writeworld:

This is actually a brilliant writing reference for those writers whose stories involve fighting with bladed weapons. It details killing blows, both through thrusting and through cutting. It basically operates on the premise of, “Hollywood is wrong, here’s how it really works.” A bit long to trudge through, but a lot of invaluable information for those of you who want to write fight scenes and wounds a bit more realistically than, “He stabbed his enemy in the heart, killing him with one smooth stroke!” It uses medical terminology to explain why some things work and why some things are truly fantasy-only.

A bit macabre, but a good way to pursue more realistic writing in a story that requires such details.

As he brought my thigh level to his hips, I could feel how beautifully thin they were. I had always had a preference for very naturally thin men, so I tightened my leg around his hip and bit my lower lip excited to finally meet such a man, my eyes lit up. Clients were clients but this one was gorgeous. I melted into his arms, arching my back into him. He hesitated a little at this and took in a breath.

            “I…your dress.” He says a bit hesitantly. My eyes get a bit wide wondering what he was talking about…then it dawns on me how hard it is to take off these silly gowns.

            “Oh!” I say as I start to un-do my bodice for him, expertly. As it comes undone my eyes drift up to study him. He looks extremely tense and is obviously waiting with baited breath for me to reveal my bosom. A smile slowly spreads across my face as my bodice comes undone slowly and I slip easily out of the dress. I then start in on untying my corset slowly, leaning against the wall of his workshop.

            “Monsieur DuPont…” I say softly, a bit longingly. I am not certain as to why he brings out this longing in me. It upsets me and makes me defensive, this feeling.

            “Hmmm…?” he says a bit distantly. He’s studying her as if he’s already taking her in for the painting he’s going to make of her. As if he’s measuring all of the contours of her body for his expert mind to render much later. This makes me breath a bit harder and swallow. I had never been looked at by a man the way he’s looking at me at this very moment. It actually makes a blush creep into my cheeks so I turn away a bit from him as I undo the last of my corset. 

            “Nothing…” I say softly, hesitantly. He lets out a bit of a sigh at this and comes around to me slowly again, as I let the corset fall from my body my eyes widen as he grabs my face by the chin and forces me to look up at him.

            “It does not look as if it is nothing,” he says softly, his blue eyes studying my hazel ones. I’ve just noticed how long his lashes are…and blonde. He’s such a beautiful man…I shake my head out of the daze he put it in. No man has ever enchanted me in this fashion…it scares me and makes me want to run out of his workshop…but it draws me to him closer, this fear of him.

            “As far as you know its nothing. I do not wish to talk of it.” I say with finality. I wanted to keep my mystery and my secret…I never talk of my vulnerabilities especially to a man I don’t know very well at all. This just seems to make a little smile pull at the sensuous sides of his mouth. How is this amusing?

            “I apologize for the intrusion.”  He says softly and strokes my cheek with his knuckles softly.

            “Lets get on with it.” I say quickly and shimmy out of my under garments. This makes him get a hurt look on his face as he opens his mouth as if to say something but then closes. It gives me a certain pleasure to see this look and reaction on his face.

            “Yes…” he says softly, slowly as he too starts to slip off his raggedy clothing. I slide down onto the ground and sit on the floor, leaning against the wall of his workshop, I roll my eyes up to look at him and smirk.

            “Are you going to violate me?” I say in a soft and almost girlish way. This makes him snap his eyes down to me and widen them. I can tell that, that comment made his blood boil. I prided myself in knowing what men liked, what men wanted to hear. I did not become a courtesan by being someone’s chambermaid. I bite down on my lower lip and look up at him innocently. This breaks him once more as he lunges down and grabs me by my arms, moving me to his workshop table, spilling everything upon it as everything comes tumbling down it excites me and makes me giggle as I open my legs up to him, he slides himself easily into me and stops. Just stops.  I bite down on my lower lip once more, wondering what exactly he’s doing. I play it off by being cute, though.

            “Monsieur DuPont?” I ask in a light little voice. This makes him take in a breath. He has a thing for me acting like a child.

            “S-Sorry…I’ve…forgive me.” He says softly, pulling me into his arms and ramming into me, which makes me, let out a squeak. He’s not a small man, its painful, but it feels pleasurable as well. I sigh softly as he brings his mouth to mine and kisses me quite passionately, even biting my lower lip hard only to tug at it as well. He’s a very slight man but by no means weak. He grabs hastily at my wrists and pins them to the table, his hands seem to look delicate, but his grip is deliciously painful. I arch my back into his thin frame as I think about the purple and blue bruising I’ll have on my wrists tomorrow.  This would not be good for business. Men going around asking me why my wrists were bruised…as I think of this as I try to smoothly bring my hands to his shoulders but they get shoved down hard onto the table, which makes me gasp. This action scares me but excites me all at once and I do not know how to react. I’ve always loved men being quite rough with me

            “Monsieur…” I say softly in that light little voice he loves. This makes him piston into me harder, which makes me let out a little cry, and teasingly struggle underneath him. I now know what he wants. As I try to get away and I giggle loudly as he tries to pin me down, I hear something issue from his mouth that makes my eyes widen and stop.

            “Rosa…I love you.” He says softly, into my ear, whilst he is buried inside of me.

            “Get off of me.” I say bluntly and shove him off of me this time.

            “Fuck…” he says suddenly, cursing his obvious slip of the tongue. “I am sorry, Rosa…”

            “No apologizing, Monsieur, I am leaving.” I say back, putting my gown back on as fast as I can, I open the door, and he grabs at my wrist, which makes me, gasp because he has already man handled it enough.

            “S-sorry…” he says awkwardly and immediately lets go of it, I can see that he has put his breeches back on whilst I was shoving my silly gown back onto my body. “When will I see you again?”

            I narrow my eyes at this but ease up, for I remember the beauty of his work and the fact that he didn’t really hurt me at all. That he treated me like a woman and not a courtesan. What he said is what scared me off like the skittish deer I am.

            “Tomorrow, at five. I’ll come to model for you…but nothing else.” I say coldly and race off into the night, back to my home.

~

Johnny 16^th Century (Paris, France)

            I awoke in the morning from the usual long and morbid dreams I have of putrefying flesh and entrails to find that I still felt happy despite my nightmares.

I had admitting my feelings to a caramel skinned angel and had actually experienced what it felt to actually be inside of her. To occupy her very soul for a few minutes, but those minutes were heavenly, precious, and could sustain me for a lifetime—or so I thought.

As I arouse from my bed and skipped over glass bottles that had contained alcohol only yesterday. It was a dirty secret that I carried; alcohol was my only escape, the only escape from my paranoid and over active mind. With Rosa, though, my mind went blank and stilled. She gave me a feel of warmth, unity, and mindlessness. That which I had craved for far too long, I needed her.

I couldn’t wait for 5 o’clock any longer and felt like going out and trying to find her all over Paris which I knew was unrealistic and ludicrous…but when was I ever realistic? The idea seized my obsessive and feverish mind until I remembered that I had to drop a painting off to one of those fat rich men that dared touch Rosa. All I wished to do was imagine the softness of her dusky thighs as I grabbed at them like a starved and desperate man, the fullness of her painted lips as they opened in loud, unapologetic moans to my ministrations. These thoughts made me moan out loud in my barren room and flop back onto my bed. She was intoxicating these thoughts were intoxicating.

Nonetheless, I did get up to bring that fat and ugly client the painting he had requested. But, when his sour maid escorted me to the room he was in all conversation stopped as I came it. It always did. People were constantly gossiping about me, this was not a surprise…but what was a surprise was the fact that we flower, my Rosa was in the room and as she looked up to see me her beautifully almond shaped eyes widened in surprise. She was not expecting this…great…neither was I. I gulped in surprise.

“Ahhh, here is our most gifted artist!” Says the fat man…his name is actually Augustin. He was a rather loud, annoying, and unpleasant fellow but I wanted his money. All I did was smile sheepishly and insincerely at his comment. He could go fuck himself as far as I knew. His obvious purchasing of Rosa’s company made me dislike him all the more intensely. I tried to act as if I did not know the dark beauty but gave her imploring and longing looks all the same.

“We were just talking about you!” I inwardly rolled my eyes. That much was obvious.

“Ah…really?” I say out loud nervously.

“It seems as if our Rosa is very enamooored by you.” Says the fat man.

My Rosa scoffs at this. “I-I not true! I do not really know him! I just think his…your-“ she says motioning her pretty small hands in my direction “paintings are gorgeous! That is all.”

The fat man just laughs and waltzes over to me so that I may give him the painting I had made and was wrapped at the moment in cloth.

“Ah!” I say softly and hand him the painting as politely as possible. He grabs it in his fat hands and unwraps it. It is a painting of him and one of his mistresses, who I remembered being ugly and quite unintelligent. I swipe my long blonde hair away from my face with one flicking motion of my head nervously. I was always quite hard on my art.

            “Ahhh…this is a masterpiece, Jonathan! Gorgeous as always…” he says slowly handing it over to one of his maids so that she may hang it up. All I do is nod my head and smile without any warmth behind it. “Come…have a drink with me and our little Rosa to celebrate your talent!” He says in that loud, annoying, and boisterous voice of his.

“Ahh…no, not today, Monsieur, I have other works to deliver at the moment!” I say easily and with fake laughter. I lied. I just didn’t want to be around this man and especially when he had bought Rosa’s company. Rosa seemed relieved by this. I knew she did not love me just yet…she did not love me as I did her but I did know that she had affection for me…was attracted to me. I could feel and smell passion from a mile away. I myself lived with it, breathed it, and ate it. I needed such a thing for my paintings. Well, that, and sadness. Wanting. Longing. Which Rosa represented.

“Hmm…too bad. Well, I shall speak to you later Jonathan!” He said sitting next to my Rosa and nodding. I nodded back, but gave Rosa a long and meaningful look that the oaf did not notice. Then I was gone.

Rosa 16^th Century (Paris, France)

Rosa - 16^th century (Paris, France)

            I heard a gun shot in the night.  It was clearly near the River Seine, which I had to pass everyday on the way back to my home. It was in the dead of night and I did not want to take a dangerous detour from my destination…but an unreasonable feeling compelled me to regardless. As I started to stealthily make my way towards the bridge, I stopped suddenly to take off my very loud-heeled shoes. If this person was dangerous they should not hear me coming at all, I had thought as I also took out a dagger that I had hidden beneath the folds of my luxurious dress. If this man or even woman wanted to do me any harm, harm would come to them first.

As I reached the bridge, I found out this was fortunately not the case at all. It seemed as if I had stumbled upon a man who wanted to harm himself far more than he ever wanted to harm me!  It was so dark at the time that all I saw was the very dark back of the man…but he was certainly holding a pistol to his head. It was a to be or not to be, as a courtesan I knew all about Shakespeare and his beautiful Hamlet. Still, my eye widened at the sight. I didn’t know quite what to do. Should I walk away and do nothing? Or should I speak at this? I reached my hand out as if to grasp at him but pulled away instead. I tried to speak but nothing came out of my mouth. I felt frozen and cowardly, this I did not like. Shaking my head, working up my resolve, and reminding myself that I was a strong woman I finally spoke at this.

“Sir…” I said calmly, trying to keep some of the urgency from my voice. I didn’t want him pulling the trigger accidentally; I see his very lean form go rigid. I curse myself because now he’s nervous and he knows he’s been found out and may very well pull the trigger this time, I see his finger sink onto it even more. This prompts me to do something very rash and unwise, which is something I am not completely foreign too. I lunge at him, making his body simultaneously meet the floor and the pistol fire into the sky.

My heart had quickened, something I hadn’t even noticed until now. I then catch my breath and sigh in relief.  The body underneath me on the other hand—is incredibly tense. I feel him shifting a bit, insistently, which makes me roll my eyes and get off of him immediately.

“A thank you would suffice,” I say in a smart aleck way, knowing he’s probably angry with me for cutting his little suicide attempt short.

“A thank you…hm?” He says back sarcastically as he rights himself and sits on the ground near me.

“Yeah, that’s right, a thank you. “ I say simply, smiling at him as I say it.  Now that I can get a better look at him, I noticed he was a handsome man, if a bit on the shabby side.  He had medium length straw blonde hair that was highly unruly and his clothing looked as if it hadn’t been changed in days, but he retained his good looks, he was rather pretty for a man. These looks consisted of very prominent features despite his beautiful face. He had a strong jaw line and a sharp nose. Peering over that sharp nose were two intensely cobalt eyes.  Who was this man? 

“You’re a courtesan, aren’t you?” He asked in an almost sleepy voice. This startled me out of my staring, I thanked god he didn’t seem to notice.

“I…yes…how could you tell?” I asked stupidly before catching myself, giggling a bit, and rolling my eyes. “Ah! Yes, I am. I guess the fancy gown says it all.” I say simply, nodding.  He nods his head back at me like I am somewhat mentally incompetent. This makes my famous temper flair up. “Well, excuse me for being a little shaken after saving your life! Stop treating me as if I was an incompetent idiot!” I say plainly, getting up to leave, which isn’t a simple task in this cumbersome gown.  Nonetheless I stop my struggling mid-way, when I feel a slender hand clasp my wrist.

“I am a painter. That’s how I know, actually…I’ve gazed upon you before.” He said quietly as if admitting a secret to me. His eyes meet with my brown ones as I pull my hand away immediately he goes on anyway. “I’ve completed some works for some of your clients. I’ve only seen you in passing. Through cracks of half opened doors…things of that nature.”

“I…well then…who are you?!” I asked incredulously. How could this man know me and I not know him? It annoyed me.

He just gave me a shy smile, like he had been a naughty little boy and said softly “Jonathan. Jonathan DuPont.”  My eyes widened in realization. I had heard this name before, but had never seen the man the name belonged to. He had a lot of my wealthy clients going insane over his paintings and I did not fault them for they were all masterpieces of the highest quality!

“So that’s you…you’re much younger and more good looking than I’ve imagined!” I state bluntly and grin.

“I thought much the same thing about you! That is…I mean,” he says lamely and awkwardly. I raise one of my eyebrows at him as a sign of warning and puzzlement. “When I had heard of you, the famous Rosa Dubois, I had not imagined you as the dusky skinned beauty you are!” He finished shyly and cast his blue eyes downwards, to the cobble stoned floor.

“Ah… now…why in the fuck were you trying to commit suicide?!” I ask just a bit too loudly.

“Shhh…I…well, I’ve been feeling quite melancholy, to tell you the truth…but I think I’ve felt that way all of my life.”  He said back to me quite unguardedly, his eyes were still down cast.  This statement reached something deep within me, and I leaned over to grab his hand. I realize that I wish to know more about this melancholy genius.

Johnny - 16^th Century (Paris, France)

            I hadn’t thought that tonight would be the night of fortune it had been. The truth is, that I have had my eyes on Rosa Dubois for quite sometime. I fell in love with her from afar. She was the princess in the tower far, far above me, catering and loving men who were far older and far richer than myself.  It always made me internally sour and irrationally jealous, for unfortunately, I did not have her and she was not enchanted with me. I had not the courage nor money to buy her beautiful company and her glorious dusky skin. That did not take away my urge to fall at her feet, feel her heart beat fast above me, and caress her dark skin. I wished to feel if it was as soft as it looked. I snapped away from my erotic daydreams only to listen to her silky voice whilst we walked to my humble abode.

            “I imagine you live in Montmarte, right?” she asked curiously, offhandedly.

            “Y-Yes…its quite small…maybe a bit shabby…you don’t have to come with me.” I said with finality. This whole thing had hurt my pride enough. I didn’t look like I had any but I did, an enormous amount. For example, no one could tell me what to do. It was one of my pet peeves.

            “No! I wish to…I’ve always loved smaller and shabbier houses…they’re much more warm and interesting…I became a court-well that’s the past now.” She said back to me, surprising me with her love of simplicity. It only made me want her more. In an innumerable amount of ways: I wanted to blend with her, I wanted her spirit, and I wanted her sex. These rather embarrassing thoughts made me ball my long and clumsy fingers into a fist. This distracted me to our arrival at my abode, catching myself; I beckoned for her to come to the wooden door we had yet missed.

            “Ahhh…sorry, my head has been full of ideas for paintings all night.” I lied, walking over to my door and opening it with one of my big iron keys.

            All she did was gift me with a beautifully shining and dimpled smile and say, “That’s quite alright.”

            I shook my head subtly to stop these feelings…the feelings that I wanted to devour her whole and never let her go, never regurgitate her. It wasn’t quite all right at all, but I led her into my home regardless. As I open my door and stood aside for her, she excitedly ran in, and started to study all of my painting equipment. She seemed as if she were a child in a sweets shop.

            “See anything you love…anything you adore?” I ask of her with my unintentionally scratchy, dreamy, and sleepy voice. I’ve always had this voice, when I was younger it would have made me self-conscious but I had learned to accept it, instead of wanting to rip my vocal chords out of my throat.

            “Mmm…I adore everything having to do with art…with artistry. I am an artist myself! I love to write. ‘Tis fortunate I am a Courtesan in this case!” I hear her giggle and it’s loud, boisterous. It is not feminine or lady-like in the least. It makes my palms sweat, her admission of her love of art makes my head reel.

            “Really? You don’t seem to like my work very much, having never come to purchase any from me.” I say with a bit of humor, hiding the hurt that she had never come to me, for paintings or otherwise, the feeding of her soul.

            “I’ve just never gotten the chance! Your art, though— your paintings! Such artistry! Such genius! The way you paint women specifically…I’ve always loved.”

            I must admit this admission simultaneously took me aback and made me want to vomit with nervousness. “The way I paint women, hm?” I ask back honestly curious about her opinion, testing her obvious intellectuality.

            She lets out a giggle, but this time it isn’t as boisterous. I loved her boisterous giggles, they took you by surprise, “well…you draw them with such care and devotion, as if they were your lover and you were caressing their cheeks and hair, worshiping them. ‘Tis incredible!”

            These compliments arouse something complicated in me. It made me turn away from her and blush profusely. She did not know that it was she that I worshiped.

            “Did I say something wrong?” She asked, outstretching her hand and putting it on my flimsy arm. It felt like hot coal had touched my skin. I recoiled immediately and stepped clear away from her, on the other side of my workshop. Which only served to further confuse the cinnamon skinned beauty. As I turned to look back, her brown eyes had widened in a hurt and confused expression, which made me want to scrunch onto the floor and into a fetal position for putting it there.

            “I-I am…sorry.” I saw awkwardly, stupidly. I cannot function in front of such a creature. This creature that is utterly free and empty of pretense but full of empathy, love, and intelligence. I wished to paint her for the rest of my life. My paintings were hers, which is to say that my soul was hers. It could not belong to any other.

            “I…do you wish for me to leave?” She asks, her hazel eyes wincing a bit. As if she thinks I may try to kill myself again, step out of this mortal coil.

            “No! No. Please don’t…leave.” I say shakily as my head does the same, I sweep my long hair away from my eyes in nervousness. She smiles at this. It’s a warm smile, full of…endearment?

            “Of course…but what do you wish me to do?” she asks coming nearer to me in a cautious and languid way. “I know the look of infatuation when I see it…I am not a stupid woman. You may have me…as long as you put me in one of your beautiful works of art…that is payment enough for me…” she says slowly, softly…I notice she is nearer to me…I feel as if I cannot breathe, as if my lungs can no longer function.

            “I…I can’t…please…” I say softly. The thoughts I have in my head are too much…I wish to shove her onto the ground of my workshop and take her.  Pull her long; curly, and messy brown her. Make her weep and crave no one else.  “I mean…I shall put you in one of my paintings…I have craved painting you…but I cannot…have you.” I finished off slowly. I realize that I am digging my nails hard into the palms of my hands to restrain myself; I do not wish to scare her. I wish to take care of her and comfort her.  All she does it smile knowingly at my words. It seems as if she knows his fears.

            She narrows her eyes, her almond shaped and beautiful hazel eyes. “What are you frightened of? I am not frightened of you Monsieur DuPont. I am rather curious about you…about why you’re always alone, why you’re always sad, why you have tried to kill yourself this night, and why you think I should be so frightened of such a exciting, intense man such as yourself.” She finishes, smiling warmly at me.  Her smile warms me…and the warmth reaches my groin. I slowly feel my resolve dissolve…and the heat command my actions.

Rosa – 16^th Century (Paris, France)

            Something seemed to have snapped in his sky blue depths before he lunged at me, pinning me to his workshop’s wall. It did not surprise me that he was so insistent and wild. It made me giggle and sigh as he took both my wrists and pinned them in back of me, leaving me incapacitated. I could not move. His long and delicate fingers were my shackles. All I could do was look silently up and into his lively blue eyes, that now swam with lust as I silently challenged him.

I thought Renata was a pretty title for my novel but now I don’t even know anymore…I guess I want it to be something a bit more dreamy and evocative. Like that novel “A Place the Sea Remembers”! What a fucking beautiful title for a fucking book, man! I want a title like that!

changed Johnny’s hair color so many times…I am stuck between blonde or black…may just make it blonde. =P