IN SOME OTHER WORLD
A "Clockwork Orange" Crossover With "Sweeney Todd"
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a fanfic idea that's been circulating in my head for some time, but as of February 2009, I have officially put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) & begun transforming this idea into an actual story.
Now, what you are about to read is a crossover between A Clockwork Orange & the film version of Sweeney Todd focusing on my ACO fanfic character Angela Rodelaire-Westbrook, who is mysteriously whisked out of the DeLarge family's home in Elstree & finds herself not only in another house in another city, but also in another time period! What happens when Angela meets Sweeney Todd, Mrs. Lovett, & Toby? How will she fare in 19th-century London? Will she find a way to return back to modern-day Elstree, or will she be stuck forever in this bleak & grisly otherworld...assuming she doesn't meet a more terrifying fate?
When you're finished reading the fanfic, be sure to leave a review. I'll take anything from simple comments to constructive criticism, as long as they're not flames or written in a harsh or overly-nitpicky manner.
And now, for a quick copyright & disclaimer:
Alex DeLarge (as well as Philip & Sheila DeLarge) & all other characters, elements, & properties relating to A Clockwork Orange © Anthony Burgess, Stanley Kubrick, & Warner Bros. Studios.
Sweeney Todd, Mrs. Lovett, Toby, & all other characters, elements, & properties relating to Sweeney Todd (at least, as they are portrayed in the movie) © Stephen Sondheim, Tim Burton, Warner Bros. Studios, & DreamWorks Pictures.
Angela Rodelaire-Westbrook, the little versions of the Droogs (I emphasize the phrase "little versions", however), & all other original characters, elements, & properties © Anastasia Ashworth, a.k.a. your friend & humble narrator, The Mouse Avenger. Please be sure to ask for my permission before using them in your stories or fan-works; I would greatly appreciate that.
All right, then, I think that takes care of our author's notes. Enjoy the story--or at least, the prologue! But expect more chapters to come in the future!
Prologue:
A Rude Awakening
The 11-year-old girl slowly opened her bright blue eyes with a soft groan, blinking them once or twice as her blurred vision switched in & out of focus, trying to adjust to the dull gray light that filled her surroundings. Her entire body throbbed in excruciating pain, intensifying the agony of the migraine that was attacking her sore & aching head right now. Mon Dieu, the girl asked mentally to herself, what happened? How did I get here, on the floor? She thought for a moment, trying to remember something from the night before that might provide an answer to her question. I must have had a bad dream...Oui...That's it...I had a bad dream, then rolled out of bed, fell down on the floor, & hit my head when I landed...But why is my whole body hurting so much? Is Alex awake yet? Can he see me? Maybe, he can find out what happened.
The girl called out the name of her dear & beloved friend, but she received no answer. After one or two more tries, she gave up. He must still be asleep, the girl mused. I should try & go over to wake him up.
When the girl rose to her hands & knees in an effort to get up off the floor, she suddenly collapsed back down to the ground, grimacing as the pain in her body grew worse & worse. The migraine in her head was becoming unbearable to the point where she was beginning to feel disoriented; everything around her was spinning in circles, reduced to blurry shapes of bleak color. The girl squinted her eyes shut as tightly as she could, trying to block the pain that ravaged her & make it go away; gradually, her inner agony decreased in intensity, but her head continued to ache like...well, like the dickens.
Oww...Oh, it hurts so much...I think I may need to see the doctor. My body's never hurt this much before...I wonder if Mr. & Mrs. DeLarge might be up. Wincing with each effort to move, the girl slowly began crawling towards the open doorway in the hopes of reaching her adoptive parents, but stopped when the pain of her migraine overwhelmed her & she could go no further. I'll call out for Alex's mommy & daddy, & if they come over & find me, they'll bring me to the hospital, & the doctor will take a look & try to figure out what's wrong with me. Maybe, he can see why I'm hurting so much & find a way to make me feel better. It's worth a try.
"Help..." the girl called out weakly, her soft, melodic voice sounding groggy & hoarse. After coughing a little to clear her throat, the girl called out for assistance again, louder this time. "Help...Help me, please...Help!"
After a few seconds, the girl's ears perked up to the sound of boot-steps echoing throughout the spacious building, becoming louder & louder as their owner entered the room the girl was in. The girl was then suddenly startled to hear the other person (a woman) crying out in alarm, followed by the sound of something heavy & metallic (possibly a silver tray or a large kitchen pot) falling down & crashing to the ground with a loud, noisy clatter. The girl let out a small gasp of surprise as she was swiftly scooped up off the floor & into a pair of long, slender arms.
"Oh, my goodness," the girl heard the older woman blurt out worriedly as she grabbed her visitor in a fierce, swift movement & carried her out through the doorway in a mad dash, "we've got t' get ye out o' 'ere & find ye a good place t' rest! A young gel in yer condition shouldn't be lyin' on that filthy floor!"
The girl felt a little nauseous while she was being bounced & jostled about in the woman's arms, her vision moving dizzily in all sorts of directions as she was quickly brought out of the room she had been in earlier & then whisked down a long, winding corridor. Finally, as the older woman stopped running & began to carry the girl at a much slower, gentler pace, the girl began to feel less queasy; the older woman reached out to place her hand on a golden knob, & then opened a door leading into another room. As she was taken into this room, the girl gazed around inside of it, taking a brief glance at the furniture & other things that decorated it (including a small fire blazing in a hearth). Then, the older woman brought the girl over to the other side of the room & carefully placed her down the soft cushions of a plush settee. The girl laid back & tried to relax as she made herself comfortable, but even with the warmth radiating from the fireplace, she shivered from the chill of the air rushing against her skin, penetrating the silky white fabric of her nightgown.
"Oh, poor thing," the older woman cooed sympathetically with a pitiful shake of her head, before leaning over to bend down & pick up a large patchwork quilt, which she proceeded to lay over the girl. When she had done that, she gingerly tucked in the girl's covers, making sure she was as cozy as could be.
Once she felt the comforting warmth of the blankets surrounding her, the girl smiled as she snuggled up in the quilt. "Thank you for the blanky," she said pleasantly. "It's so nice & comfy..." The girl cuddled up under the covers a bit more, then sighed in content as she finally relaxed & got settled in her new surroundings, not fully aware of what was going on.
But the older woman grew concerned that the girl was not emotionally prepared to discover where she really was (at least, not in her current condition); if she found out, she would certainly become terribly distressed or upset, if not frightened out of her wits. (No doubt her parents, if she had any, were worried sick about their daughter, wondering where on Earth she might be.) Well, per'aps, t'morrow, she'll be feelin' better enough t' know where she's stayin', the older woman decided. But right now, she doesn't need t' make 'erself sick with worry; she's already sick enough as it is, from that nasty injury she was sufferin' earlier. Right now, all the gel needs is plenty o' rest, so she can recover proper. An' I think I know just th' thing t' 'elp 'er off t' sleep.
The older woman went across to the opposite side of the room, rummaging through the contents stored on the shelves of a large wooden bookcase. Finally, with a soft cry of enlightenment, she pulled out what she had been looking for—a tall glass bottle with an off-white label—& went back over to the girl on the couch, sitting down beside her on a plush stool that went with the settee. Then the older woman took the bottle & removed its cork-stopper, before slowly pouring some of its contents into a large flask, which she handed over to the girl. "Drink some of this, luv," she urged kindly. "It'll do ye a world o' good."
As the older woman offered her the container with the clear, strong-smelling liquid, the girl looked at it with a quizzical stare. "Is it medicine?" she asked.
"Well, I'm afraid not, but it's th' next best thing we got," the older woman answered, gingerly supporting the girl's head with one hand as she brought the flask of gin to her lips with the other hand. With a vigilant gaze, the older woman watched the girl consume the beverage as it entered her mouth, slowly drinking each drop of the gin until it was all gone. When the girl had finished, she lay back down on her makeshift bed & nestled beneath the quilt, sporting a sleepy, yet satisfied, expression. "There ye go, dearie," the older woman said with a smile. "Just give it a few minutes t' settle in, & ye'll be feelin' better in no time."
The girl nodded drowsily in response to the older woman's words, then took the time to try & (vainly) suppress a yawn; it wasn't long before the effects of the gin, the warmth of her blankets & the fire in the hearth, the softness of her bed of cushions, & the darkness of the room took effect on the girl, making her sleepier & sleepier with each moment that passed. Finally, just as her eyes had fluttered closed & she turned over to lie on her side, the girl asked the older woman, "By any chance..."—she let out another yawn, followed by a hiccup—"...do you know where my stuffed bunny is?"
The older woman gazed at the girl in confusion, not quite sure what she was talking about or just how to answer her question. "Well, erm," she said at last with some hesitation, "t' be quite honest, I'm not really sure where yer stuffed bunny might be, luv...But maybe, this'll do for now." She reached over & picked up a small porcelain doll that had a smile on her cherubic, rosy-cheeked face, along with curly locks of blonde hair & big, bright blue eyes just like the little girl's. (The doll was dressed in an antique-style French outfit—a pretty pink ball gown with a big hoop-skirt & a magenta sash with ribbons & bows, a large pink hat with a magenta ribbon & matching feathers, a pearl necklace, lacy white bloomers & layers of petticoats, sleek white opera gloves with fur trimming, & a pair of little black boots, as well as a tiny white fan she clutched in her delicate right hand.)
The girl carefully took the doll into her arms & clasped it fondly to her chest, snuggling against it in a loving embrace as she nestled with it underneath her blankets; much to the older woman's delight, the girl took quite a liking to the doll. "Merci beaucoup," the girl thanked the older woman gratefully as she cuddled up with her new little friend. "Thank you so...very...much..." With another yawn & hiccup, the girl fell fast asleep.
As she watched her visitor lying on the parlor couch, the older woman sported a sweet smile on her face. "Aww, just look at 'er," she whispered softly, gazing at the napping girl with an adoring expression. "She looks so peaceful when she's sleepin'...almost like an angel." Indeed, with her golden tresses of sunshine that fell down around her head in a smooth waterfall of waves & curls, her oceanic orbs hidden behind her closed eyelids, her fair complexion, her gentle smile, & her long white gown that covered her graceful figure, Angela Rodelaire-Westbrook looked very much like an angel.
The older woman who had served as Angela's gracious host—one Mrs. Lovett by name—watched her guest slumber for a few more minutes, then, after a while, decided to leave her alone to catch her much-needed rest. Trying to make as little noise as possible so she wouldn't wake Angela, Mrs. Lovett tiptoed over to the parlor door & opened it very quietly, before exiting the room & softly shutting the door behind her. She then started to make her way down the corridor, but stopped in her tracks when she saw a familiar figure approaching her.
"Oh, Mr. Todd," Mrs. Lovett greeted in a hushed tone, "what brings ye down 'ere?"
The tall, pale man with a wild, white-streaked shock of black hair stared coldly at Mrs. Lovett with steely-gray eyes from underneath a furrowed brow, his grim countenance made even more so by the frown that played across his thin lips. "I came down here to investigate the ruckus that was going on earlier," he replied. "What happened?"
Mrs. Lovett, made somewhat nervous by Sweeney Todd's intimidating presence, fumbled for an answer. "Well, it's a funny story, really," she said, hoping that she would sound convincing enough to her business partner, her close friend, & the object of her secret affections. "Ye see, I was doin' a bit o' kitchen work, & then, I 'eard someone calling out in th' other room, so I went t' take a look-see. An' I found this lil' gel lyin' on th' floor, & she looked like she was in pain, so I took 'er into th' parlor & made it into a sort of a guest room for 'er...She's sleepin' on th' sofa right now."
When Sweeney went over to the door & tried to open it, Mrs. Lovett darted in front of his way, trying to block the entrance as she took her friend's hand off the doorknob. "Don't go in there, Mr. T!" she hissed scoldingly. "You'll wake her!"
"Wake who, mum?" another voice spoke from the staircase—this time, that of a young boy in his preteen years.
Running a hand through her frizzy brown hair, Mrs. Lovett tried to keep her voice calm as she responded, "Nothin' t' worry about, Toby. We just 'ave a guest in th' parlor. She's sleepin' right now, so just go back upstairs & do what ye were doin', & later on, when she's awake, ye can see 'er." With a quick nod, Toby went back upstairs to his room, & once he'd shut the door, Mrs. Lovett turned to face Sweeney again. "If ye don't mind me sayin' so, I suggest ye do th' same, Mr. T," the restaurateuress goaded the barber gently. "She's been through a 'ard time, & she needs t' rest & recover. 'Opefully, she should wake up at around dinnertime, if not sooner."
"Very well," Sweeney replied, turning to make his way to his tonsorial parlor. "Just make sure she doesn't pry into certain people's business..." He emphasized the deadly (if one will kindly excuse the pun) importance of his words with a quick flick of his silver razor blade.
"She won't, Mr. T," Mrs. Lovett said with a firm shake of her head. "I'll make sure she doesn't."
Sweeney's lips then curled up from a tight frown into a morbid smile. "Good," he said with a satisfied nod, before exiting.
When Sweeney was gone, Mrs. Lovett let out a sigh of relief, then quietly opened the parlor door, peeking inside to check on Angela. She was still sleeping underneath the cozy quilts on her couch-bed, snuggling up with the doll she had given her.
Oh, ye poor lil' dear, Mrs. Lovett thought as she gazed at Angela with a sad, but tender, look in her sunken eyes. Why would th' good Lord allow such a sweet & innocent gel like ye t' wander into a dreadful place like this?