Hello everyone, I'm trying to write a story about a female assasin who specializes in martial arts. I'm not very clued up or experienced with martial arts and thats why I'm posting here. For your expertise and insight I have compact fight coreography in the piece. Could you please assess the fighting bits and tell me if they are accurate, beleivable and portrayed realistically? Also any suggestions or changes to the fighitng moves/strikes are welcome. I'd also really appreciate any feedback from female martial artists, to see if my female assasin is portrayed realistically from their point of view. That is, if you can see yourself doing these moves in these circumstances, then please let me know, for an indication if I'm politically and realistically correct Thank you. Here it is... Brazilian Tango It’s only a matter of time now before she finds me. She’ll no doubt corner me like a mouse in my own apartment. They call her Silhouette, because she can trail you like a shadow. She’s Brazilian and attractive, which makes it easier for her to kill. I’ve angered the Parisian mob and now they’ve sent her after me. Let her come. I’m ready. I’ve done my research. She doesn’t use weapons. They’re too messy and unpredictable. Instead, Silhouette specializes in lethal martial arts and seduction to despatch of her targets. She lures men in like a black widow and when the time is right, she strikes. I’m one of the few, if not only men to know about her existence. Weighing the odds, I doubt that I could defeat her in a physical fight, let alone fend her off. I know nothing about martial arts or any other forms of hand to hand combat. What I do know however, is that I’m a skilled marksman. The Parisian mob once knew that too. I had been their hitman. Since I’ve fallen from their grace however, they’ve managed to strip all of my firearm privileges away through their various contacts. Now I sit in my penthouse apartment unarmed and defenceless. She must be aware of this. That is why they’ve sent her. All I have is the baseball bat I now grasp in my hands as I lay on the couch listening to the front door. I’ve made the necessary preparations. Let her come. I’ll rather take my chances and go out swinging rather than die without a fighting chance at all. Now I wait for Silhouette to creep her way into the room, like the shadows that emerge at the crack of dawn. Days go by and still I wait with dread and anticipation. There is no escaping her in the end. Until eventually, she comes. I am in the living room looking out the huge picture window overlooking the Parisian streets from the eighteenth floor of the Lexicon Hotel. That is when I hear the front door slowly open, followed by the sound of high-heels clicking against the tiled floor. They must have arranged a key for her to get in or she figured something else out. Either way, it was inevitable. The baseball bat is propped up against the couch, halfway across the modern looking suite. Just my luck. I turn around and see her. Her dark and gorgeous eyes meet mine. Her long black hair flows around her beautiful Brazilian face. She is wearing an evening dress with a slit down the side, revealing her long, brown tanned legs. She looks young and athletic, barely in her twenties. Silhouette never says a word to me. She merely locks the front door and hides the key in an inside pocket, staring at me intently. She sees the stereo to the left of the door and switches it on, turning the volume dial up. Evil Woman by ELO just happens to be playing on a golden oldies radio station. The irony of it all I think. She kicks off her high-heels. And so it begins. She starts to make her way towards me, her intense eyes never leaving mine for a second. She readies her stance as she makes her way around the couch, her fists raised and waiting. My eyes quickly shift to the baseball bat. She notices this and briefly glances at the bat and stops just a few feet away from me, her bare feet planted firmly apart in her combat stance. She gives me a cocky smile, as if to toy with me as a predator does before killing its prey. “Your move Messier” I look at her blankly with a poker face, so as not to give away my state of mind. I could at least appear confident and powerful. Maybe it would give me the upper hand I needed in this fight. She starts to bounce on the balls of her feet, getting ready to strike. Quick as a flash and without warning, she launches a leg into the air attempting to knock me down with a roundhouse kick. Her evening dress trails over my head in a whirl of fabric as I duck at the last moment. No time for sightseeing I tell myself. There is a rush of air above my head as I lunge for the baseball bat next to the couch. I grasp it and catch hold of the handle, stumbling my way into the depths of the living room. I can hear her behind me. I turn around brusquely and clumsily swing the heavy bat at her with one hand. She easily evades my attack and moves in to deplete the available swinging room I have left with the bat. I am rocked back as she lands a solid diagonal punch followed by a swift, spinning back kick to my nether region to make me go down. To her mild surprise I am still standing. I stare her in the eye with a look of defiance. The benefit of wearing a cup. Told you I was prepared. Her eyes scan over me and a faint cocky smile appears on her lips. “I’m impressed Messier” I take advantage of this distraction and lunge the bat upwards using both hands, hoping to strike her under the chin. Despite my best efforts, she easily sidesteps me and grabs hold of one of my wrists and twists. The pain is immediate and sharp, instantly incapacitating me. The bat drops to the ground with a dull thud and rolls under the couch. I cry out with surprise. She’s lighting fast. She twists my arm back, propping me upright and rapidly launches a flurry of successive kicks to my stomach, knocking my wind out. Her feet are a motionless blur, her eyes fixed on mine with a savage assassin’s concentration. Her dress hitches up and down, creating a whirlwind of fabric. She finishes me off by flipping me over onto my back. I land solidly with a breathless grunt, the back of my head making contact with the tiled floor. I’m in a world of pain by now and the bat might as well be out of the question now. She’d never allow me the chance to retrieve it. Slightly dazed, I can hear the radio still blaring away, drowning out our struggle to the world beyond my locked front door. I’m desperate for an upper hand. On the ground, I close my eyes halfway and feign unconsciousness to buy some time. She stands over me and soon I hear a rush of air above my head. I gaze through my half-shut eyes and see one of her beautifully and evocative long legs, rising high up above me, as if to touch the ceiling with her foot. Time seems to come to a complete standstill. With her leg suspended in the air, I can see the the healthy tanned glow of her curvaceous thighs. It is at this point in time that I truly acknowledge how notorious she is, for being both a seductress and a lethal fighter. She seems to incorporate both styles so efficiently and strategically that I may as well have been hypnotized. Silhouette has the drop on me, both figuratively and literally. Her choice of dress was coldly calculated. I now realize that she is attempting a deadly axe kick, and not merely showing off for my amusement. If I don’t act quickly, she’ll finish me off for good. I time my escape well and roll out from underneath her savage kick moments before impact. The force of the kick is so great, that one of the tiles has cracks running down its surface. She retracts her leg without so much as a wince of pain, turning her head to track my every movement. A look of growing irritation and impatience is mounted on her face. Her exotic eyes harden as she shifts back into her fighting stance. She’s not playing around any more, that’s for sure. I make a run for the front door and ram my shoulder into it as hard as I can. The frame is solid and sturdy, refusing to give way. Pain shoots through my shoulder. Just what I need, I think. Trapped and nothing I can do about it. Cornered like a mouse. “Take it like a man Messier” She quickly comes up behind me and I thrust my elbow out, hoping to hit her. She effectively blocks the blow with her forearm and uses my own momentum against me, spinning me around to face her. At least she has common courtesy, I think. With her eyes fixed on mine, she lets loose a devastating combo of punches and elbows which I try to deflect in vain. She ends with a powerful thrust kick, breaking the bridge of my nose. I clench my face and see blood on my hands. First blood, I think. The blood has finally begun to flow. I fall back against the locked front door, sagging to the ground. No need to act unconscious now. This is the real deal. My vision flutters about me and all I can see is a lethal weapon, the Brazilian Silhouette standing over me in her stance of death. She reaches down and lifts me up by the collar of my leisurely silk shirt, bringing me up to her eye level. At first, she struggles to get me on my feet but I eventually make an effort to rise under her grasp. Seems like she’s not the bionic woman after all. My back slides up against the door for support. Breathing heavily, I strain to look her in the eyes but my vision is blurry. I can barely make out her features. Still holding me by the collar to keep me from falling again, she draws back her other hand and forms a fist with three fingers extended to form some sort of claw. No doubt a kung fu finisher. I manage to gather my remaining strength to spit at her. She ignores this and looks me straight in the eyes. For the first time though, her eyes seem to grow soft, they look sincere and regretful. “You were the best Messier”, she mutters, her voice soft and thoughtful. Too weak to speak, I just vaguely nod my head and accept my fate. Maybe I was the one that lasted the longest or perhaps she was referring to my time as a hitman. I’ll never know. It’s not like I’ll get the chance to ask her in the future. Oh well, at least I went out swinging, in my own way I guess. Better than nothing. On the radio, Frank Sinatra is singing Fly Me To The Moon. Suddenly, to my surprise, she kisses me tenderly and very briefly on the lips. She draws back, her eyes still soft. Then the fist comes at me like a snake, engulfing me in its painful maw. Then...darkness. Alas poor Yorick, we knew thee well. Still got a sense of humour I think, even when I’m on the brink of oblivion. After what felt like an eternity, I begin to see objects fluttering around my vision. I look for the bright light at the end of the tunnel, but only see flickering images. That’s when I realize I’m in a French motel room in the countryside, starting at a TV screen. I feel something heavy on my face. It’s a plastered bandage covering my nose. Beside me on the king sized bed, is a small letter. It reads, “I’ve never fought someone as persistent as you Messier. It would have been a crime to kill one of our own. Meet me at the Riviera. It’s time we put an end to the Parisian mob”.
To make it easier for the reader, I have highlighted all the fight details or anything to do with the martial arts field in this piece in bold or italics for those of you who just want to skip the narrative. Your insight and suggestions would be helpful and appreciated. Please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong about anything of if the details are sketchy. She starts to make her way towards me, her intense eyes never leaving mine for a second. She readies her stance as she makes her way around the couch, her fists raised and waiting. My eyes quickly shift to the baseball bat. She notices this and briefly glances at the bat and stops just a few feet away from me, her bare feet planted firmly apart in her combat stance. She gives me a cocky smile, as if to toy with me as a predator does before killing its prey. She starts to bounce on the balls of her feet, getting ready to strike. Quick as a flash and without warning, she launches a leg into the air attempting to knock me down with a roundhouse kick. Her evening dress trails over my head in a whirl of fabric as I duck at the last moment. No time for sightseeing I tell myself. There is a rush of air above my head as I lunge for the baseball bat next to the couch. I grasp it and catch hold of the handle, stumbling my way into the depths of the living room. I can hear her behind me. I turn around brusquely and clumsily swing the heavy bat at her with one hand. She easily evades my attack and moves in to deplete the available swinging room I have left with the bat. I am rocked back as she lands a solid diagonal punch followed by a swift, spinning back kick to my nether region to make me go down. To her mild surprise I am still standing. I stare her in the eye with a look of defiance. The benefit of wearing a cup. Told you I was prepared. Her eyes scan over me and a faint cocky smile appears on her lips. I take advantage of this distraction and lunge the bat upwards using both hands, hoping to strike her under the chin. Despite my best efforts, she easily sidesteps me and grabs hold of one of my wrists and twists. The pain is immediate and sharp, instantly incapacitating me. The bat drops to the ground with a dull thud and rolls under the couch. I cry out with surprise. She’s lighting fast. She twists my arm back, propping me upright and rapidly launches a flurry of successive kicks to my stomach, knocking my wind out. Her feet are a motionless blur, her eyes fixed on mine with a savage assassin’s concentration. Her dress hitches up and down, creating a whirlwind of fabric. She finishes me off by flipping me over onto my back. I land solidly with a breathless grunt, the back of my head making contact with the tiled floor. I’m in a world of pain by now and the bat might as well be out of the question now. She’d never allow me the chance to retrieve it. Slightly dazed, I can hear the radio still blaring away, drowning out our struggle to the world beyond my locked front door. I’m desperate for an upper hand. On the ground, I close my eyes halfway and feign unconsciousness to buy some time. She stands over me and soon I hear a rush of air above my head. I gaze through my half-shut eyes and see one of her beautifully and evocative long legs, rising high up above me, as if to touch the ceiling with her foot. Time seems to come to a complete standstill. With her leg suspended in the air, I can see the the healthy tanned glow of her curvaceous thighs. It is at this point in time that I truly acknowledge how notorious she is, for being both a seductress and a lethal fighter. She seems to incorporate both styles so efficiently and strategically that I may as well have been hypnotized. Silhouette has the drop on me, both figuratively and literally. Her choice of dress was coldly calculated. I now realize that she is attempting a deadly axe kick, and not merely showing off for my amusement. If I don’t act quickly, she’ll finish me off for good. I time my escape well and roll out from underneath her savage kick moments before impact. The force of the kick is so great, that one of the tiles has cracks running down its surface. She retracts her leg without so much as a wince of pain, turning her head to track my every movement. A look of growing irritation and impatience is mounted on her face. Her exotic eyes harden as she shifts back into her fighting stance. She’s not playing around any more, that’s for sure. She quickly comes up behind me and I thrust my elbow out, hoping to hit her. She effectively blocks the blow with her forearm and uses my own momentum against me, spinning me around to face her. At least she has common courtesy, I think. With her eyes fixed on mine, she lets loose a devastating combo of punches and elbows which I try to deflect in vain. She ends with a powerful thrust kick, breaking the bridge of my nose. I clench my face and see blood on my hands. First blood (can this type of kick actually draw blood), I think. She reaches down and lifts me up by the collar of my leisurely silk shirt, bringing me up to her eye level. At first, she struggles to get me on my feet but I eventually make an effort to rise under her grasp. Seems like she’s not the bionic woman after all. My back slides up against the door for support. Breathing heavily, I strain to look her in the eyes but my vision is blurry. I can barely make out her features. Still holding me by the collar to keep me from falling again, she draws back her other hand and forms a fist with three fingers extended to form some sort of claw. No doubt a kung fu finisher. I manage to gather my remaining strength to spit at her. She ignores this and looks me straight in the eyes. She draws back, her eyes still soft. Then the fist comes at me like a snake, (could this type of strike knock the hitman out? What is it? Any suggestions?) Thanks Should be easier now
She starts to make her way towards me, her intense eyes never leaving mine for a second. She readies her stance as she makes her way around the couch, her fists raised and waiting. This is far to deliberate in language style for the behaviour and action of an assassin who is going to use empty hands. The language need to be much more indicative of speed and decisiveness, all in fleeting motion. In death fights, there is no 'readies her stance' - there is just doing quickly and effectively. If the opponent is smart enough to counter the assassin's attacks, then the assassin must be described in a language that describes the ferocity and randomness of fleeting adaptive attacks/defences/counters - to be credible. Essentially write with words and language that describe the exchange as if were happening for real. The writer's job is to convey the essence of the reality such that the audience is completely enraptured in the narrative flow describing the action. Write all fight scenes as graphically as possible - leave the reader/viewer as to have no doubts regarding a) the authenticity of the action and b) the pace and tension of the action. Include small things like sweat running down the forehead, breathing harder, stumbles, falls, transient changes in facial intensity etc. The language must be completely convincing. However this depends to some extent on who is reading the material and what their expectation is. If you are writing this for a publisher or a film producer, the authenticity of the action is probably not as important at this juncture, as the spine of the story's plot. If the plot is flawed, then no ammount of funky action will save the story. If the plot is strong, the action can be worked on relatively easily. Hope this helps a little.
If she is Brazilian, perhaps she could be doing capoeira. Also, the term Brazilian Tango just sticks way out there for me as the Tango is from Argentina and too many things from Brazil get conflated with things from Latin America. paz, dormindo
I won't give you advice or feedback on martial arts, however I can offer something on writing. Write what you know. .
This guy sure seems to remember every detail about getting the crap kicked out of him. edit: also, the "deadly axe kick" is actually spelled "d34d1y axe kick" edit again: oh, and "It is at this point in time that I truly acknowledge how notorious she is". Huh?
