Ch 26 - Prima Ballerina
When Shakky and Rayleigh heard where Helena had found work, they weren't as congratulatory as she had expected.
"What's with the faces?" Helena asked, "It pays well, and I get to pay homage to my now dead culture!"
"Didn't we tell you to stay out of the public eye?" Rayleigh exasperated, "You're highly exposed like this."
"Hardly," Helena countered, taking sip of water. Shakky had offered her something stronger, but even the smell of liquor made her stomach woozy these days. She still carried the flask Mihawk had given her, but hadn't been tempted to open it. "I'm only am assistant choreographer. It's not like they're going to put my face in the program."
"But you're giving away who you are simply by sharing what you know!" Rayleigh attempted again.
"I have it covered, trust me," Helena said. "No one suspects anything."
"You can't know that," Rayleigh said firmly. "You're putting not just yourself, but the young princess in danger. I really think you should leave her here with us."
"I said I have it covered," Helena insisted. "Lady has proven to be a very able nursemaid, and is more than capable of protecting her."
Even as they spoke, Kuina played a joyful game of tag with the snake, dashing about the empty bar and nearly smacking her forehead more than once on the bottoms of tables but for Lady's interference. Since when had the kid grown tall enough for that to be a problem?
"Don't worry, the show opens soon. Once I have my money, we'll be out of here."
Shakky let out a stream of smoke, then looked Helena in the eye:
"Be careful, Roronoa-Chan," she warned. "There are strange rumors about that place. Saobody Opera House is not all that it appears to be."
A giggle drew their gaze down to Kuina, who had come to a stop in front of Rayleigh's stool, her arms raised expectantly. Just like with Mihawk, Hector, Astayanax, the little princess was drawn to the strong masculine retiree, possibly due to her connection with her father. She had hugged him within moments of meeting him the first time. The ex-pirate didn't seem to mind.
"Uncle Waywee!" she called, opening and closing her hands as she waved them up at him.
Usually he would tease or tickle her as he lifted her, but he frowned pensively when he went to put her onto his lap.
"You keep a close eye on her," he said, looking Helena firmly in the eye. "And don't do anything stupid."
"We'll be fine," Helena insisted.
With fluttering nerves, Helena took her seat beside Balanchine and his three cats (each with a seat of his or her own) on opening night.
Kuina sat on her other side, dressed up in a nice velvet dress that Balanchine had bought her, her green curls done up in a cute, pink hairbow. As Lady had kept her end of the bargain, and had actually been quite helpful in reining Kuina in, she had the honor of sitting beside her with a string of pearls around her reptilian throat. The ex-princess and the snake sat still for the time being, eyes wide as they watched the lights play across the as yet curtained stage.
Then Kuina said something that made Helena's stomach flip:
"Yook, Mama," she said, pointing to the next box over. "That man have a bubble head."
A Celestial Dragon. Marie and the others had mentioned that some would come to watch. When she caught sight of the Noble in question, her breath caught in paralyzed lungs.
Saint Rothbart.
She had seen a picture of him before. Large, owlish eyes, tiny mouth, round face, salt and pepper beard. She couldn't possibly have mistaken him.
This was the man who had demanded her hand in betrothal when she was yet unborn. This was the man who had caused the Buster Call on Ilium that had led to Queen Leda's demise. This was the man who had set all of Ilium's problems in motion.
"Excuse me," Helena murmured, "I need to go."
"Again, nya?" Balanchine spluttered. "Even my cats have larger bladders than you. Fine, but hurry back! It's starting soon!"
But Helena didn't hurry back. She took Kuina and Lady, went straight to Shakky's.
"Shakky and Rayleigh tried to convince me not to go back," Helena told the Straw Hats. "I knew they were right. But I also knew I hadn't been noticed. If Rothbart had seen or recognized me there would have been a commotion. – anyway, I needed the money I'd earned or I couldn't leave the archipelago. Hades, I needed money period."
Zoro could see the guilt building as his wife rambled. He knew, they all knew where this was leading. The one thing he figured she wasn't mentioning, probably because it hurt to admit it, was that she was happy there. She didn't want to leave.
After everything she had gone through, being immersed in her culture again had to have come as a much-needed balm to her deeply wounded soul. And then there was her love of dance. Zoro remembered how enchanted she had been by the ballet when he'd taken her. He also couldn't help but remember what Troy had once said of her; that in a world at peace, Helena would have been a prima ballerina, not a warrior.
"Shakky and Rayleigh hadn't yet found a buyer for the crown. They said it would take time. But beyond that, I had spent all of my stipend," Helena admitted guiltily, "Gods, I have discovered I am terrible with money. I'm used to being able to be generous. You'd think I'd know the value of the Berri, but it's so different managing it on such a small scale!"
As Zoro recalled, Helena had a habit of slapping money at things when they needed fixing. She'd been so wealthy he'd hardly paid it any mind.
He caught Nami nodding to herself. Was she taking mental notes of what Helena had just said? No, actual notes. She had just written, "Helena is not good with money," on her parchment. She had better not be planning on swindling her!
"I just kept making stupid decision after stupid decision," Helena went on, hiding her face in her hands. "Why didn't I cut my losses?"
"Helena…" Zoro cut in, and she stopped and looked at him. She looked tired again. Overwhelmed. Broken. "What happened next?"
"The next morning I returned to the opera house. I was informed of an emergency pickup rehearsal. Marie Pavlova had been granted sponsorship, effective immediately. Isadora needed a chance to rehearse her part with the cast."
It felt wrong. Marie had disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Granted, Helena had only known her a week, and she hadn't attended the cast party that night, so she'd missed her send off. But still; the immediacy of her departure made it feel like she had died or something.
Balanchine seemed in high spirits, despite the setback. From what Helena could pick up from the cast, he'd never remotely begrudged his dancers when they received sponsorship from the Celestial Dragons, and this was no exception.
He was in such high spirits in fact that Helena managed to convince him to let the cast only rehearse the more difficult scenes. As an understudy, Isadora had done the show through with everyone, if not consecutively. The one scene she struggled with was dancing in the harness on sword point. Soon this dance became the main focus, and the rest of the dancers were dismissed to enjoy their day before showtime that evening.
Helena tried to coach her through it. "Treat the floor as though it's made of glass," she suggested.
"What would you know of dancing en pointe? Much less sword point!" the woman screeched. She had more of a temper than Marie, and it was starting to show the more the evening progressed. She wobbled on her swords, which were attached to a pair of point shoes, not clutched in her toes like Helena was used to. Honestly, maybe it wasn't comparable at all.
"At least trust the in the fly system, nya!" Balanchine called up to her. "It will hold you up. All you have to do is focus on dancing."
"I'd like to see you try it," Isadora grumbled.
Twila the grey-purple cat overheard and knocked into one of the sword stilts, making Isadora wobble until she fell with a screech. The fly system kept her from hitting the ground, but she dangled with little grace from the rafters until the tech crew could pull her upright again.
"You see. It will catch you, nya," Balanchine pointed out, giving Twila an appreciative scratch on the chin. "You have nothing to be afraid of. From the top!"
Mochavsky started up the music on the piano and Isadora began. Balanchine gave Helena a woebegone look:
"She's too used to improvising. She can't do that on stilts," he said. "This show will be a disaster, nya."
"But look, she's getting it," Helena pointed out, hoping to cheer him. "Have a little faith!"
With her red eyebrows furrowed, eyes aflame, Isadora was at that moment every inch the Sun Queen preparing for battle, except that she wobbled as she attempted to change the choreography again, leaping from one sword point to another. It actually went perfectly with the music, but the dance had been expressly choreographed without leaps for safety.
"Give her a little time to get it down," Helena said, but then stopped short.
Isadora had just improvised another, impressive leap, attempting to land on one sword point. As she landed, one of the cables holding her up snapped. When her full weight hit the other cables, they too gave way one at a time, so quickly no one could do anything to prevent her inevitable fall.
The stage crew, Machovsky, and Helena let out a collective gasp when Isadora hit the ground with an audible snap.
Helena couldn't be sure, but she glanced up and thought she caught a glimpse of calico up on the catwalk near the fly system. Had it been sabotage? Why would Balanchine's cat want to sabotage his lead? Particularly now that she didn't have an understudy?
It soon became apparent that Isadora had broken her ankle. She was out for the rest of the season, perhaps for the rest of her career. As she left in tears to have her ankle treated, Helena, Machovsky and Balanchine met with the rest of the cast to deliver the frightful news.
"I'm afraid we no longer have a show," Machovsky said mournfully, shaking his head. "We no longer have a leading lady."
Completely undaunted, Balanchine hadn't lost the ever-cheerful spring to his step. "Not so, my dear comrade!" he said, "We have the perfect lead right here. Yelene will dance the part!"
"What?" Helena spluttered. "Me? I'm not a Ballerina!"
"Well, neither was the Sun Queen," Balanchine pointed out, "She was a warrior, just like you, nya! –Anyway, we all know you know the choreography backward and forward. You are perfectly capable, and you will bring the warrior's fire to the role!"
Helena opened her mouth to give a flat refusal, but then she caught the expressions on the other dancers' faces. Everyone looked so crestfallen. All of their hard work had just come to naught! Beyond that, if the show failed, she likely wouldn't get paid, nor would the rest of them!
Still she might have resisted if she hadn't caught sight of Kuina. The young girl looked to her mother with wide-eyed awe. She seemed to completely grasp the situation, and her gaze begged her mother to take the part.
Helena sighed. "I don't suppose there's a chance of getting Marie back?"
"She is long gone, I'm afraid," Balanchine said. "You are our only hope."
"Then we'd best get to work. I have a lot to learn."
Helena didn't struggle with the choreography. Her insane training regimen meant that physically she had the strength and flexibility for it, and she knew enough of it to catch on quickly. She struggled getting used to the pointe shoes, however. They felt unnatural, and threatened to give even her calloused feet blisters.
Soon she ditched them, choosing instead to dance barefoot. Genetics and her unique fighting style meant her toes were more than capable of bearing her weight. This seemed to impress her fellow dancers, and the choreographer, to no end. He proclaimed it suited the character, and no one complained about the choice.
But Balanchine had one very real concern with her dancing:
"You have no emotion, nya!" he cried, after watching her finish off a pas de deux with Misha. Though she was much taller than he, especially en pointe, they'd performed the duet with technical perfection. "You show no love or sorrow in your face. How do you manage such a stoic mask performing a dance of love, nya nya?!"
Helena didn't know how to respond. She'd spent her whole life learning how to hide certain emotions from the public. Dropping the mask would make her vulnerable, and could sometimes endanger people. There were few people Helena felt safe enough to show that side to, Zoro being one of them.
"She is of the Amazon. Perhaps she knows nothing of love," Misha attempted in her defense.
Helena chuffed. "I have a child," she pointed out, gesturing to Kuina.
Over in the wings, someone had found a tutu for her, and Balanchine's cats were teaching her to point her toes. Lady followed along as best she could, also wearing a tutu and balancing on part of her stomach so she could use the tip of her tail as a foot. They'd even put a tutu on the fox plush, which sat to the side as their audience.
"Ah yes, of course," Misha replied, scratching his head in embarrassment. "Sorry, but it's really hard to fall in love with you on stage. Not that you're not pretty!" he said in a rush, "It's just, you…you don't give me much to work with."
"I am used to keeping my feelings close to the vest," Helena admitted cautiously. "I do not like vulnerability."
"To be an artist you must be vulnerable," Machovsky put in, turning from the piano to her. "Any fool can dance, or sing, or paint a picture, my dear. True artists bear their souls."
"You have loved before," Misha ventured. "Perhaps pretend I am he?"
That's easier than you think, Helena thought, seeing the katana props in Misha's belt. And yet so much harder too. You are nothing like my Zoro.
Scrawny. Average in height and covered in wiry muscle, Misha didn't have Zoro's height or bulk. A wave of black hair crashed over his head. Hazel eyes. Unguarded expression. - But beyond the looks, He didn't have Zoro's ambition either. He didn't care to be the best dancer, or gain a sponsor like Marie did. Though he was kind and hard-working, he still whined when things got hard.
"Please give me a moment," she said, walking off to the wings toward her daughter.
"Yes, but only a moment, nya!" Balanchine called, irritably. "We open in little more than an hour!"
As if she could forget! She was already exhausted, and had no idea how she was going to pull it through. Coffee had been her saving grace through all of this.
"Kina," Helena said, reaching toward her dancing daughter. "Come here, please."
Kuina put up a rebellious show, pretending not to hear her. She focused on her dancing, but at a nudge from Lady, she turned a grin on Helena and ran into her open arms.
"I just need an embrace from you," Helena murmured into her emerald curls, "And I remember your Father."
"I big and strong yike Papa?"
"You are strong like him," Helena agreed, ruffling her hair, "And one day you will grow big."
"I pwetty yike Papa?"
"You look very like him, yes," Helena reminded her. "Though he is handsome, not at all pretty. And you, you are handsome and pretty too."
"Pwetty yike Hammock?"
"Prettier," Helena asserted, squeezing her more tightly before letting her go.
"You go dance now?" Kuina asked. "You dance pwetty, Mama."
"Thank you, Kina. Yes, I will go dance now. Will you clap for me when I'm done?"
Kuina nodded exuberantly. Helena smiled. "That's my girl."
She made her way over to Misha, and let out a pent-up breath. "Alright," she said. "I'm ready. Let us begin."
Machovsky played the first strains of her wedding song. Helena pictured Zoro and their kata. The emotion that rushed through her became almost too much for her to contain. Moisture glistened in her eyes.
She had intentionally closed her heart working on this show, even before she'd somehow stumbled into becoming a part of it. She'd known that if she allowed a crack in the dam, too much would come spilling out. One could only contain so much sorrow and pain and love and guilt under tight pressure for so long.
The music alone made her heart sore. She saw their wedding kata, and the way Zoro had looked fighting Troy – a light in her darkest hour. She remembered him, stuck as a fox, trying to comfort her and not reveal who he was, always honorable and true to their promises. And yet, he'd found a way to help her, to try and protect her despite being angry with her, dressed as Lord Death as he cleaned her hall of false-suitors, and she dressed as Death's Lady.
She remembered sitting back to back in her gym…their gym…burnt to rubble now – how they'd not looked one another in the face as she'd recounted the horror of losing their son. Of the way he had held her then. Of introducing him to their daughter, and seeing him weep for joy. Of seeing him hold that child to him as naturally as held a sword.
She thought of seven sword style, and cutting steal, and spelunking through mushroom strewn caves. Of sharing dreams and making provisos, and trying so hard to be what the other needed.
In short, she remembered a love so real it had cost her a kingdom.
She gritted her teeth against her tears. If she fell to pieces, she wouldn't be able to dance! She focused hard on the steps to draw her back to the present, and the wave of emotion started to withdraw.
"No!" Balanchine called, "Begin again. You pulled it all back."
Helena shook her head hard. "I can't do this," she said through her teeth
"You must, nya!"
Helena snapped. "You'll have to accept my performance as is," she proclaimed in anger, "Because you will get nothing more."
She turned on her heel and started to walk off, indicating for Kuina and Lady to follow.
Balanchine's cats formed a line, blocking her way. They stood on their hindlegs, lifting their forepaws into an X shape in front of their chests then waiving both paws aside: the ballet mime for, "No."
Helena glared at them, and mimed a threatening X toward the ground with her fists closed: the ballet mime for death. When the cats didn't move, she kicked them aside like a trio of footballs. Hancock would be so proud.
"MY BABIES, NYA!" Balanchine cried.
"You're cats are fine," Helena insisted stormily. After all, they'd all landed on their feet up on the catwalk above.
"Wait, come back here!"
Helena ignored him and went to her room to rest.
"Is anyone high profile coming to watch tonight?" Helena asked Balanchine from the wings.
Dressed in a white-leotard swathed in light gauze – an artistic chiton she supposed, Helena adjusted her fake gold crown, assuring herself that the pins would hold it into place as she moved. It certainly didn't carry the weight of a real crown, yet she was as nervous as she might be going into battle.
"Finally have the nerve to show nerves, nya?" he hissed at her, still off put that she'd marched out of rehearsal without so much as an apology. "No, I don't think you'll be dealing with another visit from the Fleet Admiral."
"Fleet Admiral…?" Helena gasped, completely shaken. Akainu had been at the show last night? How had she missed that? It was a good thing she'd left when she had. He would have recognized her for sure.
"Oh yes. Sakasuki loved the show," Balanchine gushed. "He said we particularly captured the essence of the Iliad warriors; we have your suggestions to thank for that."
Helena hadn't been able to convince them to change Hector into a more serious role. Every ballet had to have a comique, it seemed. But she had won Balanchine over on the idea of making the rest of the Iliad army fierce and determined rather than bumbling. After all, it made the Navy look that much more admirable in their triumph.
"But more World Nobles?" Helena went on tensely, not really caring whether the likes of Akainu had liked her changes or not. "Will any be in the audience tonight?"
"Perhaps. Rothbart may come by to catch another show," Balanchine replied. "He's very generous, nya. When he steals one of our leads, he likes to see how our understudy does to offer the same opportunity. Usually the understudy isn't quite ready for that kind of sponsorship. Don't get too excited though, nya. With your emotionless dancing, you have no hope of that kind of offer."
"So, nothing to worry about," Helena murmured under her breath. Except being recognized. Would Rothbart know her face? As one who had a vested interest in her life story, it seemed possible, even likely.
She reminded herself that she now looked nothing like her wanted poster, or past publications of her face. Heavy stage makeup masked her identity further. Anyway, she had no time to worry about it. That was her cue in the music. Despite her promise to Shakky and Rayleigh that she would stay out of the public eye, Helena glided onto the stage with poise, holding her head high.
And locked eyes with the very man they'd been talking about. Saint Coppelius Rothbart.
.
.
.
A/N: I want it known that, having taken a few years of classes, I have a hefty respect for how difficult it is to master ballet. It is an exacting art form, and often movies make it seem like someone with talent can master it in a few days or weeks. (Here's looking at you, Leap! - love that movie. Super cute. But sooo not realistic. And then there's The Greatest Showman. Also love that movie, but I was cringing so hard when the ballet shoes he bought his daughter were pointe shoes. You do NOT go up on pointe until you've mastered dancing in canvas shoes. Especially not that young! Gracious!).
With all that being said, I think it can be argued that Helena has flexibility and tone to supersede any real world ballerina, given that this is the One Piece universe where swordsmen like her are ridiculously overpowered.
And I know it's kinda trite that she ended up playing herself, but I couldn't resist. I mean, come on! You saw it coming a mile away, but you know you would have been disappointed had it not happened!