This Town is Crazy (quiz 218)

Note: This is part of a longer, unfinished piece I have over at ff.net, but I thought it fit the quiz prompt rather well, so I thought I would share it with the Attic.

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Tamoko’s father had given up on trying to correct her by the time she was fourteen, when she stole her first katana. The youngest of four, she was the only girl, and perhaps it was that fact, compounded by a motherless childhood and a personality that seemed designed for obstinacy from birth, that made her as she was. When she was sixteen, tired of catching her practicing arms on the sly and answering the door at midnight to find her in the grip of some disgruntled guard or other, her father sent her away, to an order of nuns in the countryside. They would teach her discipline, he said, or she would die trying.

She was packed off in the company of her middle brother (his punishment for a few recent indiscretions of his own), but after a week on the road, she gave him the slip and disappeared into the countryside. She felt guilty about that for years afterward, because he had always been her favorite. But whatever disgrace he suffered from losing her would pale in comparison to the death of the soul waiting for her in the life her father had chosen for her. No, there were times when selfishness was simply the only choice. Part of her always hoped her brothers could forgive her. Her father could go hang.

She had fled, and in six years, she had fought and explored her way across a continent. She had crossed deserts and tundra, traversed wood and plain, navigated river and sea. She brawled, stole, and adventured for her bread. Sometimes she even worked honestly for it, if she had to. She discovered that taverns held the real knowledge of a town’s inner workings, whores knew who wielded real power, and thieves could always find the best weapons and the cheapest wine. They were valuable lessons, and she treasured them.

She came to Baldur’s Gate short of coin, as usual, and after a week with her ears pressed to every informative keyhole she could find, she decided on her next move. Rieltar Anchev of the Iron Throne merchant house was rising in public estimation. Such men liked to cut a figure, and she knew that her appearance, so exotic to Western eyes, would lend him style. Outward show, after all, was everything, whether for lords, merchants, or sellswords with unusually shaped eyes. She offered him her sword and was hired on the spot, as she had expected. She felt she had learned how the world worked.

She was wrong, of course, but she thought so at the time.

Her first real bit of work for Anchev was a smallish get-together for a hundred or so of his closest friends and dearest acquaintances, thrown to make a crowd of investors feel important. So there was a great deal of food, drink, and deeply inane conversation, none of which she could partake in as she was on duty. She didn’t mind being denied the latter, but the former looked far more appetizing than it should. More than once, her hand hovered over an unattended plate of tiny, beautifully decorated cakes before being snatched back in self-imposed denial.

“No one is watching but me,” said the voice, resonantly deep, and dry with ironic detachment. “And I won’t tell.”

That was her first experience of him – his remarkable voice. She whirled about, furious that anyone had managed to get behind her, and found herself having to crane her neck to look into the face of her momentary nemesis. He was incredibly tall, even for a Westerner, his skin a dark, fascinating bronze, his head freshly shaven for this public event. The corner of his mouth twitched as he raised an eyebrow at her.

“You wear our livery, but I do not recognize you.”

“You call it ‘our’, but I do not recognize you,” she returned, still irritated such a large man had snuck up on her so. Another bodyguard, perhaps, seeking to amuse himself at her expense? She had no use for such games. She had sacrificed many virtues in her life, but dignity would never be one of them.

The mouth twitch eased into a curve. “I am Sarevok Anchev,” he said. She started with surprise; she recognized the name. This was no colleague - he was her employer’s son and heir! But he could not have looked less like the pale, slender man who had hired her had he been part troll. Sarevok recognized her confusion, and grunted, “He is not my father.”

“Ah.” Her flat-footedness was ebbing away, replaced by curiosity. She eyed him for a long moment, then realized she still had yet to introduce herself. “I am Tamoko.”

His eyes were surprisingly light, considering his dark coloration. They were a pale, golden brown, almost like some bird of prey. He seemed to be considering her with equal interest. “Just Tamoko?”

“Family names are not common where I come from.”

“And that is?”

“Very far away.”

“Well, then, Tamoko from very far away, how did you come to be in the service of the Iron Throne?”

She shrugged. “I needed money. Being a bodyguard is easy, and generally pays well.”

“I would think it is easy if you let everyone get behind you with so little effort.”

“I am still trying to figure out how you did that,” she said, scowling faintly. The sour cast of her features seemed to entertain him.

“Practice.” He reached one long arm around her to pluck a goblet of wine off the tray of a passing server. The man was about to object when he saw the offender’s face and hastily kept walking. Sarevok lowered the wine between them; the breath of air on her cheek from the passage of his hand seemed to tingle strangely; she did not know why. “As I said…I would not say a word.”

“I should not drink while I am engaged,” she said, glancing down into the cup. It was almost clear, and her mouth watered. She hated the heavy, dark wines that were so popular here, and had been overjoyed to discover that they did actually make light wines like the colorless rice wine of her homeland. They were just harder to find. She shot a glance up at Sarevok, who was smiling slightly, almost as if he knew. She raised her hand, touching the cool metal of the goblet. His hand shifted, and their fingers brushed. She took a drink.

“I hate these sorts of parties,” Sarevok said quietly. “I’m leaving. You should come with me.”

She tilted her head. “First you would have me drink while on duty, and then you would have me abandon my post altogether?”

“Yes. Shall we?”

It was late, and the streets of Baldur’s Gate were quiet. A pair of Flaming Fist guards loitered under a street torch across from the Iron Throne headquarters; Sarevok stiffened slightly as he and Tamoko passed them. “They are watching,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he replied, his face still. “They are not our enemies, but they are not our friends, either.”

“I see.” She carefully tucked that bit of information away. “Is such factionalism common, in this city?”

“Ambition will always be met by resistance,” he said, with an air of nonchalance. “Either by those whose own ambitions are not complimentary, or by those who are simply afraid.”

“And what are the ambitions of the Iron Throne?”

“Power, of course,” he said simply. They walked on without speaking, past a tavern where boisterous laughter echoed out into the street, past closed up shops shuttered against the night. There seemed to be no particular destination as they walked, and Tamoko did not know Baldur’s Gate well enough yet to do more than follow Sarevok’s lead. She glanced up at him; his dark face was expressionless, and she felt as though she should say something to break the silence, but she could not think of anything. There was something about him, an aura, a presence that intrigued her. She found herself watching him walk. Most of the men his size she had know were brutes, using their sheer overwhelming mass as a weapon in and of itself. But he moved with a strange, supple energy that surprised her. Her stomach felt odd, tingling and tightened, almost as if…butterflies? She felt her face color. He was her employer’s heir, she reminded herself sternly. She could have a man if she really wanted one. There was no point in complicating matters unnecessarily, and she had made a career of avoiding entanglements. She would do well to remember her own lessons on that front. She was so busy reminding herself of this that she did not immediately notice he had stopped walking and was looking at her.

Golden torchlight, and just a hint of the silvery moon reflected on his eyes. She turned, and looked back at him as he slowly closed the distance of a few paces that separated them. She realized he had been considering her just as she had been him. “You are very lovely,” he said quickly, and something in his tone made her want to smile. Was he nervous? Perhaps she simply flattered herself to think so. “I was surprised to see you this evening. I had no idea the new hire was…” His eyes, holding hers, wavered, and then swept over her as if he could not help himself. She was suddenly very aware that her breasts rose with every breath, and she knew he was as well. “You were not what I was expecting,” he finished.

“You were not my expectation, either,” she said, oddly distracted by the way the torchlight highlighted the line of his throat leading down to his broad collarbone, barely revealed by the slightly open collar of his shirt.

“Because I am not some pale, robed-wrapped merchant whelp?” he asked, smiling faintly.

“Yes,” she admitted. “When I was told Master Rieltar had a son, I…”

“He is not my father,” Sarevok repeated. “I was a foundling.”

“Oh.” She felt foolish. “I’m very sorry.”

“Once I was as well.” His expression grew distant for a moment, then he focused back on her. “But no longer. I have recently learned the truth of my origins, and that knowledge has provided me with great comfort.”

“Then I am glad.”

“Why? You’ve known me for barely an hour.”

“I suspect,” she said, taking a bold step closer to him, coming within a few handspans of him, “it is for the same reason you have told me at all.”

“Perhaps so.” His voice had dropped to a soft rumble that seemed to echo through her. Their eyes met, and she felt her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her skin was feverishly hot, but she shivered even as her heart took up a triple pace in her chest. Some tiny part of her mind shouted at her, repeating to her there was no need to be a fool. She could have any man if she wanted one.

He was leaning down, one hand raised to gently catch her throat, his thumb dragging in sweetly agonizing slowness over her jawline. She gave a little push with her heels, rising onto her toes, and met his lips.

She wanted this one.

Effective. I usually don't buy scenes where people get involved quickly for no good reason, but I didn't feel that was a problem here. Maybe it was because I had my preconceptions about it all, but even so this woud be well written.

I think I saw this one on FF.Net. I like this take on Tamoko; very well written. Reading about her's always fun.

Effective. I usually don't buy scenes where people get involved quickly for no good reason, but I didn't feel that was a problem here. Maybe it was because I had my preconceptions about it all, but even so this woud be well written.

Thank you. It made sense to me that Sarevok and Tamoko's relationship would begin with a very immediate and intense attraction. Glad you enjoyed.

I think I saw this one on FF.Net. I like this take on Tamoko; very well written. Reading about her's always fun.

One of these days I'll get around to finishing Tamoko's story. I like writing about her - she's a very tragic character with a lot of potential for complexity.

Oh, background for Tamoko *and* several beginnings of canon-y things? Bonus I like how you write Tamoko's point of view.

The title's a bit odd, mind you.

Oh, background for Tamoko *and* several beginnings of canon-y things? Bonus I like how you write Tamoko's point of view.

Thanks! I llike Tamoko a lot, so writing from her POV is a nice change of pace.

The title's a bit odd, mind you.

Yeah, it's one of those things that makes sense in the context of the longer piece this comes from. I thought about changing it, but... *shrugs*

I must confess, I never really managed to see Tamoko in this light. I always saw her as some sort of misguided soul that fell in love with Sarevok; like the usual schoolgirl who pines for bad boys. Another interpretation of mine was that she was seduced by Sarevok and she became some sort of love martyr.

Your work, however, simply deals with the instant attraction some people feel towards each other. Very human I must say.

Cheers!

I must confess, I never really managed to see Tamoko in this light. I always saw her as some sort of misguided soul that fell in love with Sarevok; like the usual schoolgirl who pines for bad boys. Another interpretation of mine was that she was seduced by Sarevok and she became some sort of love martyr.

Your work, however, simply deals with the instant attraction some people feel towards each other. Very human I must say.

Cheers!

For me, the tragedy of Tamoko and Sarevok's story is that they did actually love each other, and that under any other circumstance, it was a relationship that could have flourished and lasted. And in this case, a good starting point for a relationship like that was a strong, mutual attraction.

What can I say? I like doing things a little different. Glad you liked it!

Tamoko’s father had given up on trying to correct her by the time she was fourteen, when she stole her first katana. The youngest of four, she was the only girl, and perhaps it was that fact, compounded by a motherless childhood and a personality that seemed designed for obstinacy from birth, that made her as she was. When she was sixteen, tired of catching her practicing arms on the sly and answering the door at midnight to find her in the grip of some disgruntled guard or other, her father sent her away, to an order of nuns in the countryside. They would teach her discipline, he said, or she would die trying.

Or the nuns might die trying, perhaps?

She was packed off in the company of her middle brother (his punishment for a few recent indiscretions of his own), but after a week on the road, she gave him the slip and disappeared into the countryside. She felt guilty about that for years afterward, because he had always been her favorite. But whatever disgrace he suffered from losing her would pale in comparison to the death of the soul waiting for her in the life her father had chosen for her. No, there were times when selfishness was simply the only choice. Part of her always hoped her brothers could forgive her. Her father could go hang.

Ugh, no wonder Yoshimo reacts that badly in response to her death. He was responsible for her

Her first real bit of work for Anchev was a smallish get-together for a hundred or so of his closest friends and dearest acquaintances, thrown to make a crowd of investors feel important. So there was a great deal of food, drink, and deeply inane conversation, none of which she could partake in as she was on duty. She didn’t mind being denied the latter, but the former looked far more appetizing than it should. More than once, her hand hovered over an unattended plate of tiny, beautifully decorated cakes before being snatched back in self-imposed denial.

“No one is watching but me,” said the voice, resonantly deep, and dry with ironic detachment. “And I won’t tell.”

He seems so ...human, in this moment.

She shrugged. “I needed money. Being a bodyguard is easy, and generally pays well.”

“I would think it is easy if you let everyone get behind you with so little effort.”

“I am still trying to figure out how you did that,” she said, scowling faintly. The sour cast of her features seemed to entertain him.

His daddy was an assassin once, you know.

“I hate these sorts of parties,” Sarevok said quietly. “I’m leaving. You should come with me.”

She tilted her head. “First you would have me drink while on duty, and then you would have me abandon my post altogether?”

“Yes. Shall we?”

He's such an arrogant bastard right now. And it seems to be working.

Golden torchlight, and just a hint of the silvery moon reflected on his eyes. She turned, and looked back at him as he slowly closed the distance of a few paces that separated them. She realized he had been considering her just as she had been him. “You are very lovely,” he said quickly, and something in his tone made her want to smile. Was he nervous? Perhaps she simply flattered herself to think so. “I was surprised to see you this evening. I had no idea the new hire was…” His eyes, holding hers, wavered, and then swept over her as if he could not help himself. She was suddenly very aware that her breasts rose with every breath, and she knew he was as well. “You were not what I was expecting,” he finished.

“You were not my expectation, either,” she said, oddly distracted by the way the torchlight highlighted the line of his throat leading down to his broad collarbone, barely revealed by the slightly open collar of his shirt.

You write very good chemistry/tension between them.

“Perhaps so.” His voice had dropped to a soft rumble that seemed to echo through her. Their eyes met, and she felt her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her skin was feverishly hot, but she shivered even as her heart took up a triple pace in her chest. Some tiny part of her mind shouted at her, repeating to her there was no need to be a fool. She could have any man if she wanted one.

He was leaning down, one hand raised to gently catch her throat, his thumb dragging in sweetly agonizing slowness over her jawline. She gave a little push with her heels, rising onto her toes, and met his lips.

She wanted this one.

Excellent little story with the perfect end. I'm glad you posted it

Tamoko’s father had given up on trying to correct her by the time she was fourteen, when she stole her first katana. The youngest of four, she was the only girl, and perhaps it was that fact, compounded by a motherless childhood and a personality that seemed designed for obstinacy from birth, that made her as she was. When she was sixteen, tired of catching her practicing arms on the sly and answering the door at midnight to find her in the grip of some disgruntled guard or other, her father sent her away, to an order of nuns in the countryside. They would teach her discipline, he said, or she would die trying.

Or the nuns might die trying, perhaps?

That would probably have been Tamoko's best case if she hadn't managed to get away.

She was packed off in the company of her middle brother (his punishment for a few recent indiscretions of his own), but after a week on the road, she gave him the slip and disappeared into the countryside. She felt guilty about that for years afterward, because he had always been her favorite. But whatever disgrace he suffered from losing her would pale in comparison to the death of the soul waiting for her in the life her father had chosen for her. No, there were times when selfishness was simply the only choice. Part of her always hoped her brothers could forgive her. Her father could go hang.

Ugh, no wonder Yoshimo reacts that badly in response to her death. He was responsible for her

And little wonder he became a bounty hunter. I imagine no one ever got away from him again.

Her first real bit of work for Anchev was a smallish get-together for a hundred or so of his closest friends and dearest acquaintances, thrown to make a crowd of investors feel important. So there was a great deal of food, drink, and deeply inane conversation, none of which she could partake in as she was on duty. She didn’t mind being denied the latter, but the former looked far more appetizing than it should. More than once, her hand hovered over an unattended plate of tiny, beautifully decorated cakes before being snatched back in self-imposed denial.

“No one is watching but me,” said the voice, resonantly deep, and dry with ironic detachment. “And I won’t tell.”

He seems so ...human, in this moment.

Despite his best efforts not to be, Sarevok never manages to *not* be human. I think that's one of the things I like about him.

She shrugged. “I needed money. Being a bodyguard is easy, and generally pays well.”

“I would think it is easy if you let everyone get behind you with so little effort.”

“I am still trying to figure out how you did that,” she said, scowling faintly. The sour cast of her features seemed to entertain him.

His daddy was an assassin once, you know.

Highly placed in the death and death-related accessories industry.

“I hate these sorts of parties,” Sarevok said quietly. “I’m leaving. You should come with me.”

She tilted her head. “First you would have me drink while on duty, and then you would have me abandon my post altogether?”

“Yes. Shall we?”

He's such an arrogant bastard right now. And it seems to be working.

Well, confidence can be very attractive...

Golden torchlight, and just a hint of the silvery moon reflected on his eyes. She turned, and looked back at him as he slowly closed the distance of a few paces that separated them. She realized he had been considering her just as she had been him. “You are very lovely,” he said quickly, and something in his tone made her want to smile. Was he nervous? Perhaps she simply flattered herself to think so. “I was surprised to see you this evening. I had no idea the new hire was…” His eyes, holding hers, wavered, and then swept over her as if he could not help himself. She was suddenly very aware that her breasts rose with every breath, and she knew he was as well. “You were not what I was expecting,” he finished.

“You were not my expectation, either,” she said, oddly distracted by the way the torchlight highlighted the line of his throat leading down to his broad collarbone, barely revealed by the slightly open collar of his shirt.

You write very good chemistry/tension between them.

Thank you, because I always feel vaguely awkward writing this sort of thing. But it really felt right to me that there be something very strong and palpable between them from the very beginning, so I'm glad I mentioned to convey that.

“Perhaps so.” His voice had dropped to a soft rumble that seemed to echo through her. Their eyes met, and she felt her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her skin was feverishly hot, but she shivered even as her heart took up a triple pace in her chest. Some tiny part of her mind shouted at her, repeating to her there was no need to be a fool. She could have any man if she wanted one.

He was leaning down, one hand raised to gently catch her throat, his thumb dragging in sweetly agonizing slowness over her jawline. She gave a little push with her heels, rising onto her toes, and met his lips.

She wanted this one.

Excellent little story with the perfect end. I'm glad you posted it

But poor Tamoko. Heck, even poor Sarevok! (eventually)

Naz,

Once again, a great story of tragic love. I mean, I hadn't really even thought too much about Tamoko - but this makes her story sadder and far more tragic. Nicely done.

Poor Tamoko...

VH

Heya!

I like this.

I too, don't like stories where people fall for each other really quickly, but you make it clear in your writing that it's the chemistry and attractiveness that Tamoko's falling for, and that makes it work. It forms a good base for what will later be their relationship -- something that's not explored in game, so, cool.

I wish I could comment more, but my brain just blanked on the rest of what I wanted to type. . . There was more. . .

*sigh* I'll repost if it comes to me.

Naz,

Once again, a great story of tragic love. I mean, I hadn't really even thought too much about Tamoko - but this makes her story sadder and far more tragic. Nicely done.

Poor Tamoko...

VH

And as always, glad you enjoyed it.

I have decided, after much thought and deliberation, that Tamoko and Sarevok have the saddest love story in the BG universe. And they've got a lot of competition.

Heya!

I like this.

I too, don't like stories where people fall for each other really quickly, but you make it clear in your writing that it's the chemistry and attractiveness that Tamoko's falling for, and that makes it work. It forms a good base for what will later be their relationship -- something that's not explored in game, so, cool.

I wish I could comment more, but my brain just blanked on the rest of what I wanted to type. . . There was more. . .

*sigh* I'll repost if it comes to me.

I suppose that, as long as it makes sense in the context of the story and works for the reader, that's all I can ask. And don't worry. My brain blanks out all the time.

Yep. Still as fun as I remember from the first time I read it. As others are saying, you do a remarkable job with the "instant chemistry" between the two characters, but you've always been good with that, so I'm not terribly surprised.

And funny thing? When I read your Tamoko's lines? I hear this voice:

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005026/

That's a win, by the way.

Yep. Still as fun as I remember from the first time I read it. As others are saying, you do a remarkable job with the "instant chemistry" between the two characters, but you've always been good with that, so I'm not terribly surprised.

And funny thing? When I read your Tamoko's lines? I hear this voice:

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005026/

That's a win, by the way.

Sometimes, the click between two people (or characters) just happens. Not very often, and usually not for very long, but sometimes it does. And for some reason, I could never imagine it happening any other way for Tamoko and Sarevok.

And Kelly Hu? I can live with that.

(Psst. Wanna see what she looks like in my head?)