Just a short, random character study thing. Who needs plots anyway? I admit I may have gone a bit overboard with the long, odd-metaphor-studded descriptions this time. I am, it must be said, the queen of run-on sentences. Anyway, let me know if you could understand any of it.
She knew beneath her ever-cheerful surface that he only stayed with her for his own calculating purposes. She was the only woman in London who would do all these things for him- let him stay upstairs and hide from the world, while he sliced throat after filthy throat of the vermin who ventured up there, an endless parade of idiots gone unwittingly to meet their maker- the only woman who would harbor a murderer. She was the only woman in London who would hide his evidence- carefully stripping away the flesh, grinding it into smoothly innocent pie filling, and burning what could be ground- the only woman who would, or could make the best of a situation like that. She was the only woman in London who would tolerate him- gritting her teeth and smiling while he raged at her and at the judge and at the whole accursed world, and still trying to talk him out of his sullen shell of despair- the only woman who would still love him.
She knew he took advantage of her, but at the same time she knew he couldn't leave her for all those same reasons. She took a grim pleasure in knowing that he was bound to her, if only by necessity. For there was nowhere else for him to go, however much he might want to. She was the smiling jailer who wouldn't give up the key, the amorous ball and chain attached lovingly to his ankles. They were an inseparable pair, she and her Mr Todd. She took some comfort in that.
He knew, with a kind of sadistic amusement that she couldn't have left him even if she'd wanted to. (She didn't- he knew that as well, but he still vaguely enjoyed the idea of holding her like a prisoner to his will.) She needed him not only for his company (he indulged briefly in a bitter smile- what fine company he must be) but also for the good business he brought her by way of those darling silver blades. Without him she would be right back to where he found her- haggard and threadbare, hardly better than a begging tramp, turning people's stomachs with her foul excuses for pies and her equally unpalatable chatter. He grinned at the idea of having such power over her, a bargaining chip he could use to threaten her whenever she became particularly unbearable.
But, as they both knew, necessity goes two ways, and it was now inescapably apparent that, as long as they both needed each other, all threats of death or abandonment were rendered hollow as blown eggshells. They were like a pair of duelers, each with the point of their blade kissing the other's throat, yet neither could draw their sword away, lest it be their neck to forfeit the stalemate. So they stayed there, cold steel pressed against hot skin, trapped in the precarious balance until some outside force would tip them one way or another, and then it would all come crashing down in a rain of blood and blades.
In the meantime it was all a series of checks and balances, each repaying the other, sometimes grudgingly, and often unknowingly, for the various conveniences and inconveniences their presence wrought. He gave her a constant stream of fresh supplies, relief from her long loneliness, and a dashing new man to dote upon, and she repaid him by diligently cleaning up the nasty side effects of murder, keeping quiet about his deadly habit, and trying, trying to understand him when he spoke of rubies and silver, and a black pit of vermin that must be cleansed.
He hurt her sometimes, he knew- he had seen the look in her wide dark eyes when he brushed her away with an icy word, or spat at her his mad monologues of blood and death- and so he would let her run a hand up his arm and press her face close to his neck, though it made him shudder. She disgusted him, she knew- she had seen his lip curl when she sighed against his skin, or dared to drop a quick kiss on his cheekbone- and so she let him rage at her 'til she cowered, and then pretend she didn't exist when he was through. It all balanced out in the end, and they were on even ground.
They had a relationship based entirely on convenience- nothing in excess, and nothing without its reasons. He let her near him as long as it was convenient to do so, as long as she gave something back, and she kept on sacrificing herself as long as she had a guarantee that he would stay. Life was a compromise for the poisonous pair. She smiled and he grimaced: they really were inseperable.