Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, |
Arielle Chiaro’s stage career afforded her a very particular set of skills. One thing she had learned, over years and years appearing in choruses, who were nowhere near important enough to merit stylists, was what to do with hair and cosmetics. It was this knowledge she called upon now as she finally settled Aud on a padded pouf before the mirror and pulled a miniscule hairbrush from her handbag. It seemed her particular brand of preparedness would salvage at least something of the night. She’d gathered what bobby pins she could find from the floor, pulling the once-elegant braids that had crowned Aud’s head loose, beginning to re-plait them, mouth full of pins as she recreated an approximation of the style. It wouldn’t be exact, but then, who would ever know without looking too closely? Despite the bobby pins, she could form words (practice made perfect in all things). And although she had come to consider the corsair a friend of a sort, her loyalty to Aud was unshakeable: “Damia deserved to be tossed out on her lacy behind.” “That’s not really the point,” she frowned, wringing her hands on her lap as she let the bard play with her hair. “I mean it was, but it’s not anymore.” Flicking her gaze up at her reflection, her frown grew. Gentle fingers came up to prod and examine at the cuts on her lip, brow, and cheekbone. “Leave that be, darling,” Ari said. “We’ll get to it in a moment.” Healing without an instrument -- and who brought a mandolin to a ball! -- was going to be an exercise in frustration, but she’d have to manage. Another pin was inserted into Aud’s hair before Ari asked, “What is the new point?” “You heard him,” she looked at her friend through the reflection, raising her eyes to the brunette. “The new point is that now I feel guilty. It wasn’t my fault. Damia threw the first hit. Damia instigated the fight—that’s not my fault—but now I feel guilty for perpetuating it,” Audrey hugged her arms, rubbing one of them as if cold. “I feel bad that he thought me a traitor.” “Well, you aren’t,” Ari said firmly. The last pin disappeared into the new crown of braids upon Aud’s head. Grabbing a hand towel, she wet it at the sing, then began dabbing at the cuts. “What were you supposed to do, just let her hit you? He’s not a complete idiot; once he cools his head, he’ll realize there wasn’t anything else you could have done.” Audrey flinched at the feeling of the cold rag on her face, and even more at the subtle sting. As obediently as she could, she tried to sit still, allowing the bard to continue. “That’s it, though,” she put her hand on Ari’s wrist to stop her momentarily. “It’s not about the facts, it’s all about what people think.” |