Yesterday was a parody of one of the most famous lines from Jaws. Today is a parody one of the most famous scenes from The Princess Bride.
© J.B. Norman — Published by Emona Literary Services™
“You killed my father,” the strangely dashing swordsman declares, drawing his sword. “Prepare to die!”
“W-what?” Kat mutters through a mouthful of her second whole roast chicken of the evening.
It’s bad enough that people are always interrupting her when she’s trying to eat her entire roast chickens…
Kat, I found a treasure map!
Kat, help us start a guild!
Kat, behold my lore!
Katherine, you must learn to chew more thoroughly!
…but no-one has ever accused her of killing their father and preparing her to die before. Largely because he hasn’t ever killed anyone’s father. So, this is definitely a new one.
“My father was the finest blacksmith in Torres. Twenty-five yeas ago, you commissioned him to forge a sword unlike any other. He toiled for seventeen months. And, then, when you returned seventeen months later, instead of paying for the sword he made you, you stabbed him with it! You killed my father! And then, you tripped by sister. And then, you told my mother her dress made her look fat!”
He aims his sword at at thoroughly bemused Kat’s heart.
“I want my father back, you…”
His voice falters as he seeks just the right word to denounce Kat.
“…Not-nice lady.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about!”
The swordsman lowers his sword and blinks at her surprise.
“You d-don’t?” he stammers with surprising meekness.
“Of course I don’t!” Kat cries. “Do I look like somebody who goes around killing people’s fathers?”
“Well,” the swordsman stays, reaching into his pocket. He unfolds a parchment with a woman’s picture on it. “Looking at this picture of Dona Catarina, you’ll notice a certain resemblance. I can hardly be blamed for going off the evidence I have available to me.”
Kat has to admit a certain resemblance the woman in the picture, mostly in similar dark hair worn in similar ponytails. Though, of course, she’s at least old enough to be Kat’s mother…
“Just one problem,” Kat notes. “You said this happened twenty-five years ago. But I’m only fifteen!”
The swordsman lowers his sword and coughs into his elbow.
“Ah, well. My mistake. I do apologise. No hard feelings!”
He snatches up the picture of his target, folds it back into his pocket, then begins to backpedal towards the door.
Kat surges to her feet.
“Where you do think you’re going! You cannot just walk up to somebody when she’s enjoying an entire roast chicken, accuse her of killing your father, and then preparing her to die! Especially not when she didn’t even do anything, because she couldn’t have. Because she wasn’t even born yet!”
And so, as the swordsman continues with his decades-long quest for revenge, Kat sets off in pursuit of her own vindication.
“My name is Kat Darkstone. You interrupted my chicken!” she calls after him. “Prepare to… apologise to me, or something, I guess. The least you could do is buy me another roast chicken!””
He doesn’t slow down or glance back at her.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, jerk!”
With a frustrated groan, she dashing off after him. She swears, if this takes her twenty-five years…
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