#silver is italian so anything from rome applies to him

[silverequation]

i researching gay culture in Ancient Rome and scratching you head with one finger and putting your hand on your hips were considered gay there

[sluttbuttsstuff]

SILVER CHARIOT “SUGAR DADDY” APPLICATION FORM: Risotto

NAME: Risotto Nero

AGE: 35

OCCUPATION: Refused to disclose, but has proven to be able to afford applying for the Silver Chariot agency

ANNUAL INCOME AVERAGE: Classified, but verified by the Chariot agency to make enough to afford any and all Darling’s salaries

BACKGROUND HISTORY:  Italian, grew up in Naples.  Currently lives in Rome in the city, alone.  Risotto declined to disclose too much information on his past and background, for his safety and yours.  Darlings applying to Risotto should be aware that Risotto may occasionally engage in less than legal behavior, and Darling will be required to swear to secrecy, possibly sign an NDA.  Risotto prefers any and all dates to happen at his own place, instead of going out, and would prefer you have your own living quarters.  Risotto (when heavily pressed for ANY personal info!) 

EXPECTATIONS:Darling, above all, must be discreet in order to partner with Risotto.  Risotto will cover any and all expenses, including your own apartment/living space and transportation, so you won’t take any other jobs/clients.  You also won’t be able to date anyone other than Risotto, but any free time from Risotto will be up to you to do whatever you wish, as long as you don’t disclose anything about your partnership with him.  Because of his line of work, his free time is sudden, and he can suddenly be called on a job at a moment's notice, so a darling with a flexible schedule is important. Risotto will also take several other precautions when you leave/visit him, such as hiring an undisclosed transportation to and from his house, self-defense classes, and other necessary precautions.  Risotto also advises not to get too attached to him, as he cannot provide a  “normal” romantic relationship.  Also, please be advised that Risotto has expressed an interest in BDSM lifestyle, so a partner willing to partake in that, while not necessary, is extremely appreciated

LIKES:Heavy metal, leather, BDSM, working out, weight lifting, collecting rocks, horror movies, the bizarre/morbid, animal bones, motorcycles

DISLIKES: ahem, in his own words, “All these damn questions”

IDEAL TYPE: O Negative...

IDEAL FIRST DATE: Staying at home, listening to music, partaking in sexual activities

PAYMENT:  Normally, we don’t require the Sugar Daddies applying to provide specific numbers, but Risotto specifically said to let all interested darlings know he is willing to offer 100,000$ for the first date alone, no strings attached, just to prove he is serious.  He will also offer monthly allowances, and cover any bills, payments as requirements.

ADDITIONAL REQUIREMENTS/INFO: Please don’t comment on his eyes.

[lovelyirony]

"Set out hearts ablaze, and every city was a gift/and every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips" for winter13

Sharon is in charge of Winter Soldier. That’s...huge. 

“You’re in charge of rehabilitation,” Maria tells her over drinks one night. “He needs to not have missions, but he needs someone who’s capable of fighting him. I picked you. Don’t let me down.” 

Sharon applies for a Stark Industries credit card. Tony grants her one, albeit she has to answer why. 

“Is this a national security thing?” 

“Yeah, but when has that stopped me?” Sharon asks, reaching up for her favorite coffee mug. It’s the one with Gonzo from The Muppets on it, and she’s pretty sure the mug is from the seventies. It’s tacky and the worst. Tony hates it. She loves it. 

“I need it for Winter Soldier’s rehab,” Sharon explains. “He needs to get out of the house, so to speak.” 

Tony gets a strange look on his face. 

“Did they tell you anything about him?” 

“I haven’t read the files. I assume he did something to you. I only see that look when--oh. Oh shit.” Tony nods. “I...Tony I won’t ask for that. I’m sorry, I should’ve read up, and I should’ve--” 

“No, it’s fine,” Tony explains, face still tight. “I...I’m not even mad about that, you know? Just with...Steve.” 

Steve’s a sensitive topic for a variety of reasons that Sharon’s not allowed to know about. 

“He didn’t tell me,” Tony continues. “About any of it. Didn’t want to.” 

Sharon’s anger rises a level. 

“I won’t kill him, but you tell him that I’m mad,” Sharon says. “Better yet, I’ll tell him--” 

“I understand it,” Tony says wearily. “I just don’t like it.” 

“Then tell him.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Yes.” 

“No.” 

“Yes!” 

“Do you want the credit card? Do you?” 

The conversation is ended. Sharon gets the rundown, the number for the bank, and the number to contact Jarvis with. 

(Or, she pretends like that’s new. Jarvis texts her all the time, mostly if he notices that Tony needs some form of good contact with someone he loves or he needs to eat something substantial. This is why she and Tony go for monthly burger runs.) 

Winter Soldier has a duffel bag and that’s it. So does Sharon, although she still brings a suitcase. 

“That will hinder escape,” Winter Soldier says. 

“It’s to pack new stuff away,” Sharon says. “And I know you only have two changes of clothes, which is unacceptable. Our flight’s tomorrow, let’s get shopping.” 

James Barnes is...confused. They told him Agent Thirteen would be handling his resettlement into civilian life. She shows up to greet him in leggings, hair in a ponytail, and an over-sized sweatshirt that shows outdated Stark advertising. 

It is not professional or uptight. She is relaxed, at ease, and driving him to a store to get “better shirts than whatever the hell you thought worked.” 

She makes him get a button-down shirt. He thinks it’s less suitable than the one he has, the white one that has a starchy collar and takes a hell of a long time to button the top button. 

It’s black. She approves of it. 

“Okay, we need to get you sunglasses.” 

“I have my field ones.” 

“Those look lame as fuck, get real Barnes.” 

This is how he learns that he hates polka dots, shiny lenses, and finds out that he can wear sandals. 

Interesting. 

- 

He finds out that they’re not going on a mission. Sharon wants to go to Italy. 

“Last time I was in Italy was 87,” Bucky grunts. 

He still doesn’t have to go through TSA. Sharon flashes her badge, gestures to him. 

“Newbie on the field, a little jumpy. You know how military is.” 

They let him through without comment. 

Sharon holds power, he recognizes that. It’s not like previous handlers, with the iron grips on guns and hidden knives in sleeves. It’s not the sly smirks of realizing that you will get away with something. 

She is confident because she knows what she’s doing doesn’t have to be shrouded in secrecy, in lies that make it seem like polished silver. 

Sharon Carter navigates security with ease and gets on a plane, greeting the flight agents. Barnes gets an aisle seat at the back so he has a full vantage. Sharon gets out the cheesiest looking romance book he’s ever seen and settles down. 

“You’re not scared of me?” He asks. “Not even a little?” 

“Oh, I am,” Sharon admits. “More than I should be for someone who is as well-trained as I am. But I know that you cannot kill me yet because I’m your handler and I have to check in every hour at a specified time that you don’t know yet. Also, we’re on an airplane. You’re setting yourself for a Rodney Dangerfield crack.” 

He doesn’t get that reference. 

And then they’re off. 

They land in Italy. Specifically Rome first. Sharon converses in nearly-easy Italian, smiling at the driver. She holds her bags close and gets a car in about ten minutes. 

“You been here before?” 

“A couple of years ago,” Sharon answers. “Had a...weekend. It was cool. Got to see the Sistine Chapel, which is absolutely gorgeous. Italian painters got it right.” 

Barnes isn’t sure that he’ll make it to any holy place of residence. He’s not quite sure that whoever the hell is up there would let him step a foot in. 

Their hotel is nice. An old building that’s kept in relatively good condition. Sharon sets down her bags, James sets down his. 

“You want rest or lunch?” 

His stomach growls before he can stutter an answer. 

“Lunch it is,” he affirms. “Know where to go?” 

“Nope, but I figure we’ll be fine.” 

He has the best meal of his life and it’s paired with excellent wine. He has no complaints, especially not hearing the lilt of voices that he can understand slightly. Sharon talks to him about history, about the last time that she was there. 

They sleep that night. James does not sleep well and nearly jumps out a window because he thinks he sees someone. 

Sharon yawns, walks steadily to the window, and shuts it with a loose latch. 

“I’d rather not clean you off the pavement,” Sharon says. “You want some ice cream?” 

As it turns out, she had gone to a grocery store, gotten a couple of pints of ice cream. “It’s not gelato,” she says, getting spoons out of the drawer. “But it’ll do.” 

Ice cream is very cold. It soothes how hot his face feels, how embarrassed he is. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t have to apologize to me yet,” Sharon says. “You haven’t broken a window.” 

She doesn’t ask about dreams or nightmares. She just tells him that if he likes orange-cream sherbet, then he’s a disappoint to existence. 

“Guess I’m a disappointment,” he says with a shrug. He tried to make a joke. 

It works as Sharon’s smile breaks out. 

“That’s the spirit. I’m a disappointment too in different categories. Mostly involving fruit.” 

Her smile is nice, he observes. 

Italy lasts for a week more. They visit the various chapels and places where great art is. Sharon tells him all about her favorite pieces and what some fun facts are. He googles them on his phone later, writing them down to share with her. 

Sharon’s taking the trip as they go. 

Barnes is remarkably good at finding the stores down the beaten path, getting into the quiet cafes, and locating interesting sights. 

He also, somehow, finds trouble. Because of course he does. 

Sharon wakes up to a knife being thrown, a curse, and the realization that she doesn’t have pants on. Fantastic. 

“Get the bags and run,” Barnes orders. 

“After pants.” 

“Why no pants?” He yells. “Why?” 

“I was comfortable!” 

Sharon gets on a pair of shorts, grabs the bags, and watches as Barnes flips someone over the window. 

“Our flight’s in two hours!” Sharon yells. “Can you finish this up pretty soon?!” 

“Get me--” There’s a crash. 

Then a boom. Sharon’s slightly worried. Also wondering how much will be added to the bill. 

“Get me the blue knife!” He yells. 

Sharon tosses it, he catches it without looking. 

Knew it was hot, just wasn’t expecting it, Sharon thinks. 

She puts down the duffel bag, sighs, and launches herself at the first guy she sees. 

They have fun. They call Maria for clean-up, get packed, and make their flight on time. 

“Where to next?” James asks. 

“I’m thinking we attempt to go to all of the Smithsonian exhibits,” Sharon says. “You up for the challenge?” 

“Bring it.” 

Sharon holds his hands as the flight goes on. She smiles at him. 

“Maybe coffee?” she asks. 

“Of course,” James answers. “But only if I get to take you out dancing later.” 

“I’ll need to make a pit-stop for my dancing dress,” Sharon remarks, smiling. 

“Can’t wait.” 

-

Sharon shows up in a blue dress that’s enough to make any man swoon and keel over. 

James feels particularly lucky. 

[dhgfashe]

Come to think of it, swordfighting fans, this is an excellent opportunity to share some nerdery I picked up in the last week or so. Buckle up, because these past two weeks I *have* studied my Agrippa! [BIG ASS THREAD] In the story, a spectacular duel is fought atop the Cliffs of Insanity between a man in black (we will later know him as the Dread Pirate Roberts, and still later as Buttercup's beloved farm boy, Wesley) and Inigo Montoya, the Spaniard (and only known living Wizard of the sword). During the duel, delightfully, the two masters (two Wizards, presumably, since Wesley proves Montoya's equal) actually *talk shop*, cheerfully discussing techniques, gambits and schools as they to and fro across the cliffs. It's one of the most quotable exchanges in film history.  But did you know the terms are grounded in real fencing history? That the terms are, in fact, used correctly and contextually? 

WELL, I'M ABOUT TO LEARN YA.

[SCRIPT] "I see you are using Bonetti's Defence against me," says Montoya, grinning fiercely. 

"I thought it fitting," rejoins the man in black, "given the rocky terrain."

Rocco Bonetti (d. 1587) was an Italian instructor who moved to London sometime in the 1580s to open a "School of English Arms."* Little is known about his origins (genealogical records put him as anywhere between 20 and 90 at his death!), save that he claimed to be a gentleman.

*SHAKESPEARE FACT: The school, in Blackfriars, was later repurposed as the Blackfriars Theatre. Bonetti was married to Eleanor Burbage, whose family owned the building; Richard Burbage, the actor who brought so many of Shakespeare's leads to life, was likely her grandnephew.

At the time, the English gentry were absolutely mad for Italian swordsmanship. Not because it was especially superior to English "defence," but because it was Italian, and in fighting as in music, poetry, science and food, we were looking to Mediterranean fashions. Now, we had English masters (or "maisters," in the writings of the time), instructors who'd travelled to Italy and Spain to learn from the source and returned to open up their own schools and teach the sons of gentlemen, but they were without exception themselves commoners.

Aristocrats who learned in Italy would return and publish, of course, but they didn't teach, as it would have been working for a living, and beneath them. Now here's an actual, bona fide Italian gentleman willing to teach. Bonetti commanded fees up to FIFTY times his peers.

And his peers... did not think well of him. George Silver wrote a scathing attack on him in his Paradoxes of Defence, he was challenged to several duels (which he usually refused), and there were popular (possibly apocryphal) stories of him being beaten by peasants in the street.

Now, we don't actually know anything about Bonetti's style; he never published and there are no contemporary accounts of his techniques. But scholars have speculated about his most notorious fight, the "Waterman's Duel," in which he was thrashed by a boatman wielding an oar. To keep out of reach of the boatman's longer weapon, it's thought, Bonetti would have had to slip (backstep) often; but since he was fighting on the uncertain ground of a riverbank he would have kept his steps small. "Bonetti's Defence," then, is repeated small backsteps. Fitting, as the man in black observes, given the rocky terrain.

[SCRIPT] "Of course, you must expect me to attack with Capoferro, huh?"

Ridolfo Capoferro - that's "Rudolph Ironhead" to you and me - was a late-sixteenth-century master who wrote what's considered the definitive rapier manual. He represents, to many scholars, the culmination of the transition from "swordplay" to "fencing."  15th-century swordplay, with the sidesword, used a wide stance, with a buckler or dagger in the offhand and the sword hand held out from the body. It made much use of cuts, and of sidestepping to dodge and counterattack. Duels thus described a slow circle as fighters manoeuvred.

By contrast, 17th-century fencing, with the longer rapier, used a much narrower stance, with the sword hand straight out in front, sometimes not using the offhand at all. It kept largely to thrusts, and saw sidestepping as extremely vulnerable. Duels were more to-and-fro. Capoferro, in his book Gran Simulacro dell'Arte e dell'Uso della Scherma, cemented this trend, eschewing sidestep techniques for an extremely linear approach. He paid particular attention to the lunge, a deep, heavily-committed thrust; one of the first writers to do so. A lunge, of course, would be an extremely effective tactic for dealing with an opponent who was shuffling backwards all the time.

[SCRIPT] "Naturally, although I find Thibault cancels out Capoferro, don't you?"

Gérard Thibault d'Anvers was a Dutch fencing master schooled in the Spanish style, Verdadera Destreza ("the true Art"). Verdadera emphasized a rounded, humanist education: a student was expected to study Classical authors, mathematics and philosophy alongside the blade.

Thibault was himself a mathematician, and his own system,  "the mysterious circle," was based on geometries and proportions. He wrote on the length of the weapon, the exact positioning of the fingers, the angle the weapon should describe with his body.  His signature move, "subjection," was a mathematically-inspired defence against a thrust in which the defender's blade, angled properly, pushes the attacker's blade to one side, setting up the counterattack. Thibault didn't teach the lunge, which he thought too easy to counter.  Hence, Thibault's subjection cancels out Capoferro's great lunge.

[SCRIPT] "Unless the enemy has studied his Agrippa. Which I have!"

Camillo Agrippa is by a tidy margin the earliest of the four masters referred to in this exchange. An architect and engineer living in Rome in the mid-sixteenth century, Agrippa was one of the first instructors to apply geometric principles to the challenges of swordplay.  His work set out largely to respond to Achille Marozzo, whose earlier work on swordplay was probably the most influential work of the 16th century. Agrippa saw Marozzo as too ornate and inefficient; famously, he whittled Marozzo's eleven guards down to a "necessary four."

Like Thibault, he used mathematics to work out his techniques, considering angles, posture and leverage. Like Thibault, his defences and counterattacks were extremely efficient. Crucially, Jerónimo de Carranza, the Spanish master who established Verdadera Destreza, was most likely working from Agrippa's work (a contemporary letter by one of Carranza's students makes the claim), so Thibault was essentially Agrippa's heir.

Thus, if there's any way to get around Thibault's brutal subjection, it's probably in Agrippa's equally brutal counters. 

So there you go. Something to remember next time you watch that scene.   [BIGASS THREAD ENDS]