title Girl Anachronism
author pinkeop
summary Behold the world's worst accident, I am the Girl Anachronism. ( AU )
authors note Welcome one and all to my first multi-chapter Sweeney Todd. I figure if I put up those four one-shots and get people used to my writing style I might get at least one or two reviews. I know I'm not fond of reading AU fan fictions, but I'm such a hypocrite because I LOVE writing them.
So, guys, bear with me on this one... I came up with it during school and perfected it during play rehearsal and well... If I don't like it, I'll certainly take it down and continue with my random one-shots. But, just give it a chance? Ever seen the Never Ending Story? Keep it in mind during the beginning, it'll explain shit. More. 8D
Rated T because I always rate multi-chapter stories T!
Love!
Pink Elephants on Parade
--
chapter one the ballad of sweeney todd
you can tell
from the scars on my arms
and cracks in my hips
and the dents in my car
and the blisters on my lips
that i'm not the carefullest of girls
London rolled by the windows of the sleek black car where young Analise Landon sat beside her mother in the passenger side. The young woman's brow was furrowed, beaded with sweat even as the rolled down window let in the summer breeze. The good weather didn't exactly mirror Ana's mood, quite the contrary infact. The tension in the car was so thick that not even a meat cleaver could dent it. Two hours in a car with her mother wasn't what Ana would ever call fun. She just wanted to get out and leave her behind, because that's what was going to happen anyway. In the center of London on Fleet Street awaited young Ana's fate, in the form of an old widowed biddy by the name of Aunt Helen. And her humble abode that smelt of a stale, metallic stench all the time.
Analise gave a loud, obnoxious sigh of discontent. Her mother's annoyed look was beyond worth it, and a satisfied smile flit over her lips. "You brought this on yourself, Analise," her mother scolded. "You just had to keep fighting with that girl... beastly thing..." her mother shuttered. "It's just for the summer, Ana. It's for your own good. Then you'll be off to that nice school your father and I are sending you to, and you'll be in London anyway..." Her smile was proud as she looked over at her daughter. "Best get aquainted, don't you think, Analise?"
"Come on, mum!" Ana snapped in an annoyed fashion, shaking her head, her firey mess of hair whipping around her face and sticking to her pale skin. "I'm almost eighteen! You can't do this to me!"
"Not until after the summer, Analise," Mrs. Landon said sternly, turning the car down a street that the girl didn't bother to take the name of. "Your father and I only want what's best for you, you know that! This school will teach you to be a proper lady! Of which you can't seem to master," she gave her daughter a look with a wrinkled nose, eyeing the black wife beater that didn't bother to flatter her small-breasted no-curve figure and her ripped-at-the-knees jeans, the raggedy hems covering her bright pink converse that had taken a beating over the last four years. Her hair was red, like her mothers, but was never pulled back into the tight pony tails and buns, but instead always down and messy in layers of tangles. Bruises covered ever inch of exposed, pale skin on her arms and coller bone and legs- from fights. Just a few small bruises, cuts, and scars... but she was fine.
"Mum," Ana said sulkily.
"And don't give your Aunt Helen a hard time, Ana," Mrs. Landon talked over her daughter boistriously. "She agreed to let you stay with her for the summer- it's only three months. You can survive three months, can't you? Then you'll be at that nice school..." Mrs. Landon's smile was so self-satisfied that the woman missed her daughter sticking her tongue out in distaste. "A nice, proper lady, Analise. An all girl's school is exactly what you need."
"I don't want to go to an all girl's school!" Ana cried out, stomping her untied converse onto the floor of the car. She would admit, she had a bit of a temper and a slight anger problem... and plenty of boys and girls alike had met a bloody, bruised, black-eyed fate at the hands of her fists, but did that merit prison?! "I've heard horrible things about those places!"
"Analise," her mother said snappishly. "You're getting excited. This is no time for your stories. Fix your hair. Sit straight. We're almost there..."
Ana wrinkled her nose at her mother and pulled her wild tangles up into a lop-sided horse tail, roughly ripping out a few broken tresses. Her anger boiled inside of her, teeth clenched as the car rolled along Fleet st. Aunt Helen lived in a two-story home that was more of an old renovated shop rather than a house. Ana's temper steamed at the sight of it. It looked over the side walk, it's once new white paint beginning to fade to an ugly color of gray. Rows of windows on the lower floor peered into the kitchen that must've once been a bakery of some sort. Above was a single room that served as a guest bedroom, and for the next three months would be Ana's room. The girl groaned as the car rolled to a stop at the curb.
"Get out," Mrs. Landon said snappishly. "Say hello to your Aunt Helen, then take your things upstairs." Ana got out of the car sluggishly, pulling her duffle bag- that held her few worldly possesions inside -over her shoulder. "And for goodness sakes!" Her mother steamed. "Try to look greatful!"
Ana mumured something that sounded suspiciously like "bite me!" under her breath bfore she stalked to the door. The only way inside was through the kitchen, an odd place for a door for a building designed to be a home. She pressed one pink painted nail into the doorbell. She was almost sure it no longer worked. The only thing that stopped her from slamming her fist into the door was her mother's hard grip on her shoulder. Ana clenched her teeth and waited quietly, but no where near patiently.
Aunt Helen looked a world apart from her mother. The sisters were ten years apart. While her mother had firey red hair, Helen had straight black locks that were always tugged back into a tight bun with whisps of gray peeking out. So when the door finally swung open, Ana wasn't surprised to find the human personification of a bitter old crow standing before her. But a pleasently face smile coated the woman's too-red lips, and Ana felt her mother's hand tighten on her shoulder.
"Ah! My darling sister and her daughter! Daisy, Analise! Such a delight! Come in, come in!" Helen crowed. Mrs. Landon pressed her daughter harshly in the back and Ana stmpled clumsily through the thresh hold, followed closely by her mother, the death grip on her shoulder still in tact.
"Hello, hello!" Daisy gushed to her sister- it was almost visible how deeply the two loathed each other. "Analise, say hello to your Aunt Helen!"
Ana wrinkled her nose and glanced up from where she stared moodily at her shoes. "Hello, Aunt Helen," she obliged.
"Hello, darling!" Helen said, a condescending smile on her lips. The three of them all stood in the awkwardly coordinated kitchen, the sound of the television pouring in from the parlor. Ana glanced nervously before clearing her throat.
"Ahm... I'll just..." she tried to escape the death grip her mother had on her.
"Yes!" Helen enthused, clapping a hand on the other shoulder, man-handling her towards a door that lead into a court beside the house. "You can just take these stairs right up to your room, darling. Queer little house, isn't it?"
Ana wrinkled her brow. "Oh, the queeriest..." She murmured.
"I'm afraid it's a bit dusty up there, love," Helen said lightly as she pushed her out the door. "Haven't been up there in ages. Since the last time your mother decided to bring you out for a visit. When you were ten." The accusation almost made Ana laugh, but instead the girl grimanced out a smile and shrugged her shoulders awkwardly.
"Thank your Aunt Helen, Analise." Diasy said sharply from where she stood, begging to escape. "Then take your things up stairs."
Stop calling me that! she screamed in her mind. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!
"Yes, Mum," Ana said calmly, turning and stomping up the wooden stairs around the side of the house. She paused at the landing, letting her anger simmer before she went in. The porch was a nice little bonus, she thought. Maybe put out some flowers. Or a fort. Her fingers shook lightly still as she reached for the door knob and twisted it harshly, swinging the door open. It swung back smoothly to allow her access, banging against the wall behind it. Wincing at the sound, Ana threw her duffle bag and watched it slid across the floor with a satisfying thump, slumping against the opposite wall. She mentally gave herself ten points.
The door slammed shut behind her as she glared around the room. Her room. What was now her room. A horrid metallic stench burned her nostrils and she clapped one hand over her nose. The large bay window on the slanted ceiling let in the pale light of the summer sun. Another window, smaller, sat by an dreadfully old looking vanity. A four poster bed was pushed against one wall, and a dresser beside it. There was a bookshelf covered with books only Aunt Helen might read. A desk sat beside the vanity, and an old rocking chair was tucked under the slant of the ceiling beside the window. The floors were boarded and covered with a thin layer of dust, the wall paper a dingy gold. Ana wrinkled her nose and turned back towards the door, pulling it open with a little less vigor.
Below, Helen and Diasy spoke loudly, boistriously, their voices carrying from the open door that lead to the court. Ana waited on the landing for a half a second before bouncing down the stairs, throwing herself into a full tilt skip off the second to last stair. Her ankle stung on contact with the hard ground.
"Oh, yes!" Aunt Helen was saying as Ana walked by. "By this time next year, your young Analise will be a perfect young woman. Refined in the ways of the world. Why, she might even be able to keep a boy!"
Laughter. Ana seethed as she walked around the house towards the car, yanking out her two suitcases full of cloths out of the back seat, kicking the door closed harshly. More laughter. She stalked up the stairs, blocking out her mother's voice. This was going to be hell. Hell on earth.
"Fucking school," Ana hissed as she shoved open the door with her hip, tossing one suitcase across room, watching it slid as well and join her duffle bag below the bay window. "Fucking aunt. Fucking mum." She was seeing red already. Ana tossed her second suit case, watching it hit the floor wrong, and snap open. Her clothes and few books she kept in there spilling onto the floor. A little yell escaped her throat as she stomped across the room to pick up her things. "I hate this place!" She ground out under her breath as she threw the clothes in the general direction of the bed and stacked her books carefully ontop of one another. Her few friends.
"I hate this place!" She said a bit louder as she grabbed her books in her arms and stood, moving towards the window. But there was the sound of a sickening snap, and her foot sunk below the floor, and down she went with a wild thud, her ankle hissing in pain.
"Fuck!" She snapped, twisting around to see what had caused her fall. The floorboard had broken and Ana's foot had caught in the hole she had created stomping over it in such a tizzy. It was easy to wriggle her ankle free, but it stung and throbbed in pain. Ana pulled herself over to the hole she had created in the floor board, and pulled the broken peices aside. The sun moved out from behind the very thin layer of clouds and the warm square of light heated her back, and illuminated the pit of darkness that lay beneath the floorboards.
Under a thick layer of dust, years and years of it, perhaps, lay a small, leather bound book. Curiosity over took her, and the young woman reached into the floor boards to retrieve it. Her fingers were coated with dust when she recoiled. Under it, was a small bundle covered with a silky velvet cover. That too was pulled out and laid lightly in her lap.
She brushed the dust off the little book, peering at the engraved words on the front. Do Not Read.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Ana snorted, rolling her eyes as she peeled back the cover. The pages were yellowed and old, crinkling and breaking with age. The ink was obviously had written, like a journal. Her eyes snapped down to the small box and she set the journal down to inspect it, first. It took was covered with years of dust, and Ana blew it off before prying open the cover, rusted and broken with age. There were eight slots, but only six were filled with glistening silver handles. She ran her fingers over them, pulling one out of it's place, flipping it open- a razor glistened in the sun light.
"Well would you look at tha'..." Ana said curiously. "Straight edge razors! Would you look... at... tha'..." She folded it up again, and set it back in it's slot, moving the box aside. "What else do we 'ave 'ere?" She murmured, reaching down into the floor boards, groping, but finding nothing. Her attention was drawn back to the old, brittle book. Glancing at the door, even if she would hear if anyone were to come up and disturb her, Ana picked the leather book back in her hands and opened it in her lap. She had to hold it close to her face to read the whispy, faded hand writing, and even then, everything got lost in translation.
Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd, the line read.
His skin was pale and
his eye was odd.
He shaved the faces of gentleman
who never thereafter were heard of again.
Ana snorted and scooched back, leaning her shoulders against the wall under the window. "Poet must'a lived 'ere how many years ago," she said brightly. "He trod that path that few had trod, did Sweeney Todd." She read aloud. "The demon barber of Fleet Street." Laughter shook her small frame. "Well that sounds comforting." She looked around her, feeling an eerie vibe in the air, but forced herself to ignore the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. Her bright green eyes snapped back to the book.
"He kept a shop in London town, of fancy clients and good renown, and what if none of their souls were saved, they went to their maker impecably shaved." Ana's lips twisted upward, feeling the affects of the sick humor. "By Sweeney Todd, by Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street."
She skimmed over the next few lines, peeling the page back and finding the next one blank, but flipping through she found more elegant script. Returning to the first page, she began again, the eerie vibe seeming the clutch her throat and make it harder to breath.
"Swing your razor wide, Sweeney hold it to the skies. Freely flows the blood of those who moralize. He needs were few, his room was bare. A lavabo and a fancy chair. A mug of suds and a leather strop, an apron towel, a pail and a mop. For neatness he deserves a nod, does Sweeney Todd, the demon barber of Fleet Street." It was becomming impeccibly harder to breath now, and Ana had to wonder if the dust was finally getting to her. Eyes heavy, she wrinkled her brow and forced her nose closer to the page.
"Inconspicious Sweeney was, quick and quiet and clean he was. Back of his smile, under his word, Sweeney heard music that nobody heard. Sweeney pondered and Sweeney planned, like a perfect machine he planned, Sweeney was smooth, Sweeney was subtle, Sweeney would blink, and rats would scuttle..."
Ana blinked rapidly. "Sounds like a right nice man," she murmured to herself, wrinkling her brows and pulling the book away. Her body swayed and she felt a sudden lack of control. What she did feel was her eyes growing heavy, the lids suddenly slamming down on the green irises, her body falling limp to the side, the dull thud of her body resounding as an echo in her ears. The dark engulfed her, swallowed her, caressed her.
Attend the tale of Sweeney Todd... He served a dark and vengeful god...
Ana felt her skin prickling. Cold, harsh needles striking her skins over and over. She moaned miserably, her head pounding, as her body twisted and shifted back and forth, but the sharp needles continued. Stabbing, and pulling back, quickly, over and over and over. The sun must've gone away, because all she felt was cold. Why was everything so cold?
Ana rocked her body until her eyes finally fluttered open. She was met with darkness, with a pale light coming from somewhere above her. With the light, she could see she lay between two buildings. Old buildings. She rolled over onto her back, and the needles stung her face. It was water. Rain. It was raining.
"Ahhrg.." She moaned, rolling again, her body soaked. She realized then she was shivering, her wife beater soaked through and her jeans stiff and wet. "Mum..." she moaned. She wasn't sure where she was, what happened, but she just wanted to feel the harsh hold of her mother. The harsh nails digging into her arm when she did something wrong, the brusing grip on her shoulder when she said something disrespectful, the harsh heel of her palm across her cheek when she fought back. At least, then, she would know she was in a situation she could control.
"Mum!" she croaked. Ana found she desperately wanted to hear her mothers harsh tones. "Somebody... please..." Her entire body ached like she'd fallen from a great height.
A pitful sound escaped her as she rolled onto her side, her weak arms pushing herself onto her knees- but they felt like jelly, and she only ended up face in a puddle that formed beneath her. "Somebody, please!" She moaned.
"You 'ear tha' Mr. T?" A grating nails-on-a-chalk-board voice came from the mouth of the space between the two buildings.
Ana moaned again, her body tossing onto it's side. Shivers wracked her body, her teeth chattering together.
"Leave it," harsh tones repsonded. Ana gave another pitiful sound, begging without words. Help me, she thought. Everything hurts. It's so cold. I'm so lost. Please, help me...
"Mr. T! It's a simple thing!" The sound of foot steps clacking on the stones was instantly comforting. "Oh! Mr. T, It's just a child! Come 'ere, lift 'er into the house for me!" Silence. "Mr. Todd! She'll die out 'ere, it's pourin' rain! Just come 'ere! That's my love."
Ana groaned at the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards her. She was lifted- her stomach churned and bile rose in her throat -harshly and with no compassion, her head rolling back over someone's arm, a man she pressumed. The bruises she sported over her arms and legs seemed to hurt ten times more. The peircing needles stopped and she could smell shaving cream and vanilla, but her body still quaked with shivers.
Her body was tossed umercifully onto a soft matress. "Thank yeh, Mr. T," the woman's voice cooed, but she recieved no response and a door banged. Ana groaned, and she heard the woman flit closer, cooing her quiet. "Poor thing..." she sang quietly. "Poor thing..." She felt her wet clothes beginning to be tugged off her, and sounds of curiosity followed as each item of clothing was pulled free. Ana should have felt embaressed, and she should have protested, but she felt suddenly tired, and sick, and her throat was closing up again.
"Poor thing," the woman repeated. "Must'a caught a fever, layin' out there all night! Simple thing, just a simple thing." A warm blanket was tucked around her. "A good sleep ought'a break the fever," the woman mused. "Poor, odd thing."
Ana's eyes fluttered open momentarily, but all she caught was a whisp of auburn hair as the woman turned away from her with her wet clothes bundled up in her arms.
Her eyes snapped shut and she fell into a fitful sleep, listening to the sounds of the woman who had found her, saved her, bustle in and out of the room, singing softly, quietly, in and out, to and fro, until all conciousness was lost and Ana fell into a greatful sleep.