Adagio in the mirror (1/1)
Adagio in the mirror
‘She’s dead, isn’t she? Irina.’
‘…’
A muffled bang, something flutters to the floor.
‘I just want the truth, the goddamn truth for once!’
‘Yes.’
Silence, then a door being slammed shut.
‘…wanted to save her yaknow? She deserves that much, deserved…’
‘Go home Ricki, and take the week off.’
‘Yeah yeah, send Ricki on his way. He’s always been a good boy hasn’t he?’
A few stumbling steps, followed by a string of curses.
‘I’ll call you a cab. How’s that?’
‘Can take care of myself…’
A snort, ‘I can see that. Come on, I’ll walk you downstairs.’
More sounds of tripping and bumping into things.
‘Good lord, have you showered at all in the last week Ricki? Ricki?’
No answer except some faint snoring.
‘Christ.’
A heavy load being dumped onto the couch, and after some hesitation, a blanket too.
A sign, lights off.
‘You know I can’t even send you off to the Nursery like this. They’ll sign the resettlement paper straight away.’
Bloodshot eyes drifted to somewhere beyond the walls.
‘Ricki.’ Voice turning stern.
‘Alright, I get it. Pull myself together blah blah blah. Not as if it hasn’t happened before, right? Collateral damage, ‘s all.’
A lengthy pause. Then some rustling, a chair being pushed back, coat coming off the rail.
‘Come on then.’
‘Where are we going?’ eyes narrowed, uneasy.
‘Why do you care? I’m paying.’
‘Made a lot of empty promises to… (loud burping) a lot of people but, this one is gonna stick for a while.’
‘It’s out of your control. Nothing you could have done.’
‘Doesn’t make it easier.’
A faraway look, ‘No, no it doesn’t.’
‘So whose heart did you break?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I notice things too Mr Guillam. Those cuff links you used to wear every other day; not exactly something you’d buy for yourself is it?’
Eyes earnest, body leaning closer, the Circus-standard interrogation mode. The listener looks away, peering into the murky bottom of the tumbler.
‘It was never meant to be anything…permanent’
‘Keep telling yourself that.’
Voice thinning, almost inaudible, ‘He’s better off this way.’
‘…Oh’
A dry chuckle, ‘yes, oh.’
‘Is this where I’m meant to say, your secret is safe with me?’
An eyebrow slowly hitting the hairline.
‘Fine. You have way more dirt on me, I get it.’
‘Why are you here again?’
‘Bored.’
‘The pub is just down the road.’ One glove gets irritably thrown onto the table, followed by the other.
‘And do what? Getting drunk? Telling people fake stories about yourself?’
‘So you’ve taken up breaking and entering as a hobby. Anyone could have seen you and called the police.’
‘Not an amateur.’
‘Then stop behaving like one.’
A cupboard is opened; two glasses, then a bottle plunks down on the table.
‘Been doing some thinking.’
‘Don’t strain yourself.’
‘I was thinking that, one day I’ll die young and bloody, just like Irina. And nobody will even know me, not the real me anyways.’
One glass gets emptied in a single gulp.
‘Ricki Tarr would have never existed. There will be a telegram to Brixton if I’m lucky.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Nothing. Don’t need your tea and sympathy. Not that you’re ever one to sugar-coat things.’
‘Do you honestly think,’ a few calming breaths, ‘you’re the only one out there risking everything?’
‘Of course not. And at the end of the day, all we get is a file with a stamp on top. Case closed.’
‘Tell me something true about yourself.’
A pen continues to travel across the page, ‘the door is there for a reason Ricki. And no.’
‘Aw come on, there is only so much Ping-Pong and snooker I can play before I’m bored into defection.’
‘…If I do, will you leave me alone for the day?’
A triumphant grin.
‘I hate Bach. Now go bother someone else.’
‘So what’s it like, with men?’
‘Get. Out.’
‘I’m just curious, hypothetically of course.’
‘Don’t use words you don’t understand.’
‘You’re avoiding the question.’
Without warning, one spins around and launches himself at the other, pinning the shorter man to the wall.
‘It’s not having to hold back, it’s knowing your bedmate’s body as well as your own.’ A rough shove to wedge a knee against the other’s groin, nudging.
‘It’s asking for exactly what you want, how you want it, and being able to return the favour.’
Jagged breathing echoing in the empty space, a tongue sneaks out to wet lips that have gone suddenly dry.
A low groan,
‘By gods, your mouth…’
A bruising bite, a muffled yelp tailing off into a moan. Fingers gripping tight, caught somewhere between pulling closer and pushing away.
‘My mum was an actress.’
‘I have read through all your files you know.’
‘Used to watch her putting on makeup before she went out. Used to practice faces in the mirror too, just like her.’
‘Get to the point Ricki.’
‘I guess, one way or another, I’m good at fooling people.’ A thoughtful pause, ‘and sometimes even I get lost in between the faces.’
‘This is new.’ Fingers tracing along the jagged line of new skin.
‘Yeah, whatever, got lucky again, that’s me.’
‘You didn’t put it in the report.’
‘Relax, said it was from a bar fight, the doctors ate up my story fine.’
‘That’s not the…’
‘It’s healed; I’m good for whatever you have in mind, yeah?’
The swish of a belt being pulled through the loops sounds strangely final in the dim room.
‘How did you two meet?’
‘What’s with the morbid interest in my personal life?’
‘You know mine already so it’s only fair.’
‘At a party. He was talking about something. I said I wasn’t too good at ethics so why didn’t we just go to bed together?’
‘Let me guess, he then stayed for your charming personality.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Always likes bossing me around huh Mr Guillam? Gonna tie me up too?’
A curious silence,
‘Hey it’s a joke not a request…’
Breathless laughter quickly gets muted against a sweaty neck.
‘Ouch! What did you do that for? That’s going to leave a mark.’ Wincing, a hand reaches up to sooth the bite.
‘You can always wear a scarf.’ Eyes twinkling, not sorry in the least.
Shoulders leaning back against the wall, casual even to the trained eye.
‘I hear you’ll be getting out of Brixton soon.’
‘Yes,’ shuffling the documents without looking up, ‘yes, news does travel exceptionally fast in here.’
‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Now that Mr Smiley is the acting Chief, he’ll need all the help he can get.’
‘I don’t envy his position, have to say.’
‘Well, then.’ Straightening up, smile ready, ‘good luck Mr Guillam. It was nice working with you.’
‘Thank you.’ Blue eyes meeting brown, holding the gaze for a heartbeat.
The front door swings open.
‘I see you’ve found it.’
‘Leaving it in my pigeon hole? That’s real imaginative Mr Guillam, and sloppy.’
‘It’s just a key, not classified information.’
Grin fading, ‘Why?’
‘My lock can only take so much damage. Thanks to a certain someone’s past attempts.’
The visitor chews on his lower lip for a second,
‘Okay.’ The smirk comes back full force, ‘Okay. How was your day honey?’
A/N: my first time attempting dialogue only. Not sure about the result but it's always fun to experiment with different styles.
A tiny note for people who haven't read the book, Brixton is where the headquarters for scalphunters are based. Can't remember if it's mentioned in the film.
‘She’s dead, isn’t she? Irina.’
‘…’
A muffled bang, something flutters to the floor.
‘I just want the truth, the goddamn truth for once!’
‘Yes.’
Silence, then a door being slammed shut.
‘…wanted to save her yaknow? She deserves that much, deserved…’
‘Go home Ricki, and take the week off.’
‘Yeah yeah, send Ricki on his way. He’s always been a good boy hasn’t he?’
A few stumbling steps, followed by a string of curses.
‘I’ll call you a cab. How’s that?’
‘Can take care of myself…’
A snort, ‘I can see that. Come on, I’ll walk you downstairs.’
More sounds of tripping and bumping into things.
‘Good lord, have you showered at all in the last week Ricki? Ricki?’
No answer except some faint snoring.
‘Christ.’
A heavy load being dumped onto the couch, and after some hesitation, a blanket too.
A sign, lights off.
‘You know I can’t even send you off to the Nursery like this. They’ll sign the resettlement paper straight away.’
Bloodshot eyes drifted to somewhere beyond the walls.
‘Ricki.’ Voice turning stern.
‘Alright, I get it. Pull myself together blah blah blah. Not as if it hasn’t happened before, right? Collateral damage, ‘s all.’
A lengthy pause. Then some rustling, a chair being pushed back, coat coming off the rail.
‘Come on then.’
‘Where are we going?’ eyes narrowed, uneasy.
‘Why do you care? I’m paying.’
‘Made a lot of empty promises to… (loud burping) a lot of people but, this one is gonna stick for a while.’
‘It’s out of your control. Nothing you could have done.’
‘Doesn’t make it easier.’
A faraway look, ‘No, no it doesn’t.’
‘So whose heart did you break?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I notice things too Mr Guillam. Those cuff links you used to wear every other day; not exactly something you’d buy for yourself is it?’
Eyes earnest, body leaning closer, the Circus-standard interrogation mode. The listener looks away, peering into the murky bottom of the tumbler.
‘It was never meant to be anything…permanent’
‘Keep telling yourself that.’
Voice thinning, almost inaudible, ‘He’s better off this way.’
‘…Oh’
A dry chuckle, ‘yes, oh.’
‘Is this where I’m meant to say, your secret is safe with me?’
An eyebrow slowly hitting the hairline.
‘Fine. You have way more dirt on me, I get it.’
‘Why are you here again?’
‘Bored.’
‘The pub is just down the road.’ One glove gets irritably thrown onto the table, followed by the other.
‘And do what? Getting drunk? Telling people fake stories about yourself?’
‘So you’ve taken up breaking and entering as a hobby. Anyone could have seen you and called the police.’
‘Not an amateur.’
‘Then stop behaving like one.’
A cupboard is opened; two glasses, then a bottle plunks down on the table.
‘Been doing some thinking.’
‘Don’t strain yourself.’
‘I was thinking that, one day I’ll die young and bloody, just like Irina. And nobody will even know me, not the real me anyways.’
One glass gets emptied in a single gulp.
‘Ricki Tarr would have never existed. There will be a telegram to Brixton if I’m lucky.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Nothing. Don’t need your tea and sympathy. Not that you’re ever one to sugar-coat things.’
‘Do you honestly think,’ a few calming breaths, ‘you’re the only one out there risking everything?’
‘Of course not. And at the end of the day, all we get is a file with a stamp on top. Case closed.’
‘Tell me something true about yourself.’
A pen continues to travel across the page, ‘the door is there for a reason Ricki. And no.’
‘Aw come on, there is only so much Ping-Pong and snooker I can play before I’m bored into defection.’
‘…If I do, will you leave me alone for the day?’
A triumphant grin.
‘I hate Bach. Now go bother someone else.’
‘So what’s it like, with men?’
‘Get. Out.’
‘I’m just curious, hypothetically of course.’
‘Don’t use words you don’t understand.’
‘You’re avoiding the question.’
Without warning, one spins around and launches himself at the other, pinning the shorter man to the wall.
‘It’s not having to hold back, it’s knowing your bedmate’s body as well as your own.’ A rough shove to wedge a knee against the other’s groin, nudging.
‘It’s asking for exactly what you want, how you want it, and being able to return the favour.’
Jagged breathing echoing in the empty space, a tongue sneaks out to wet lips that have gone suddenly dry.
A low groan,
‘By gods, your mouth…’
A bruising bite, a muffled yelp tailing off into a moan. Fingers gripping tight, caught somewhere between pulling closer and pushing away.
‘My mum was an actress.’
‘I have read through all your files you know.’
‘Used to watch her putting on makeup before she went out. Used to practice faces in the mirror too, just like her.’
‘Get to the point Ricki.’
‘I guess, one way or another, I’m good at fooling people.’ A thoughtful pause, ‘and sometimes even I get lost in between the faces.’
‘This is new.’ Fingers tracing along the jagged line of new skin.
‘Yeah, whatever, got lucky again, that’s me.’
‘You didn’t put it in the report.’
‘Relax, said it was from a bar fight, the doctors ate up my story fine.’
‘That’s not the…’
‘It’s healed; I’m good for whatever you have in mind, yeah?’
The swish of a belt being pulled through the loops sounds strangely final in the dim room.
‘How did you two meet?’
‘What’s with the morbid interest in my personal life?’
‘You know mine already so it’s only fair.’
‘At a party. He was talking about something. I said I wasn’t too good at ethics so why didn’t we just go to bed together?’
‘Let me guess, he then stayed for your charming personality.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Always likes bossing me around huh Mr Guillam? Gonna tie me up too?’
A curious silence,
‘Hey it’s a joke not a request…’
Breathless laughter quickly gets muted against a sweaty neck.
‘Ouch! What did you do that for? That’s going to leave a mark.’ Wincing, a hand reaches up to sooth the bite.
‘You can always wear a scarf.’ Eyes twinkling, not sorry in the least.
Shoulders leaning back against the wall, casual even to the trained eye.
‘I hear you’ll be getting out of Brixton soon.’
‘Yes,’ shuffling the documents without looking up, ‘yes, news does travel exceptionally fast in here.’
‘Can’t say I’m surprised. Now that Mr Smiley is the acting Chief, he’ll need all the help he can get.’
‘I don’t envy his position, have to say.’
‘Well, then.’ Straightening up, smile ready, ‘good luck Mr Guillam. It was nice working with you.’
‘Thank you.’ Blue eyes meeting brown, holding the gaze for a heartbeat.
The front door swings open.
‘I see you’ve found it.’
‘Leaving it in my pigeon hole? That’s real imaginative Mr Guillam, and sloppy.’
‘It’s just a key, not classified information.’
Grin fading, ‘Why?’
‘My lock can only take so much damage. Thanks to a certain someone’s past attempts.’
The visitor chews on his lower lip for a second,
‘Okay.’ The smirk comes back full force, ‘Okay. How was your day honey?’
A/N: my first time attempting dialogue only. Not sure about the result but it's always fun to experiment with different styles.
A tiny note for people who haven't read the book, Brixton is where the headquarters for scalphunters are based. Can't remember if it's mentioned in the film.