How Like A Man
a Casanova story
by Ren
Francesca Bruni parried a brutal blow from the sword-wielding Casanova. He attacked again and again and although she was forced to continually fight on the defensive, she managed to deflect each move.
Eventually she found herself cornered, with the shadow of Casanova blocking out the light, his sword drawn for the kill...
"Needs practice!" Tito yelled out from the other end of the stage. Both Francesca and Casanova lowered their swords and turned in the direction of Casanova's theatrical step-father.
"Practice? It's obviously her part that needs work, mine was perfect."
Casanova scoffed jokingly. He ducked out of the way as Francesca reached out the smack him.
"We'll work on it a bit more tomorrow, I think we're done for the day." Tito told them, waving them away.
That said and done, Casanova sauntered over to his wife and wrapped his arms around her from behind. He lowered his lips to her ear.
"What do you say we go home?" He murmured.
"I would say that sounds like an excellent idea." Francesca whispered back, turning her head slightly to catch his lips in hers.
He took hold of her hand and they started to make their way back to the spacious home they shared with Francesca's mother and her new husband, Paprizzio. Francesca's mother, blissfully happy with her husband, had generously offered Francesca and her husband a place to stay in the enormous house that Paprizzio had purchased. Neither Francesca nor Casanova had any objections, so together they shared a few rooms in the eastern section of the house.
They were not yet half way there when the rain started to fall. Gently at first, then great torrents that seemed to come out of nowhere. Casanova, ever the gentleman, quickly took off his cloak and draped it over Francesca's shoulders, flipping up the hood to keep the rain off her a bit longer. By the time they ran breathless into the foyer, both Casanova and his cloak were thoroughly soaked. Under his cloak, Francesca had made out a little better, having had the extra layer of cloth to keep the rain off her. She laughed as Casanova took the dripping cloak from her shoulders and hung it to dry.
"What perfect weather," she commented as she turned to her husband, taking his face in her hands and bringing it towards her own to kiss him again. He returned the kiss whole-heartedly, wrapping his arms around her waist. She laughed and drew away when the water from his sleeves began to soak into her dress.
"We'd best get you out of those clothes before you catch cold." She told him. He quirked an eyebrow at her suggestively, saying nothing, but his message perfectly clear. She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile as she took his hand and led him off towards the bedroom.
The sunlight slowly snuck past the curtain and crept across the floor, seemingly sheepish at it's sudden and forceful departure the previous day. Casanova sleepily brought a hand up to rub at his eyes. He gazed at the beautiful woman sleeping in his arms and for the first time in his life, thought of no other, knowing he would be happy with her forever. This was what true love felt like. As the sun hit his eyes, that feeling soon turned into a maddening tickle deep in his sinuses and he was overcome with the overwhelming urge to sneeze. He brought a hand up to his face and pinched his nose shut.
"H-MMph!"
He looked over to see that he hadn't disturbed the sleeping Francesca, and once assured that she was in fact, still sleeping, he relaxed and let his head sink back into the pillow. He quietly cleared his throat, the scrathy feeling that had arisen sometime over night stubbornly refusing to be cleared away. I guess we didn't get me out of those close fast enough, he thought, vaguely amused at the irony. Unfortunately that thought was quickly overcome by the urge to sneeze once again, this time the feeling coming upon him so fast he had no time to muffle the sound.
"Huh-issht! Huh-schht!"
Though the sneezes themselves weren't very loud, they were forceful enough to jerk his body away from the bed at each one, thus disturbing the sleeping woman beside him. Francesca opened her eyes at the sudden awakening and turned her head to see her husband rubbing his hand against his nose boyishly.
"Sorry," he apologized, once he saw that she was awake.
"Not getting sick I hope?" She smirked.
"Of course not...it was just the sunlight," he waved away the remark.
"It would serve you right if you were...that foolish display of chivalry yesterday, getting yourself completely soaked when I could easily have handled a little water." She chastised him, a little indignantly, but joking all the same.
"I try to be a gentleman and look what I get..." he murmered as he pulled her closer. She snuggled into his chest and they lay there a while before the rising sun reminded them of the waning day, and they both got dressed and headed out to the kitchen. There they were met by a jovial Paprizzio, who was busy with a breakfast of fine Genoese sausages. He commented lightly on Casanovas ruffled hair and how he thought a 'famous lover of such reputation would take a little more care in his appearance.' His remark was accompanied by a friendly smile and a laugh. Casanova chuckled as well. Paprizzio had long since gotten over how Casanova had played him to get to Francesca. After all, it was...somehow...through that whole charade that Paprizzio had found the love of his life in Andrea, Francesca's beautiful widowed mother.
Later that morning they gathered again at the caravan and the stage to rehearse Francesca's new play. As they moved backstage to change into their costumes, Casanova used the maze of curtains and drapery to duck away and sneeze into the billowy folds of his sleeve.
"Huh-ISHT! Huh...Huh-SHHT!"
"Darling, are you alright?" Francesca peered around a curtain.
"Fine, fine...it's just...very dusty back here." Casanova waved away the question once again, realizing he was running out of excuses.
"All right...well when you are ready, Tito wants us to rehearse the duel once more."
The took their places on stage and held up their swords. Tito signalled for them to begin and Casanova advanced. As they had practiced before, Francesca parried the blow and attempted to fight off her opponent.
Unfortunately, this rehearsal was not meant to be one of their best, as Casanova's impending cold interfered and the mock duel took a turn for the worst. The sudden tickle in his nose took away a little of his concentration, but he tried to ignore it and continued to advance with his sword. Francesca parried once more, and just as she struck out with her sword, prepared to have him block her move, Casanova lost his concentration entirely as the sneeze overcame him.
"Huh-schoo!"
The force from the sneeze caused him to lose his balance slightly and stumble, and the tip of Francesca's sword pierced his side. He gave a short shout of pain and dropped his sword, grabbing his side.
Francesca stared in horror at what she had done. Then she rushed over to her husband and crouched down next to him.
"I'm so sorry! I..." she trailed off, for the first time at a loss as to what to say.
"It was not your fault," he grimaced, still holding his hand over his side, where a small red stain was spreading over his shirt. "It's nothing, really."
However, Francesca was no fool. And the blood on his shirt and the expression of pain on his face belied his seemingly offhand remark.
Francesca tored off a strip from the bottom of her dress and gently pulled up his shirt to begin winding the cloth around his midsection. Tito, who had mistaken Casanova's shout as one of frustration, just a forgotten move or line or something to the same extent, looked over to see Francesca ripping her dress.
"What are you doing! We just had those costumes finished!" He yelled over. He marched over to see why she had decided to tear up the fine costume when he noticed the red stain spreading along the cloth that Francesca wound around Casanova's midsection.
"What happened?" He exclaimed, instantly becoming concerned.
"This is why we should not practice with real swords!" Francesca yelled angrily.
"We do it for the realistic effect!" Tito answered back defensively. "This is why the moves are scripted! What happened?"
Francesca sighed. "Giacomo, he sn..."
"It was an accident...I...my sword slipped and could not block hers," Casanova interrupted. Francesca looked at him questioningly but said nothing.
"Well...I guess this ends rehearsal for today. I shall call a doctor immediately." Tito turned to go call said doctor, but Casanova stopped him.
"No! No..." He cleared his throat, noticing the slightly congested tone his voice had taken. "I'll be fine."
"Giacomo!" Francesca began.
"No, I'll be all right. There is no need for a doctor. This shall suffice." He gestured towards Francescas makeshift bandage. "Really," he continued, noticing the distress on Francesca's face. "It is not deep," he said of the wound.
"Well at least let me get you home and dress it properly." She appealed. She took his arm and gently helped him up. He winced at the movement but he had spoken true, the wound was not deep and definitely not life threatening.
They made it back to the house where Francesca ushered Casanova into their bedroom, sat him on the bed and rushed off to collect a bowl of water and proper bandages.
Casanova watched her leave and then quickly pulled a handkerchief from under his pillow, using this time alone to tend to his nose which had begun to tickle and run once more.
"Huh-schht! H'shmmpft!" He muffled the sound as best he could into the soft white folds, wincing once more at the pain that shot through his side.
He heard Francesca's footsteps in the hallway and hastily stowed the handkerchief underneath the pillow once again.
Francesca hurried into the room carrying bandages, a cloth and a bowl of warm water. She carefully unwrapped the strip of her dress from around Casanova's stomach and was relieved to see the wound had stopped bleeding. She carefully cleaned the area with the cloth and the water, and wrapped the fresh bandages around the wound, securing it snugly with a knot at his other side. She stopped as his hand found hers, and he brought it up to his lips and kissed it softly.
Unfortunately, his cold interfered once more and he abruptly dropped her hand to turn and cough harshly into his shoulder, another move that send a searing pain through his side. Francesca put a hand on his shoulder, and when he didn't look at her she put her other hand to his cheek and gently turned his head so he was looking at her.
"Why did you not tell me you were ill?" She asked him, remembering their conversation earlier in the day and suddenly regretted telling him it would have 'served him right.'
"I..." He did not want to admit that it was because it made him look weak. He was, afterall, the 'great Casanova,' and though he had finally settled down with one woman, the love of his life, the reputation still stood. He did not want it to be known that the greatest lover of all time could be brought down by a simple head cold.
"You did not want to show weakness, is that it?" She asked, seeing the look of surprise that registered on his face as she spoke. "How like a man...to never let others know how he is truly feeling." She spoke gently. "I thought that you, of all people, had learned better than that by now. You get yourself into trouble when you do not tell the truth." She chided.
He smiled wryly at her. A look which soon turned to one of twitchy irritation, as he brought his arm to his face.
"Huh-SCHOO! H'ISCHT! Huh...H'SCHOO!" He groaned softly as the sneezes bent him over double.
"Bless you." She reached behind him and pulled the handkerchief from underneath his pillow, handing it to him. He wiped at his nose raised his eyebrows at her over the top of the white square of cloth.
"How did you..." he began.
"A woman sometimes knows more than you think." She smirked.
He coughed again and gingerly put a hand to his side.
"Come, you should rest." Francesca pulled back the sheets and cut off his objections with a stern look. He gave in and eased himself down.
She placed the handkerchief under the pillow once again and leaned down to kiss his forehead. She brought her hand down to his cheek and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.
"Mmm...I love you." He murmured.
She smiled, knowing with all her heart that he meant it.
"And I love you."
He knew she meant it too.
~The End~
All characters, situations, etc...do not belong to me, this is for my own enjoyment only.
I apologize for any errors, I did not have much time to edit properly.
Week #114 (General Bunny)- Write a fic where a sneeze at an inopportune moment ends up getting a character injured.