This early piece for Base Instruments is pretty much pure idea and very, very little refinement. It grew out of the fact that I want to have a ballerina for the client in this one, who can bring up ballet as a metaphor for exploring some of Mrs. Hawking's issues. Ballet dancers, particularly broken down ones, are a favorite subject of mine to write about. I really like using this conceit in the story, and I think I'm really on to something in this scene. I hope it's as subtle as I'm working for it to be.
The trouble is it was written without context, so definitely needs editing once I figure out what the mystery and plot is. For this I just threw in a few details as placeholders; I don't even know who "Alexei" is supposed to be, for example. But I can sort that out later. For now I just wanted to take a stab at the idea, and even in this rough form I think it's going to be a good one.
Your Vessel Has Not Betrayed You
by Phoebe Roberts
VICTORIA HAWKING, secret society avenger, early forties
ELENA ZAKHAROVA, prima ballerina of the Royal Ballet, late twenties
London, England, 1883
(ELENA ZAKHAROVA makes her way down the hall. Suddenly MRS. HAWKING springs out in her stealth suit. MISS ZAKHAROVA starts and sucks in a breath to scream, but MRS. HAWKING whips back her hood to show her face.)
MRS. HAWKING: Hush! It's me!
(With effort MISS ZAKHAROVA calms herself.)
MISS ZAKHAROVA: God in Heaven! How– however do you do that?
MRS. HAWKING: A trick of the trade. I had to find you, and I did not wish to be seen.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: What is it?
(She notices MRS. HAWKING's intense scrutiny.)
MISS ZAKHAROVA: Why do you look at me?
MRS. HAWKING: How long have they been like that?
MISS ZAKHAROVA: What?
MRS. HAWKING: Your ankles.
(MISS ZAKHAROVA stiffens.)
MRS. HAWKING: The laudanum concealed the extent of it when you visited me before. But I know those ginger steps to protect against the pain.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: I am only– sore from rehearsal!
MRS. HAWKING: It is more than that. A prima ballerina lives on her ankles, and yours are crumbling beneath you. They will only grow worse with time.
MRS. HAWKING: You're on your on your way out, Miss Zakharova.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: Please. You mustn't tell anyone.
MRS. HAWKING: This changes things.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: It changes nothing of this!
MRS. HAWKING: If your position is no longer secure, then you have reason to act against the hierarchy of the company.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: I would never! The company is my life!
MRS. HAWKING: And that life is about to end.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: I have done nothing but the dance since I was a girl of six! I have sacrificed so much. All I had to my name was my career and Alexei, and now Alexei is dead. Can you not understand?
MISS ZAKHAROVA: How could you? Your vessel has never betrayed you.
MRS. HAWKING: Miss Zakharova–
MISS ZAKHAROVA: Look at you! To be able to climb as you do like a cat in a tree! Might I be so impertinent as to ask madam's age?
MRS. HAWKING: Forty-three.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: Forty-three. I shall have fortune to walk so long. I would do murder for the clean lines of your legs.
MRS. HAWKING: Nonsense.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: Any dancer would.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: The ballet is my one calling. And in perfecting it, I have ruined myself for it.
MRS. HAWKING: You concealed it.
MISS ZAKHAROVA: So that I might have it just a few moments longer! They will replace me in a breath. In my place, what would you have done?
MRS. HAWKING: That's the trouble. I might have done anything.