Now, today’s scene is 1) a follow-up to a scene I did back in February and 2) predicated on the idea of the Face Turn which is, to quote Wiktionary:
I’ve explained this before, but in Wrestling, the good guys are called Faces (short for babyface) and the bad guys are Heels (an old-timey word for, well, “bad guy”). To Turn is to change from one to the other.
Amara rolls her eyes.
“Katherine, why do you insist on bringing me to these ridiculous events?” she asks.
“Well, we can stop going to Wrestling when you stop taking me to the Opera,” Kat answers.
Amara is silent for a long moment.
“No deal,” she mutters.
“Look, just try to enjoy yourself,” Kat urges. “Luscious Lucretia and Penny Dreadful are fighting over who gets to be Countess Dirigible’s next lady-in-waiting. “But first —”
Amara flinches and grabs Kat’s arm. Kat winces as her best friend’s manicured nails dig into her flesh.
“Katherine!” Amara hisses. “It’s him! That dastard who called me inelegant. That fiend! Who is he fighting and how can we ensure that they utterly destroy him?”
Amara watches the approach of Arundel Appleby to the ring, neither forgiving nor forgetting their previous encounter — his scathing invective against the good burghers of Porthaven, his likening of Amara’s dress to a tablecloth.
And worse, most egregiously, most villainously, most unforgivably, the very suggestion — the merest implication — that Amara Gemina Valda of all people could ever be inelegant.
“He’s not a bad guy anymore,” Kat explains. “Yeah, he was visited by three ghosts the night before Wintermorn that showed him the error of his ways. He’s not Aristocratic Arundel Appleby. He’s Altruistic Arundel Appleby now. He bought a Wintermorn goose for every orphanage in town.”
“B-But,” Amara stammers. “He called me inelegant! That’s unforgivable!”
“Amara, look!” Kat urges. “He’s handing out gold coins to the crowd! If he were still a bad guy, he’d be kicking them and telling them how bad they smell!”
“It’s you!” the newly Altruistic Arundel Appleby exclaims as his gaze falls on Amara.
He slowly strides forward.
Amara shrinks back from him. “Stay away from me, you brute! You may have deluded the crowd into thinking you’re a changed man, but you can’t fool — Are you crying?”
The muscular patrician nods.
“I-it’s just that I remember how awful I was to you the last time,” he says tearfully. He blushes deeply. “I’m mortified to think that I could have been so crass towards such a fine, upstanding young woman.”
“Oh?” Amara asks sceptically.
“I called you inelegant!” he wails.
“Don’t remind me,” Amara says.
“What I fool I was!” Arundel Appleby continues. “T-the truth is, I t-think I was jealous. That one so young could be so utterly, resplendently, peerlessly elegant and refined! Why, it put me to shame!”
“Yes, well,” Amara mutters bashfully, “I’m glad you’ve realised the error of your ways.”
Altrusistic Arundel Appleby falls to his knees before Amara. “My lady, paragon of fashion and elegance,” he sobs. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Amara thoughtfully waggles her nose. “Well, I do suppose it’s unbecoming of a lady to hold a grudge,” she says. “Consider yourself forgiven, Messer Appleby.”
Altruistic Arundel Appleby respectfully kisses Amara’s hand. “Truly, there is no more elegant or magnanimous woman in the whole world of Terrace,” he declares.
At this, Amara’s demeanour changes almost as the wrestler’s does.
“Three cheers for Altruistic Arundel Appleby!” Amara exclaims. “Champion of the people and all-around wonderful man!”
“…No.” Kat mutters.
There you have it, the first writing exercise of 2023.
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