The Meetings of the Painted Crows

1.

            

                     Last night had been another rough one, no matter how rigorous the scrub she applied, the bugs still found patches of exposed skin from which they crawled from and were washed down the drain. This had been almost routine lately, the beauty devoured by the many beasts with none of them being a prince in hiding. The throbbing pain felt on her body was almost unbearable as the hot water flowed from one bruise to the next; something makeup could easily cover, but a cautionary tale for other exploits. It started out so violent, a beating so vicious that it borderlined on criminal if not the initial desire expressed by the hookup the night before. He wasn't a particularly handsome man at all. Balding, heavyset in that obesity and not that dad bod kinda way, kinda looked like that stereotypical kid diddler type, but his cock was thick in a way she had never before seen. His cum was dried to her hair and face, a crusted reminder of the awful evening and the guy who escaped into the moonlight the very second that he was done breaking his doll, a fucking insult along with the parting gift of what appeared to be a fistful of gold dollar coins scattered on the nightstand as a whore's pittance for a job well done.

The entire hotel room smelled like him, a mixture of swamp ass and maybe fungus-- possibly from his sweaty feet-- but it was that dick that she couldn't get her mind off of. He was the fifth conquest she'd had since reaching the new site for a model shoot, but around the twentieth since being in the U.S. proper. The men here were vastly different than the ones abroad, they fucked with purpose, greasy and inattentive, not like the sleazy charm European men try to put on. She let the water run a bit longer as she glanced at her arm. The marks weren't as intense as first thought, a few scrapes and a bite mark, but it felt like so much more. The steam provided her with a moment of comfort, letting it envelop her as she moved to the vanity mirror, the condensation from the steam distorting the image into something akin to a beast or a demon, a perfect reflection of her broken soul she thought. She slowly wiped the glass with her hand, starting at eye level and carefully revealing the full picture swipe by swipe. The hazel contrasted well with the olive tone of her skin; a gift from her half Arabian and Italian heritage. She licked her lips in the mirror, it turned her on to see her own body, dripping and nude. She started to slip her hands down towards her inner thigh as her damp brown hair laid over her shoulders in messy strands, the net seemingly holding her fragile frame together, kind of like the soft embrace of a mothers arms. It was in this nakedness that she felt most like the devil, a name she had been called a lot in her life, a temptress, leading men and women to nights of sin. She fingered herself to orgasm as a calming washed over her and the vile insects that plagued her only earlier, disappeared without a trace. She sucked on her fingers as she took a comb to her now tangled hair and looked for the violet eye shadow. The day was going to be long since it would be a living forest set, but she embraced the prospect of meeting something else to sink her teeth into, but alas, it was not the time to dally nor daydream.

The air felt unusually stiff here in Washington, for a nature state, it had nothing like the crispness of Nantes, but it was far from the strangling cloud that hung over the last shoot in London. America was so enticing, and yet she longed to be back at home, playing in the alleyways of Nantes or exploring Paris for the thousandth time. Homesickness always hit when the madness of her schedule drove her to picking up cigarettes again. It wasn't so much of an addiction, as it was one of many comforting tools she used, much like sex, but that may indeed be an addiction though she dared not admit it. "Mornin' Miss Danbury!" A familiar voice called to her as soon as she crossed the terrace into the chateau du Corisca. The hotel was not far from the shooting grounds so it was easy for her to absentmindedly stroll about the place and take in the new sights of the compound. It was still quite early and yet models were already out and talking among themselves, it looked as if three new photographers joined the team recently and she bit her lip just thinking about taking one or all three for a delicious romp later. "Please" she said smiling sheepishly at the elderly gentleman before her, "I'm sure I've told you before to just call me Justine". The old man looked her over and over, such an exotic beauty she was in an elegant strapless cream dress. He placed his hand upon her arm, a body well traveled and yet a posture so regal and poised. He bent down and reached into a splintering wicker basket and produced a lovely rose freshly snipped from the flowerbed and still with a hint of dew on it. "Every woman needs a rose" he said, and placed it in her hair just between the spot on ear and they spoke at length about today's shoot. Apparently the project, once headed by Lady Applegate and her cosmetics company Applegate Cosmetics, was now to be completed by the young and talented visionary Ian Tillers from South Africa. He was causing quite a stir with the ladies it seemed which would explain the various cliques chatting about, but he was nothing if not a man for the business. Right now it was said that he had been in the garden all night perfecting the grounds for a perfect shot, each idea more fantastical and wondrous than the next and each new idea increasing the budget tenfold, but in increments. The ladies chosen for his special shoot, the "nude paradise" were to be posted on a board later that day, a list Justine would love to have seen herself on.

Waving bye to groundskeeper Roy, she observed the digital clock pressed up against a large white column and noticed that she still had some time to get into a bit of trouble if only she could find those new photographers and a proper place away from prying eyes to do so. The area was really beautiful, a hedge maze behind the building, a creek running to its side, it was a masterpiece of Gods design tucked beyond a sea of trees separating it from the road and nearby town. Across the grounds at the creek a little ways into the woods a man stood and he immediately caught her eye, someone else new that she had never seen before today though she had felt at least acquainted with everyone, probably a lackey for Tillers. He was half shrouded by leafy branches which drove Justine's curiosity even further as she neared him, careful not to snag the dress on anything that would cause an immediate stir and a lecture on proper model behavior. The man appeared to be petting what appeared to be a small doe grazing from his outstretched hand, a sight that left her in awe and wonder since it was just something that she hadn't seen in years. He had deep brown curtains-- a relic of nineties hairstyles-- more messy than straight over a slender and pointed face, his jawline was medium and boyish, his nose slender and rounded at the tip. He sported a very neat and short mutton chop and skin that showed limited exposure to sunlight though it wasn't pasty white. Surely he was in his late twenties at the youngest, but his angelic features spoke to being far more youthful than that; regardless, she approached him.

"Excuse me," Justine blurted out the words as she moved closer and closer, managing to startled the wildlife in the process including the doe who appeared to shoot her a look before bounding off into the woods. He let out a low whistle as he began brushing the grain from his hands and readjusting his silver bands-- one for each finger aside from the index which housed two and on the other hand a lavish signet ring-- he glanced at Justine for what felt like a second, but for some reason she felt as if he was gazing at her entire lifetime. His eyes were unsettling, he made no attempt to speak and yet Justine felt her ears ringing with conversation.. She hated this feeling, the unfamiliarity of not being able to get a read on a person. After a series of awkward pauses, Justine gathered herself and tried to initiate conversation with him once again, "I apologize for interrupting you," her eyes locked in on his smooth face, but she was so shy, she resorted to circling her thumbs ever so slightly to calm her down but to not call attention to it. "I'm Justine, a model on this shoot. I didn't recognize you from any of the other days so I take it you're with Tillers?" She smiled and laughed, hoping to break the ice if even for a bit. "Marius" his voice was as soft as the wind, eyes fixed, purposed, forever reading. "Is that a mauve rose pinned behind your ear?" though monotone, it was the just the perfect blend to whip her emotions into a frenzy. At his words she instinctively reached for it, forgetting that Roy had given it to her just earlier, but before she could, Marius grabbed her hand. Justine instantly blushed but didn't try to pull away. His silver rings were cool to the touch as was his hand as he slid her hand back down toward her side before adjusting her hair with the other hand.

"You have an air of grace about you, yet you are far less careful than you appear.." His voice trailed off a bit while still being assuring if not haunting. Every word spoken was with purpose, each sentence weighty and multilayered though also surprisingly flowery. "Your eyes wander when you speak, that element of shyness within you wouldn't be much of a boon when mixed in a field which requires only the most bold and daring.. Interesting." He removed the rose from her hair and looked upon it with a portentous gaze, it was weird because though he stood in front of her, she could tell that somehow he was miles away. Justine was taken aback by the way he spoke, it was like something out of a Dickens novel or Keats, a man displaced in time from the old country, his accent hard to place but very much foreign. "You see.." He started again, almost silently acknowledging the many questions swirling in her mind while still lost in his own affairs, "Like this rose cut from life to sit betwixt your ear, the colour is striking in its softness no?" His words hit her one after the other, Betwixt? Softness? He must be an alien brushed up only as far as the Victorian Era before being cast down to us. "You would believe that such a union would be quite garish would you not? That the harshness of the violet would overtake the subtle pink, but here it blends perfectly." His fingers moved across her hand as he handed the rose back to her, the feeling so smooth and childlike against the roughness of her knuckles and the firmness of her palms. He had such innocence in his touch, more inquisitive if anything and with no sexual tension though she could feel her knees buckling all the same. Before she could utter another word, the chime of nine started to play through the loudspeakers and Marius let her go and proceeded to fix her up a bit before turning to go elsewhere. "Will I see you again?" Justine couldn't help but feeling like a love struck schoolgirl as he just walked away with only a backwards hand wave.