It has a trigger
"How's this: curse you, you're a man who indulges in pleasures of the flesh. I'll strike where it hurts most. Thrust yourself with a massive anchor. You're all vaginas, so curse you all?"
"Well, it does set the scene for the duel. But calling them vaginas is a bit out of place for Victorian nobles, don't you think?"
"I see. What about the anchor part?"
"Yeah, what is that anyway?"
"It's Bartholomew's way of telling them to go fuck themselves with an anchor."
"Now, that doesn't make sense to me. A ship anchor is weighty. How will they lift it?"
"You don't lift it. You sit on it, on the tips."
"Is that how you do it?"
"Yes, your mom taught me."
"Can't argue with logic. We need to find another word for vaginas."
"Muffs. Penis fly traps."
"They don't speak Spanish."
"Something classy. I got it: lady rose garden."
"Brilliant. I'm getting soaked just hearing about it."
"Alright, we have the scene ready. It's time for a fight. What's wrong?"
"I don't know. It's still not classy enough. Do you remember that movie we saw, the one with the witch?"
"I remember Anya Taylor's sweet ass cheeks in the moonlight…"
"They talked with a funny accent. Old English, I think it's called."
"Thou art a fucking wanker. Hmm, It does have a nice ring to it. But it's challenging to make them all talk like that throughout the book."
"Fine, we'll edit it later. Bartholomew is ready to duel. He flicks his lustrous mane back and secures it with a ribbon worn by his love, the recently deceased shopkeeper. "
"What did she sell again?"
"Hats. She was also a brilliant chemist. Bartholomew unbuttons his sparkling white shirt to reveal a neatly trimmed chest and-"
"Whoa, hold on a second. I thought this guy was a badass. Why does he trim his chest? He should be full of battle scars, not plucking his chest hairs."
"He can be brutal and groomed. Now shut the fuck up. I'm in the zone. Bartholomew places a gloved hand on the hilt of his saber. Its pommel shines turquoise and fuchsia. On the blade etched in small italic is his favorite verse from a poem he wrote back in-"
"A poem on the blade? Who is this guy? He writes poetry now?"
"He studied literature in India with that guru, remember? He was there on a pilgrimage spreading the word of Christ, where he met the beautiful servant girl. Tempted by her beauty, he isolated himself in the mountains, where he studied under the lonely guru. It was there his carnal lust transferred to paper in hopes of spiritual cleanliness."
"I'm starting to hate his guy. Go on…"
"Bartholomew humiliates his four adversaries by fighting with a dull blade. He swore he'd never kill again, refusing to bring more suffering into the world. He pirouettes with grace, striking down his foe. They are forced to admit defeat. But one man pulls a knife just as he is about to shake Bartholomew's hand. With lightning reflexes, our hero disarms the scourge, but he does not slay him."
"Yes, instead, Bartholomew slaps him hard."
"A hard slap, you say? That showed him. What happens next? Wait, don't tell me. Let's see if I can guess. Bart holds a speech about the importance of forgiveness and the beauty of life before letting the bad guys go unharmed. He gets on his stallion and gallops away, his manly ponytail flapping in the wind. Passing through an enchanted forest, Bart sees an injured deer. He nurses it back to health by breastfeeding. He sings a lovely melody, and all the creatures of the forest bring presents. The owl got a pair of fabulous earrings to complete his pirate outfit. Bart travels to his homeland, where his wife's buried. He performs a goddamn resurrection using some magical bullshit he found in his travels. No, wait, he studies his dead wife's chemistry books and creates a magic potion. Bart shoves it up her ass, and behold, the woman is alive and well again."
"Are you done?"
"No. She tells Bart that this is not how they should live and that if he loves her, they should part ways. Now Bart has to find a way to reverse the effects of the potion. He locks himself in the lab combing his hair and fiddling with potions. But his hot dead wife can't resist that manicured chest any longer. She kicks down the door and climbs on top, wrestling Bart to the floor."
"And then what?"
"All I'm saying is that this guy has no real-life equivalence. It's gonna be hard for readers to sympathize with."
"Ok, I can see that. But just for the hell of it, how would that scene go down?"
"What scene? The corpse fucking?"
"Yeah, what would they do?"
"So she's on top of Bart. His rock-hard nipples poke through the white shirt you like."
"She wraps her legs around his pelvis, squeezing the life out of his gargantuan manhood."
"Her skin is rather cold and bruised. Her face is pale. Soft lips whisper sweet words in his ears. What's her name again?"
"Haha, fine. Charity strokes Bart's manly chest. The dirt under her overgrown fingernails soils his fresh wound. "
"He cries his pain and struggles to wiggle free. But Charity would have none of it. She scrapes his back, leaving Bart's skin burning and his soul wanting more. They kiss. Sparks fly as their lips lock, and life awakens in Charity. Her skin regains color; her body is filled with vigor. Her once decaying physique is now that of Aphrodite herself. Bart can't believe his eyes. She slowly gets up. Charity tosses the robe on the floor and stands naked before him. With nimble hands, the woman undressed Bart covering his mouth when he wanted to speak. She leans over, her silky breasts caressing his chest, and whispers…"
"What? What does she whisper?"
"Do you have an anchor?"