Tom Door - Tumblr Posts

Tell me.

Only one lamp still burned in the shop, but the door was unlocked. A bad idea this late at night in Lion’s Arch. But the only person to open the door and steal inside was turquoise-haired and familiar. At first glance, the place looked empty. But Cia eventually found Milli, leaning up against the wall next to the security box behind the counter, her bad leg sticking out in front of her and the other drawn up under her chin. An empty whiskey bottle dangled from her fingertips. The engineer seemed to be examining it quite closely in the flickering light.

Her gaze passed near Cia, not sticking, before it returned to the bottle. “Ev’ryone says he lies,” she drawled. “Says I shouldn’t trust him. And they’re right, he does lie. Prolly to me, too. But sometimes he tells the truth. And he’s always cared about me. And I ‘preciate those things ‘cause I know how rare they are.” Milli paused, taking a few deep breaths.

"He’ll never love me."

She let it hang there, like setting the words free in the universe made them solid, made them true.

"But he wants me ta be happy." Her eyes came up again, bloodshot blue, to finally really focus on Ciara. "Are ya gonna make me happy? ‘Cause I don’t know yet. And I’m scared to let him go, to let Tom go, in case ya won’t."

Back to the bottle. “I hear alcohol causes blackouts. I sure as hell hope so. I don’ wanna remember none’a this.”

The cool touch of metal cupping Tia's chin had slowly began to comfort the sore and useless jaw she now wore, a prize from Dexten's brawl. A leather hood wrapped over her head and cloth covered her from her nose down, if only to hold the metal brace in position. Her attire was body forming, clinging to her skin in a way that kept parts of her curves secure and allowed her freedom to move. There hadn't been much discussion between her and the towering man that now stood at her side, a hunger clear in his eyes. He had been duped, chained and proded over the past week. He needed this as badly as she did. The plan to skin the charr was still up in the air, and Tia's hopes of keeping him living long enough for the pain to sink fully in was abandoned as impossible. Tia lifted and arm to rub along her red and watery eyes, fighting off a cold the cleansing of Ciara had given her. The hung in the shadows of the brush on the outside of the charr's lair. A single candle was alight in an otherwise abandoned and condemed estate once belonging to an Ascalonian noble. Just another ball of saliva to be chucked in their eyes with all the disrespect the cat could muster. Tia gave Tom a nod, signalling him to take point. If things were to go down as she figured they would, this may be his last chance to lead the 'knives' into battle. She wouldn't steal that from him.

Tertius Broadmane sat calmly in the area he liked to think of as his "dungeon". Much of the old mansion was beyond repair, falling to ruin even as he sat there. But the basement, where wine and root vegetables had once been stored, was still sound. He'd cleared the vegetables out weeks ago, but occasionally still opened a bottle of the wine. One in three was stale, but that didn't matter much to him. He was just in it for the good cleaning the alcohol gave his blades. And he had a number of blades. Long and straight, short and curved. Tiny scalpels and large cleavers. Those made for making precise cuts and those meant to rend flesh from bone. Before, he'd been a butcher. Not of men, as he was now, but of meat. Animals. He helped provide for his warband. Hunted game, prepared the meals and leather. It was not a glorious task, but it was one that gave him pleasure and earned him respect. Then he'd come back from a hunt. His warband was dead, smoldering in the flaming ruins of their camp. Tertius had a new hunt now. One that was just winding down. Two more lived of the group that had slaughtered his family. He knew where one of them dwelled. It would take only a few days to track him. Corner him. Kill him. Skin him like the animal he was. With a great deal of care, the charr wiped down his blades and placed them into the precise pockets of his bag. A place for everything and everything in its place. He would do what he could for his warband. And then he would set about finding what he could of his own peace.

Tom peered between the leaves, he looked for the signs of a trod the animal might use to egress a path, disturbed leaves or branches. He'd brought a small quantity of large caltrops, five or six, where as a handful of twenty might normally be used, so he had to be clever about it. To Tia he hushes, putting his lips beside her ear, she could feel the stubble on his cheek, "I'm gonna stand fast on the path, get his attention, try and draw him over these." he offered them for view, "Think you can flank him? If his warband is near, I don't wanna use guns. I don't like our odds agains six or seven Charr."

Tia gave a silent nod, an understanding of the terms. She wouldn't be speaking tonight, and her still healing jaw was the result. She hadn't had time to explain where she had broken it, though. The feel of his stubble had her mind flashing back to the night they met - a memory she willed herself to push back into the depths of her mind. The lack of numbing poison in her system had her addiction all out of wack though, she couldn't rightly help it. She knelt down to remain out of sight and readied herself, a short sword in each hand.

Tom walked out into the open, his breaths short, this was a risk and he was breifly terrified. He thought about the options: storming a trapped lair, his war band. He convinced himself this was the right plan. That was all it took with Tom, a little conveniant lie. The engine started in his heart, his lips pressed, then parted reveiling teeth. He thought about the hunts, the murders, he thought about his expendability. He thought about dying a man that the women in his life, each one that he loved and treasured, and how they would speak of him when he was dead. He cast the caltrops down the path behind him and stood between the trap and his prey; located inside his lair before he started to speak. "What makes an Ascalonian man?" he asked outloud, hoping to draw the beasts keen hearing. "We both walk on two feet, we've hands and finger to curl over weapons, and the will to wield them." he wet his lips, for if this was to be a benediction it had better be heard. "What makes a Ascalonian MAN? That one Ascalonian can stand against many, and in his heart wish away any aid or rescue. An Ascalonian MAN understands that the fewer the soldier, the greater the share of honor. An Ascalonian MAN knows that if he survives his day, however grim, that men in Kryta now asleep will wake up and hear his deeds, holding their manhoods cheaply while we roll up our sleaves and show the marks the animals gave us on the day we took their lives and commited their remains back to the earth. The day we told the Gods 'You are avenged.'"

Having just completed his preparations to leave, Tertius's ears perked up when he heard the man yelling outside. At first he thought it the ravings of some lunatic. Then it became the familiar cadence of those who cried for the glory of 'Old Ascalon.' Tertius snorted. He'd been spotted by some idiot and now they were going to make him 'pay'. Didn't they know he had better things to do with his time? With a sigh, he shouldered his pack, axe in hand, and walked through the gathering motes of dust to the front of the mansion. He exited the door into the sunlight and raised a hand to shade his eyes. Peering up the hill he could make out a man, tall and broad shouldered. At least it wasn't some puling farm boy. Hitching the axe over his shoulder, Tertius called back, "I ain't lookin' for trouble, Son of Ascalon. I've my own appointments to keep and they ain't with you. We can go our separate ways and you can tell all yer little friends you run a charr outta Ascalon, fair and square. That agreeable?" As he spoke, though, he searched the brush for others. Sometimes these patriots didn't come alone.

Tia had been tailored perfectly by Adonya to blend into the shadows, and further by Milli so that her weaponry was tight to her frame. She spoke not a word and her breath was slow and calculated. The wind blew over her and the brush moved naturally. The brush seemed empty but things are never as they seem.

Tom turned his back and walked away from the Charr as if rebuffed, he walked through his trap, careful not to step on anything.

With a curious frown, Tertius walked up the hill. He kept an eye on the man's receeding back. It wouldn't do to walk into an ambush. His eyes scanned the trees nearby, watching for those who might be lurking in the branches. A large, dark bird took flight, distracting him as he reached the area with the caltrops. The first took him in the pad of his foot. With a roar of outrage and pain, Tertius stumbled back. Another caltrop drove into the sensitive skin between his clawed toes. Snarling and cursing, he hit the ground hard on his rump. The pack fell, spilling carefully packed blades and provisions. He let it go, one hand holding his axe up in a defensive posture, the other plucking the caltrops free. It was neither a soundless nor a painless process.

There was little need for silence now but Tia still kept to her tricks, rushing up on the foe by using the ball of her foot only. It reduced the chance of breaking twigs and the sound of a foot step was mostly caused by the heel anyways. A curse slung it's way through her mind as she saw the charr fall, ruining her plan entirely. So much for a beheading. Her swords were sheathed, and instead she leaned down to retrieve two daggers from around her calves. She gave silent thanks to Milli's design and eyed Tom briefly to see his next move. She was about ten paces away now and he still had time to take this one if he found the need. She'd understand.

In a world of marginalized magic, there was still plenty to go around. Dexten Morgan had their lightening fingers, and Tom had his lizard blood. Tom also depended on a series of small theives cantrips, learned magic, from the trade and his mentors in it. He hadn't been walking away all this time, like some rebuffed child with ball in arm. He'd been right there under cloaking, with the light bending around him, waiting for his moment. He reached into his pocket and grasped the tube of cayanne pepper and salt, his thumb popped the corked and his arm lashed out, causing the contents of the tube to poof into the Charr's face, eyes nose and mouth all at once. He'd be in range for a hit, and hoped his blinding powder would mitigate the opening he'd given.

With a roar of anger, Tertius noticed the attacker just before the powder engulfed his head. His open maw made the attack even more effective. The charr swung his axe wildly at Tom's midsection as he coughed, choking. His beady eyes clenched shut in pain. Even as he was swinging, Tertius pushed himself backwards, trying to put distance between him and his attacker.

If they were to both get a hit in, it didn't have to be the ones that killed. As the charr swung his axe, Tia finally arrived upon him. Her swords had been once again drawn - so many choices of murder you know - and both were crossed over one another. The point of them were thrust between the two flailing arms and in a swift motion she pulled them apart - aiming to cut his arms completely off. She would let Tom finish him. He needed it more.

Tom had a nano second to make his decision, the sweep of the axe was broad, the blade heavy, the weilder strong. If he ducked and misjudged he'd offer his neck, if he lept back, possible his midsection. He decided to stuff the attack, moving tight to the Charr to allow the haft to strike him in the side and as Tia's attack disembodied one of his arms, he shoved his meaty, gloved fist into the Charr's mouth, pressing his tongue into place and blocking his air passage to all but his nostrils, his foream scraped by sharp teeth until all he could feel was hot soft pallette. He twisted at the waist and used his leverage to tilt the Charr's head backward and lower him to the ground.

Hot, wrenching pain covered the left side of his body as his arm was cut free, clinging only tenaciously by a few strings of tendon. The limb flopped to the ground. Tertius was too busy trying to breathe, to get away, to suffer trying to release his pain unto the world. Colliding the haft of his axe into a hard flank, he tried to curl it around, to lay the blade into the flesh of the man's back, and, failing that, he would drop the axe and attempt to rake with his claws. His jaws, however, were given an easy target. The charr bit down harshly, instinct as much as thought driving him to grab the arm in his mouth and shake it violently, rending flesh, trying to find the hard bone beneath so that it could snap satisfyingly within his jaws.

Tia dropped one of her swords to the wayside and retrieved a dagger. She pulled it up as she saw the teeth clamp down and attempted to drive it hard into the charr's eye. The goal was to cause pain that forced the charr to release but not kill him, but she was in protection mode. She promised Milli she'd get him back safe, she was damned if she'd let anything happen to him. There was still risk in that blade hitting his brain no matter how careful she was.

Tom felt the teeth sink in, and forced his hand down farther, making it impossible to get a good chomp. He'd winced from it, but when Tia put the dagger into its eyes their coordination started to make sense. He'd had his foot peirced, his eyes blinded, he'd lost an arm, he'd been choked, and now a dagger in his eye and all in the space of a minute or two. When Tom withdrew his bloodied wrist and forearm it was to reach for his long blade, a black blade that did not shine. A blade that silenced its victims, and prevented them from screaming, the kind Millicent had seen in the Tinker's shop when it was attacked by the Black Coats, and slid it into the Charr's throat and severed its arteries. Maybe it was already dead, maybe Tia killed it with her surgeon like accuracy and keen eye, but now it was slaughtered as well.

"I promised the coat to Milli," she said cooly as she pulled her spare dagger from her thigh and offered the hilt to him. It was a look of respect, for the first time since their meeting. He'd seen her bare, he'd seen her cold, but now he had her respect. It wasn't something easily come by and he'd only get one shot at it.

The blinding pain of his blinding was only the last in a long line of hurts that killed him, though his mind had yet to catch up with inevitability. It was the final thrust of that dark blade that still Tertius Broadmane, the last of the Broad Warband.

Tom stood up, looking down on the corpse and his friend and now trusted companion, Tia. He paused, allowing the moment to sink in. He stood tall and proud, his chest presented so and his brooding features shadow cast by the backlighting sun. "What the Tinker wants, the Tinker gets."

Strangely, it was easier to care for the burns on her palm than her arm. With the palm, at least, she could easily see the blistered, scorched flesh. The heel of her hand was badly damaged. She couldn't feel it, even though she could tell it was even more scarred than the rest, charred deeply black. One more to add to the list of scars. Milli wrapped her hand again in soft linen strips after treating it with a soothing ointment she'd been making for herself for years.

She'd have gone to see a barber about the burns, except she was fairly certain she had seen and treated more burns than Jackrel and Doctor Morsus combined. No reason to go find them only to tell them how best to do their jobs.

Then she turned to the arm. Her wrapped fingers gripped the ointment-covered brush awkwardly, thumb to forefinger the best she could manage without extreme pain. She slathered the hand-shaped burn liberally. There was never a reason to not use more of the stuff until it got so drippy that it was just making a mess. Then she wound more linen around the burn, having to stop and use her chin and the table edge occasionally to hold the strips in place as she did so.

After two days, she was still uncertain what to do. She had asked Dexten if she knew where Tom was. Dexten's negative, unruly answer clashed sharply with the immediate and violent reaction of her magic, even to Milli's mind. There were few possibilities Milli could deduce.

The first? Tom was dead. Had been so for a while. Possibly at Dexten's hand. Possibly just...on the job.

The second was no better. He was gone, either by his own choice, which hurt, or by some call of duty or enforced absence.

Her first thought had been to ask the Charlatan. But she remembered Jack's words all too well. Don't get into debt with a lord. So she would do something simpler.

Her fingers cramped every few words, but slowly Milli managed to write the note. The script was far from her usual precise hand. And it took far longer to pen.

Looking for a job requiring Tom Door's expertise. Please respond immediately. Information on his location appreciated and compensation for such offered.

Later that evening she pinned it to the wanted board in the barbershop. Hopefully Tom would see it. And if not, perhaps someone who knew where he was supposed to be would come to her. As she left she gave the board, cluttered with torn notices and old ads, one final look and winced. Her last hope did not look to be her best.

The Fire Inside

A fear was made manifest, her note in the barbershop leading the Charlatan to her door in a way Milli hadn’t expected. “Tom Door was captured by his father, tortured. And he and three of our own are still inside,” Birdy explained behind the locked doors of Milli’s shop. “I need you to get them out.” So she worked. She focused. She maintained control. It was important, because not maintaining control was being out of control. And right now, she couldn’t afford to be out of control. Milli let her anger override her fear and she worked her fingers to the bone, calling in Tia, Lachlan, his brother Fercos. She called in favors, paid overpriced fees. All that mattered was that they came. They worked the forge all night, making munitions, weapons, gadgets of all types. Some for things she didn’t have a design for, just the schematics in her head. Longer, wider, a curve along the tip there. From nothing, an armory rose. From the stifled, hot mess of her mind, a plan, too, rose. Azalea was contacted, dragged from her bed. Apologizing, Milli explained what she needed. The urgency. And from Milli’s tone, Leah was reminded of the kind of devotion she, herself, showed when speaking of the Cause. Early the next morning, not long after the sun peeked beyond the horizon, Milli stood out front of the office of the Queen’s tax assessor. When the tiny, balding man with spectacles balanced low on his nose unlocked the door, Milli pushed inside. “I need to look at some blueprints,” she demanded with significantly less finesse than normal. The man blinked, taken aback by her abrasiveness for a moment. Then he remembered that he was in his office. His element. And he straightened his tie, walked primly to his desk chair and sat down behind it. “My dear lady,” he said, as if she was anything but, “I’m afraid that we can’t just do that sort of thing. Otherwise ruffians and all other unsavory types would just be...I don’t know, coming in to look at bank vault blueprints! You must have a signed waiver from the owner of the property, a clearance from the building commission, and a letter of credit from the bank underwriting the insurance for the property.” He smiled at her, sweet and condescending. “Now, if you’d like to come back in a few days with those forms--” “Here,” Milli slapped them down on his desk, a neatly signed copy of each of the forms he was asking for, carefully forged only hours earlier. “The Casivan mansion, up on the wall. Get to work quick or it’ll be Lord Casivan you’ll be answering to, not me.” The threat was surprisingly effective and it made Milli ill to think of how much trouble she was likely bringing down on herself and others with this. But it was the best option out of many, many bad options. The man returned with the appropriate plans, bowing and scraping to her now as if she were royalty. “Is there anything else Lord Casivan requires?” he asked obsequiously. Milli looked the blueprints over, made certain they were correct. Then shook her head. “No. Good morning, sir.” Though the words themselves were polite, the tone was cold. When she met Birdy, it was with a cart full of surprises and a clear idea of where they were going. “We’re getting them out,” Milli said, jaw clenched. Some moments it felt like the pressure inside her, the force of holding it all in, would never end. Or it would end her. “And then we’re getting some leverage.”

Time to Go

She really only had two options in the situation: give in or do something about it. After a few fearful, tearful hours, Milli had chosen the latter.

In Lion’s Arch she remained too easily found if Dexten decided to confront her. Tom had pointed out this weakness, but Milli had thought her connections within the organization would protect her. That was obviously not the case anymore. She would have to leave until she was safe.

And Tom…oh Tom. He loved Dexten. Likely more than he did her. The woman had tried to kill her just for asking after him. If Dexten smelled him on her or saw them having fun together or holding hands, that would be it. She would have died for Tom, but that death wouldn’t be for him. It would be for another woman’s pride and jealousy. And it would hurt him more than just leaving him would. At least Milli hoped so.

With Tia she left keys to both her house and the shop. The woman could keep things running while she was gone. She left a note in the shop for Jack, assuring him of her return. She cleaned out her account at the Bank of all but the pennies. The full 50 gold for Dexten’s bounty was in a sack in the till.

Her bags were packed. Time to go.

Five Facts about Millicent Bowyen. Also, you don’t have asking questions enabled on your page. — theshadowedcorner

Should have that fixed now! <3

1) Apples are her favorite treat and she has a serious sweet tooth for anything apple-flavored. She still has a few apple candies left from the last bag Ciara gave her before things went to hell. But those are mementos, not treats.

2) She doesn't know it yet, but she's having a baby girl, whose name will be Taliyah.

3) Though she's known her less than a year, she loves her sister, Tsuu, as deeply as if they'd been sisters her whole life. When Milli loves someone, it's never half-measure.

4) She never says it, but she misses her little one-room hovel in Lion's Arch. It wasn't big or particularly comfortable, but it was hers and it held a lot of good memories.

5) She would invite every friend and acquaintance she's ever had to her wedding, but she doesn't want to end up crying over the ones who are missing during the ceremony.