Passion Play

Chapter 1

Clara came to a stop outside the theatre, her breath catching in her throat. It was vast, taking up at least three houses just from the outside. She could only imagine the shows they put on. Slowly she walked up the steps, pausing in front of the door. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. Maybe she'd ignore her advice and turn back round. It hadn't been her choice, after all. Her instructor had told her to venture deeper into the world of dance, but standing there now she just wished she was back in her studio, dancing an elegant contemporary ballet number. This was much out of her comfort zone. Taking a deep breath, she swung the doors open to a darkened atrium, with black marble running across the floor. Beautiful windows with patterns ran all the way up to the ceiling, a high vaulted dome above her head. She gazed in wonder, admiring the intricate curlicues of the metal reaching to the central chandelier. Everything about it was so picturesque, very different to what she was used to. Clara wondered why an atrium as appealing and graceful as this one was deserted. Unless the stage was much grander. It almost intimidated her decision, but she decided to be bold. There was a set of double doors ahead of her, and she walked toward them, noticing a small corridor to the left. Pushing it open she revealed a dazzling theatre with light equipment above her head and hundreds of seats around her. The stage was as big as she'd hoped; an extensive, immaculate dancing space she was itching to perform on it already. As her eyes swept over every detail she could pick out, she could feel the grandeur and magic of it all sink into her very bones. She was presently jolted from her admiration to realise a woman standing in front of her. She had red hair and a kind expression which put Clara instantly at ease. She had only been there five minutes and yet the setting and people were already making her feel calm and involved.

'You came in through the main entrance,' she chuckled, 'our fault, no one was there to welcome you. Your name is Clara?'

'Uhm, yes.' She hesitated, bewildered suddenly to reality as the woman took her hand in her own.

'We've been expecting you. I'm Donna, the director of this company. I'll show you to backstage.' She laughed again, and winked. Clara was still feeling overwhelmed as she lead her to the corridor she had passed earlier. It opened to a room with a water dispenser and even more doors. They went through the last one on the right to reveal a spacious lounge area, which she supposed was where everyone ate and relaxed.

'This is mostly where everyone is apart from the studios.' Donna explained, and the tour continued. Clara was shown the changing rooms, the exits, the doors to the stage, the lighting and effects team, and the many number of studios until they finally came to a meeting type room with a group of dancers already there. Clara smiled nervously at them as Donna lead her in.

'This is Clara, new transfer. This is my team,' she turned to her, introducing them. 'Its only us, which is quite disproportionate when you think of how much space we have, but we're always happy to take in newer people.'

Clara nodded, approaching the strangers and observing the many faces.

'This is Rory,' she pointed to a blonde man wearing a navy jacket, 'Amy, Martha, Mickey, Rose, Sarah Jane, Tom, J-'

A friendly and charming man with spiky brown hair bounded up to shake her hand with a smile before Donna could finish.

'I'm Jack,' he told her, 'but most people just call me Captain Jack.'

'Uh, why is that?'

'Because that's what he calls himself.' A voice to the right said drily, and she turned to see a man with a shock of unruly silver curls and an independently angry expression, leaning against the back of a chair with his arms crossed. She was a little taken aback by him, very different to his colleagues and a little older.

Jack appeared to ignore him, and smiled again at her, flashing some dazzling white teeth. She immediately knew she liked him.

'And this is Ashildr,' Donna continued, 'Chris, but we call him Nine.'

Not questioning further about nicknames, she politely smiled and he grinned back, a half eaten banana in hand. He seemed very much in league with Jack's antics.

'And this, last but not least,' she gestured to the grey stick insect that had spoken earlier, 'is John.'