In your benevolence, hear the Collector's request to forget all about her.
Starring Saffron Coomber as Scordeh, the Collector (she/her)
With additional voices from the season 1 cast
Forget all about me
I Need A Miracle, season 1, episode 3 of 12
Written and created by Matt Boothman
Directed by Robert Valentine
Music by Katharine Seaton
Sound design by Sarah Buchynski
Casting by Fiona Thraille
Recorded at Jukebox Studios
Broadcast assistance from Teresa Milewski
Cover art by Dionysis Livanis
Produced by Sarah Golding of Wireless Theatre for Foggy Outline
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If you enjoyed this episode, in your benevolence, I entreat you to:
Transcript
Delicate synth and violin music plays; mysterious, calm but slightly haunting.
ANNOUNCER 1:
Foggy Outline presents: I Need A Miracle. Produced by Wireless Theatre.
Forget all about me. Written by Matt Boothman. Performed by Saffron Coomber.
The music ends.
A murmur of many pleading voices, overlapping indistinguishably.
Out of the murmur, a single voice breaks through.
THE COLLECTOR:
(businesslike, almost absently) In your benevolence, I entreat you to hear me and intervene. Just the usual if you please, smooth running between here and the Pendant tomorrow A.M.–
The murmurs die away.
THE COLLECTOR is in a bustling travel terminal.
THE COLLECTOR:
–no mechanical trouble, no staffing issues, you know the ask by now. Carrier only runs twice a day, it’s like they never heard of anyone keeping a full diary, and I can’t be turning up to the valuation delayed or rushed or ruffled in any way. A sense of calm and assurance is everything in a negotiation, you understand. Appreciated as always.
The murmur of indistinguishable voices returns.
Out of the murmur, the same voice soon breaks through again.
THE COLLECTOR:
In your benevolence, I entreat you to hear me and intervene–
The murmurs die away.
THE COLLECTOR is somewhere private and quiet.
THE COLLECTOR:
–the Early Post-Skywards could use a quick bump this P.M., just a point or two, appreciated as always.
The murmur of indistinguishable voices returns.
Out of the murmur, the same voice soon breaks through again.
THE COLLECTOR:
In your benevolence, I entreat you to hear me and intervene.
The murmurs die back, a bit more gradually this time.
THE COLLECTOR:
Look, the annual gains are sitting at all nines, and I could just do with them ticking over before the club dinner tomorrow. You know those old farts don’t care what the digits actually say, only how many digits they can count before the decimal point, and if it’s fewer than the same time last year, they’ll treat it like a bloody Upheaval! Seal up the shutters, freeze in place until things settle down.
You and I both know, with the acquisitions in the pipeline, we’re looking at sustainable growth in the value of my collection over a five-year horizon. I was the first mover on the Early Post-Skyward pieces and now every collector on the scene is falling over themselves to get hold of one so they can bluff like they were in from the start. I have the power to set the exchange value. We’ll have enough to exchange for two more masterworks by the next Upheaval as long as I don’t blink first. There’s nothing really for the club to fret about.
The problem is, they know I’ve been carrying them. Or more accurately, the problem comes if they have to admit I’ve been carrying them. Don’t expect they’d handle the loss of face very well. So.
I’m not sure what the best thing would be to massage this, maybe some sort of nostalgia swell for the Pre-Eidetics, they’re about due one. Or a backlash against that new movement, the … zoopathy dialogues. Our friend Telliera’s put together too many eggs in that basket in my view and his loss is my gain. I wouldn’t ask, only it’s a small little thing with a disproportionate effect on confidence and without confidence I’m that much more limited in what I can provide. Amberlin keeps hinting – but of course you’d know what Amberlin wants. Appreciated as always.
The murmur of indistinguishable voices returns.
Out of the murmur, the same voice soon breaks through again.
THE COLLECTOR:
In your benevolence, I entreat you to hear me and intervene.
The murmurs die back, but don’t disappear completely.
THE COLLECTOR:
Nostalgia’s all very pleasant but we’re heading for the wire, and it’s looking like the Pre-Eidetics don’t have quite the pull we want, sorry to say. Zoopathic dialogue as art is exploitative while the jury’s still out on animal sapience, I’m reading here. ’S what a lot of people are saying.
I’ll leave it with you.
The murmur of indistinguishable voices returns, quietly.
An ambulance siren wails.
Out of the murmur, THE COLLECTOR’S voice breaks through.
THE COLLECTOR:
In your benevolence … I implore you…
Hear me.
The murmurs die away.
THE COLLECTOR is in a quiet, private recovery room.
THE COLLECTOR:
How…
Just explain it to me. That’s all I want.
I want to understand the uh, the thought process at work here.
What else was so important?
What’s the order of precedence here, the priorities we’re working with? Who was…
Didn’t you hear me?
Why weren’t you listening?
Every other time, you always…
I’ve come to expect a certain…
Everything I ever asked of you. Every petty piddling little request. Granted–
THE COLLECTOR snaps her fingers.
THE COLLECTOR:
–like that. Not a moment’s hesitation. Like it was nothing. Is it any wonder I took it…
I took you for granted. Perhaps.
But can you blame me, really? It was you who trained me to.
“Get me to the valuation on time.” “Help me keep the club happy.”
“In your benevolence, O let the orange wine Amberlin likes be in stock at the larder today…”
THE COLLECTOR’s voice cracks.
She recovers her composure.
THE COLLECTOR:
And then the one time it’s life or death. The one time!
What could possibly have been more pressing?
Which selfish little prayer seemed more urgent to you? Who had your ear to whine about wanting a more convenient life, while I was on the other channel begging for deliverance?
Amberlin could have died. In a stupid accident at barely sixty. A good century and a half of living so very nearly cropped off.
You forget it can happen.
Our lives are long, and our bodies robust, in your benevolence. You plan your lives together on that basis, of course you do. There’s someone up there looking out for you so why worry? Think of all the good times ahead. All the ripe full years.
When I heard what had happened … heard there was a chance he might, might not pull through … I didn’t know what to do. All I could think was “This isn’t part of the plan”. Seal up the shutters, things will level out. Nonsensical as a response. Losing him, that’s not something that could ever blow over. It couldn’t ever swing back my way. But that’s the only way I knew to react. That, and of course … this. Bringing it to you.
I recall this incredible warmth and calm infusing into me as soon as the thought occurred. I was unfrozen in a moment. It had been silly of me to worry, I thought. “In the balance”, they said he was, and you’ve always been willing to tip the balance my way. I cursed myself for worrying at all. For losing that one minute to panic when I could have had the request in already and been on my way back to him with peace of mind. So I put one in, post-haste, and hardly gave Amberlin a thought all the long way home.
I know how that sounds but I knew – I knew he was all right at that point, you’d have sorted it like you always do, and we’d laugh about the near miss when we were back together again, only you chose this time not to come through.
I’m making an assumption here, and frankly it’s a generous one, that you didn’t hear. Someone else had your attention.
It better have been something bloody apocalyptic.
It better have been … something. Because if you ignored – if you chose to ignore – I don’t think I want to know. I don’t even know what I’m asking you for. I don’t know what I want, just … not this. Not this feeling that you…
THE COLLECTOR takes a deep breath.
THE COLLECTOR:
Am I being punished? Is that it? For … for abusing your benevolence?
You never had to listen! You never had to answer! I know you don’t always – eople are always asking me my secret. Every petition, every plea, every prayer, for years and years! For the stupidest, tiny, little, petty, bloody things!
THE COLLECTOR takes a deep breath.
THE COLLECTOR:
There’s something Amberlin always says.
“There’s no harm in asking.”
The worst you can do is not listen, he always says.
I love the man so much it scares me but he’s dead wrong there, isn’t he?
You can do worse than not listen.
You can listen, and listen, and listen. Until you don’t.
Well, you don’t have to any more. You ignored me when it mattered. Fine. Ignore me all you want. Blank me out. That’s what I’m asking you for this time. Stop listening. Forget I exist. Never hear my voice again. Leave me alone.
A murmur of indistinguishable voices begins to swell up over THE COLLECTOR’s voice.
THE COLLECTOR:
In your benevolence, you’ve heard my plea, now I entreat you to grant it forthwith.
All the voices fade away.
ANNOUNCER 2:
I Need A Miracle is a Foggy Outline podcast produced by Wireless Theatre. Directed by Robert Valentine. Produced by Sarah Golding. Casting by Fiona Thraille. Broadcast assistance by Teresa Milewski. Music by Katharine Seaton. Sound design by Sarah Buchynski. Recorded by Stephen H. at Jukebox Studios. Find more audio gold at wirelesstheatrecompany.co.uk and foggyoutline.com.
Thank you for listening.