Title: Listen
By: Amanda
Feedback: sweety167yahoo.ca
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing that sprang from the mind of Stephen Sondheim et all. And I make no profit.
Spoilers: Movie
Pairings: Lovett/Sweeney in nature
Summary: Mrs. Lovett hears things that others ignore.
Completed: January 9, 2008
Notes: I've been a Sweeney fan long before Johnny picked the razors, but it was Helena that inspired me to pick up my pen.
Nights have always been quiet 'round here.
After all, ghosts don't usually make a lot of noise. That's how you learn to listen, to really listen for those silent things 'round you. Have to hear something.
They keep you company, they do. Much better company than forgotten spirits and faded memories. Of that I'm certain. They do nothing more than haunt. Not much of a comfort in that.
Some noises do though, offer comfort I mean.
But take the steady tick-tick-tick from Albert's pocket watch. That was a sound to set your life to. It was always there, regular and dependable, like Albert himself.
That was, until I hocked it.
Desperate times.
The bake oven often speaks in a low, deep thud. And it keeps me warm. Warm caresses almost like a lover's embrace, if I ever remembered such a thing. But the oven speaks mostly to the rolling pin really. A call and answer sort of match. They tell me to keep going, stay steady. Keep pressing forward.
One can't survive without the other you know. They need one another to thrive, to live at all. Outsiders wouldn't understand. Outsiders wouldn't be able to listen for the subtleties.
I hear them.
Like Mr. Todd's footsteps through his shop floor. They speak loudly, much louder than Mr. T himself most days.
They tell much more too.
If you listen you'll hear it – the steady thump-thump-thump; it's better than Albert's watch ever was. Steady and strong it is. It'll tell you if Mr. T's got a customer or not. Though the clang from the trap in the floor is a dead give away of that, eh?
No, but it's the weight of his step: either pacing or the waltz of a shave. Or the steps could be deadly silent. That mean's he's thinking of them, poor thing.
I try not to listen to that. It's none of my business that. None of my business at all.
Sometimes though, rarely, my Mr. Todd will speak for himself. You still have to listen close to his low tone - he's not one for repeating, and says things in layers. Cold and stern. Almost mean.
Oh, but when he calls me pet. That's a heat that envies my oven. He's nothing if not deliberate. And that's my favourite thing to listen to, his voice dripping deep sounds of his endearment.
You've got to listen for your own truths at night.
Those offer the best company.
End Scene.