost wanted to call her cowardly for the decision. One day she wouldn’t be able to sit on the fence. One day she’d have to choose a side and she’d be foolish to take Eli’s hand. He already abandoned her once.

But while the redhead was filling his fridge, she informed him of the Initiative agent who stepped into her bar with sketches of familiar faces and he wanted to know what Naomi’s strategy is now. Stay low, he’s hoping. But he expects more than that. New plates, new home, new identity. He has space in his apartment to offer for her to hide if she needs it, but he also knows of other places she can go. Eileen’s home always has the room and a different city might be the best plan for the girl now.

But he regrets his choice of meeting place. Not because Eli is there, gallivanting behind the bar obnoxiously, chatting with his sister and pestering Charlie while she actually works for a living. It isn’t the invited company. It’s the uninvited that barge through the door with guns, a man leading them that’s unfamiliar, looking less like Initiative canon fodder than the rest of them. He requests their hands up, for them to bend at the knee to keep them from running but there’s something strangely pretentious about this one that makes the command sound more like the urge to kneel before a king. His ego is too inflated and there’s something comforting in that when Seamus’ eyes narrow to tap into the power rushing through his veins.

Only nothing moves. Every gun a soldier is holding stays firmly in his hands and it’s then he realizes why the one leading them is so smug. He’s a Corinthian.

The small tumbler of whiskey trembles in front of him, perhaps with fear while he slowly stands from the small table tucked beside the door to the kitchen, his typical spot - close to an exit. The movement stings at healing ribs, still cracked from the fists of the man behind the bar. As his hands move to comply, he’s slow to reach for his phone, smartphones making it simple to dial the last number called. It rings quietly as he places his hands in the air and does as he’s told, eyes darting about to every single bar patron. They need an escape plan and he knows the quickest way through the back. But he’s not leaving without Charlie, and any other he can grab, and he’s not going to be the first to move. The first to move dies.

And he hopes the sounds echoing in his phone’s speaker makes it obvious that Naomi should turn around. The last place she should be is in front of a Corinthian.

[jackson-selvaggio]

Jackson stands still in the doorway, eyes on Seamus and every painful shift the man makes as he sits on the chair. There are intense flares of emotion and concern coursing through him, ranging all ends of the spectrum. Concern for the man sitting in front of him, then concern for his brother – all before he pieces the two together. Seamus and Eli hadn’t gone toe to toe with the Initiative, they’d gone against each other. He could recognize his brother’s artwork when he saw it. 

“Eli did this?” he asked, despite coming to the conclusion already. He kept his face as passive as he could, not giving away any thoughts, though he was still trying to figure out what he thought of it at all. His first concern was what state Eli was in. If similar, he’d like to go and see him, make sure he was alright. His second concern was the why of the matter. What had sparked this fight, though he thought he could guess at that. He just didn’t know what to do about it yet. 

[seamus-tiernan]

The smirk on Seamus’ lips then is anything but amused. Of course Eli had made the wreck of his face, had broken his ribs until every breath hurt as much as the boy’s betrayal. It reminds him of how breathing felt when Cal’s body had been deposited before Bruno and then when no one could get a hold of Eli. Not a single soul had seen him since he walked out of the Estate’s front door. He vanished like a ghost and no one had any answers. No one had a clue to where he went or what his emotional state had been. No one disappears like Eli, so effectively.

“Yes, Eli did this,” he echoes with traces of bitterness that aren’t meant for the Selvaggio that bothered to stick around when things got a little hard. If everyone could forgive Eli so quickly, Seamus couldn’t. Bruno may have left the boy in the will but he still couldn’t reconcile that with the father’s forgiveness. He never wanted to hear the name, never wanted to discuss the matter. And when Seamus wanted to offer to track him down and bring him home, Bruno wouldn’t hear of it.

[seamus-tiernan]

jackson-selvaggio :

The Estate had been busier as of late. People coming and going, mostly he thought because they were all feeling the energy in the air. That the Initiative had been too quiet as of late. At least, Jackson thought so. One man with his picture, going around asking people wasn’t exactly the retaliation he was expecting. It kept him at home, kept him out of the public’s eye as much as he could. He was intent on calling it a night, heading from the living room through to the kitchen to put away a rocks glass he’d nursed half a bottle of scotch from all day. He wasn’t drunk, felt calmer than he normally would. It had eased some tension. But he stopped as soon as he entered the room, spotting Seamus with a look of concern that he couldn’t quite keep off his face. “What happened?” he demanded, mind instantly going to the Initiative. 

There’s a reaction he isn’t sure on and that one belongs to Jackson. The young man doesn’t see what Seamus sees when he watches Eli. He doesn’t see a traitor. He sees his brother, the man Bruno brought into the home and swore a bloodline to. Seamus spots a killer hiding in their midst, a father’s blood on his hands. And maybe it is the Initiative, but he thinks the clues point to someone Bruno trusted. The clues point to Eli and everyone is foolish enough to believe differently.

He almost scoffs at the question of what happened, but he keeps a calm composure as he readjusts his space atop the chair to make himself as comfortable as he can, but he wheezes out a breath in the process and winces at the sharp shoot of pain at his ribs. “I’m guessing you haven’t spoken to your beloved brother then.”

[seamus-tiernan]

What is the best thing that you have done, just because you were told you can’t?

Kill a man. Frequently told I shouldn’t do that. Oh well.

[seamus-tiernan]

nothingbutdeath:

The Estate was where Aurek frequented nearly as much as the clinic that doubled as a morgue for people with no other options.  He’d come to check up on a few family members who had questions regarding his method of obtaining answers. “You have seen better days,” he commented, as he entered the room, standard teacup and saucer in hand. He hadn’t expected to see Seamus. After the altercation between the man and Elijah, he thought that it would take an act of God for the man to show up at the Estate, but no, if the Initiative were to be believed, and some did believe them, God had long since forsaken them. Besides, Seamus had been in the Savage Syndicate since its inception. Aurek shouldn’t have been surprised to see him. “How is your breathing? Any rattling sounds?” he questioned as he took a sip of his tea. 

He’d been looking for a quiet place to think, but instead, he came across a man who made him wary. To Aurek, the seated man had always been indiscernible.  An enigma and mystery. He didn’t ask why the man hadn’t sought after a healer who could take care of his wounds. Maybe the old dog preferred to wear his battle scars until they healed. “Do you want tea or something stronger?” he asked, prepared to bring him either, though, he never offered coffee. He hated even the smell of it.

There had always been something about Aurek that struck uneasily at Seamus’s nerves. He couldn’t claim to be annoyed by the man, but perhaps it seemed the foreigner greeted death like a love, instead of the old friend the Boston native might, because he’s had his fair share of brushes with that cold hand. Still he could prove useful, even as just a medic when Rhys isn’t available, or if there’s little reason to waste his energy on something so small like a slice. This job, the act Eli committed, had been a large enough one to seek Rhys out, but he has friends outside the Syndicate who prove helpful and the stitches had been done by his own shaky hand. There’d be ugly scars but that’s never bothered him before.

“Death isn’t catching up with me just yet,” he states calmly, the rubber end of the cane greeting the hardwood floor with a dull thud, “Don’t sound too excited.”

Seamus waves his hand to dismiss the offer of anything to drink. He doesn’t need an ounce of hot tea or warm whiskey to dull the pain. He wants to feel every sharp pang of it. He deserves that. He earned it. “Nothing, thank you.”