Hello ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to my first foray into the wonderful world of Sweeney Todd! This fandom is just so beautiful, and I have read some really amazing fics here on ff.n. Suggested mood music for this chapter would be "This Time Imperfect" by AFI.
This story was written with a few minor alterations to canon-
-The old beggar woman was simply an old beggar woman. Not Lucy.
-Toby does not know what goes into the pies.
-Obviously, both Mrs Lovett and Sweeney Todd survive
Simple enough? And for those of you that are going to ask why their speech isn't in phonetics (as in, written with accent) I'm going to freely admit that I tried, and it sounded more like a Scotsman with a nasal cold. Very bad.
This is dedicated to the charming Mrs Lovett on the 'Bleeding Rubies' rpg- check it out!
Disclaimer- I do not own Sweeney Todd or any of the characters in this story. I am not making a profit from this.
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There was something to be said for giving up. Sweeney Todd sank into the threadbare cushions of Mrs Lovett's worn out old couch, feeling the edges of the springs sticking up through the pillows that had seen much, much better days. Even with the fire crackling in the grate, it only served as a foil, outlining the decay that had nibbled at the edges of what could have been a nice, room- of what had been a nice room, once. Now it was plastered over with oddly printed, charred grayish wallpaper from a church gone up in flames.
It was almost a fitting backdrop, though he had never asked why she had covered over the lovely robin's egg blue that he suspected was still underneath it. Fitting indeed, the tainted and warped covering for something that aught to have been beautiful. It was always dim in this room, shadowy black corners to mimick the blank nothingness that ate away at the tattered edges of his humanity. No money, no desire to light the lamps that could actually liven the place up. Or perhaps it was already too late to be salvaged.
Over the mantle there were framed photos, the sepia and black and white shades faded and blurred by dust. Most of them were of people he didn't know, didn't remember; people who had as much impact on his life after their deaths, as they had during. He didn't know their names, but long hours sitting here silently before the fire had made their faces familiar. All save Mr Alber Lovett, whos photo was third from the middle.
That face he knew, that man he had known- and that photo which he tendered with as much dear loathing as he had love for the bifold frame holding his dear Lucy, and his darling girl. He often thought that Mr Lovett had escaped far too easily, succumbing to smallpox- or some other disease. He had not suffered long, and that was a source of great annoyance for the barber; Sweeney Todd believed that he could have done a much more satisfactory job with his own two hands. Still, the man was dead- and he supposed he would have to be content with that.
But there the picture sat upon the mantle, a place of pride on a shelf that had none of his own visage. Strange, he thought, how such a small thing could cause such a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Not that he wanted to have his picture taken- of course not. Frivolous and silly at best; dangerous and telling at worse- and yet, there was part of him that wanted to be there. To have a place upon that shelf, to have it known that he had once been a part of her life. That he had existed here as more then a shadow; though he could never decide if it was Benjamin or himself that deserved the frame. They could not both exist there.
The rug was worn to a tattered shred, not shielding his feet in the slightest from the cold, scarred hardwood below it. But he barely noticed the slight discomfort as he reached the mantle, tipping the picture of Albert to the shelf, hiding the image from sight. For a moment he stared at the back of the frame, the little wooden support that had held it upright, now jutting uselessly into the air. The gap in the row of pictures, like a missing tooth in a smile. An absence that clearly said, 'Something should be here, but it is not.'
The dim parlour was as familiar to him as his own home, and he blindly took the two steps backwards, feeling the hard edge of the couch against the back of his legs. The firelight threw shadows on the walls, reminding him unnervingly of the inside of a coffin. A grave, buried in hallowed ground- a luxury of civilized life that he had denied his customers. Trusting men who had bared their throats for a complete stranger with a knife. Little lambs, totally ignorant to the death toll that had begun to chime as they walked in the door- audible only to the barber himself.
The wavering tongues of light began to fade and melt in his minds eye, drifting away into that thoughtful place that is not quite awake, and yet not quite asleep. For Sweeney Todd it was not always a pleasant place, a mental palace filled with pitfalls and traps, forged indelibly from his own memories- actions searing them into place. For even his own mind was no longer a safe place; the wriggling, withered remains of his humanity screaming for him to stop the acts that had surely already damned his immortal soul. But Sweeney Todd did not fear Hell, nor any of it's deathly facets. Not when his own mind supplied a hundred thousand more ingenious torments. And as the flickering edges melted and ran together like hot wax, he let his mind wander.
…
It had been a long winter, the cold dampness lasting deep into the first weeks of April. It was the winter that Nellie had turned eighteen; the girl whos plaited hair he had pulled as a child; and who at the age of eight, he had decided he would marry when he was old enough. It was also that same winter that he had finished his tonsorial apprenticeship, labelling him a man of skill. A man of his own means, with a trade he could use. At nearly nineteen years old, things in the life of Benjamin Barker were coming together beautifully.
And despite the cold, April showers did give way to May flowers, and with them the city of London became beautiful again. It might be said that Miss Nellie Adams was not the type of woman that most men would choose for a wife. She was smart and practical, two traits that were not highly prized in the weaker sex. And if she could curb her temper to be shy and sweet, it would not take the form of blushing and fainting weakness. She was no frail, hothouse flower to be forever shielded from the world, lest she wilt and perish. She had a mind of her own, and that alone made her rather undesirable.
Her dark, auburn red hair and rosy cheeks were lovely in their own right; but a far cry from the pale blondes with delicate complexions that were at the height of fashion. And her parents despaired of find their willful daughter a husband. And so, as they searched for a man with courage enough to take her; Benjamin and Nellie laughed themselves to tears at the foppish suitors that came to woo her. And he saved his pennies, waiting for a suitable house to open on the market. Surely then her parents would not, could not, deny him the pleasure of marrying their only daughter.
…
Mr Toss blinked, the flames in the hearth becoming clear once more. These were memories best left buried. Shades of a past that still had the power to cause him pain. While the ghosts of his beloved Lucy, and his tiny daughter, had been used to fuel a murderous rage- these memories had no such purpose. They existed only to torment, to hold up the mirror of his own self denial, betrayal, failure.
The dim light still flickered on the frame he had turned down. Red and orange in the cold grayness of the room. And Sweeney could see the face of the man, as clearly as if he had risen from the grave to stand before him. Rounded, protruding belly; a bald head framed by thick, heavy jowls; and loose, rubbery lips that seemed to wobble as he moved. And if the face of Judge Turpin had become the icon for all his anger- so to had this other become the symbol for revulsion and disgust.
Albert Lovett, the man who had proposed marriage to her parents. Whos contract had been accepted and signed before Nellie had even met him, or known that he even existed. Sweeney felt the helpless, hopeless rage clutching at his heart. In the silence of the sepulchre room, trying to push away the ghosts of memories that would no longer be denied. That had been held in iron willed manacles for so long; feeding off his failures and insecurity, exploiting every weakness until they had come to this point. With nearly a mind of their own, threatening the very tenuous, icy stability that he prided himself on. They danced in the flames, wreathed in smoke and ashes; mirroring the scorching and unfamiliar burn of tears in his throat.
Benjamin Barker had died drowning in his own tears. Sweeney Todd clutched at the worn cushions with clawed hands, and anchor against the terrible fear of succumbing to the same fate once more. Sweeney Todd did not cry; could not, would not- it mattered little which was the truer statement. One hand skittered stiffly to his waist, clasping the familiar smooth chased silver of his beloved razor. Thus armed, he relaxed once more- even knowing in his logical mind that the cold metal would bring no harm against his personal demons.
…
He had found her standing at one of the spots that looked out over the river Thames, swollen and quickened with the Spring melt. Her hair in the late afternoon sun was the color of hot coals, face a ghastly ashen mask. But it was her eyes that struck him, Benjamin would always remember them as the color of port wine- so dark as to appear nearly black. She had stared into the wiver as one might gaze at the face of a lover; release, relief, salvation. Hesitant, slippered feet carrying towards the edge. He had caught onto her tightly, wrapping both arms around her as if he were terrified that she would simply vanish into the foam flecked water below.
Bitter bile had risen in his throat at the thought that soon another man would hold her this way. She was his Nellie. The girl who had brought him soup when he was sick. Who had held his hand when he was ten, and he had asked her if she would marry him one day. His Nellie that he suddenly realized fit so perfectly into his arms, her head tucked under his chin- and when had he grown so much taller then she was? Benjamin shook his head, clutching her to his chest as tightly as he dared- morbidly aware of how close she had come to simply dropping off the edge, and the whole she would have left behind. And as they stood there in the fading light (and oh, how dark the following days would grow,) a plan began to form in his mind. Created of youthful hope, a young man who realized how easily he could fall hopelessly in love with his best friend. To Gretna Green, where they could be married. And save her forever from the grasp of Albert Lovett.
"Come away with me, my love. Be my wife, my one and only- I'll take you away from all of this pain."
The night before Nellie's wedding was warm. The air smelled of lilacs as Benjamin made his way down the street. His heart was bouyed with promise and adrenaline, a heady cocktail that left him feeling as though the world was suddenly his own slice of paradise made real. It had rained earlier in the day, and even the cobbles of the street seemed to shimmer in the wavering light of the street lamps.
He saw her at a distance- beautiful and pale in forget-me-not blue, tendrils of golden yellow hair falling into her sweet, heart shaped face. Standing in the glow of a street lamp, she seemed like an exquisite angel brought down to Earth. She smelled of clean linen and rose water, picking her out as someone who obviously did not belong in the working class district that he had lived in all his life. Lucy… In his ear, even her name sounded like music.
Benjamin Barker was a good man- but with all the arrogance of youth, believing naively that the whole world was in his favor, he turned away from the path he had been on. Lucy was lost, and it was not in his nature to let her simply go of alone into the dark. Leaving Nellie to wait by her window until every shred of hope had fled her. And dawns light came over the rooftops; the chimes of the chapel ringing like funeral bells in her mind. Her white wedding gown that she would have sooner been her burial shroud.
And too late did Benjamin realize the hour, and his own great folly. His pulse beat the passing seconds, echoing in his ears as he ran to the chapel. Guilt lighting on his heels, giving them wings, until it felt as though hooves of the Horsemen themselves must soon follow after. He arrived just in time to see the gathered people wishing the happy couple their best wishes, heaping blessings of health and happiness on the newlyweds.
…
In the dusty parlour, Sweeney Todd let the silver blade fall from nerveless fingers. Pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, he didn't even hear the soft thump as it fell to the floor by his feet. The fire had burned low, the shadows creeping towards him like the damning, skeletal hands of Death himself. And in every whispered, crackling hiss of the red hot embers in the hearth; he could hear her lost, hollow and broken voice.
"Not your Nellie anymore- Mrs Lovett now. Better you had let me go, Ben… Better the current than this."
…
They had left soon after- the disgusting mass that was her bridegroom practically drooling in anticipation of the wedding night with his pretty virgin bride. Licking his thick, rubbery lips in such a way as to leave no doubt in either mind as to his intentions. That foul creature touching her flesh, performing acts together that Ben had little practical knowledge of- but which his imagination was more then capable of picturing, much to his horror. Even his very soul shuddered in revulsion, his conscience heavy with betrayer's guilt.
Autumn was turning the leaves to gold and russett before they met again. Benjamin had learned that the Lovett's were living in nearby Fleet Street, in the lodgings behind the small shop they owned. And nearly another two months gone before he had gathered the courage to face the woman whom he had once intended to make his bride. Now, despiteher parent's worries- it was Lucy who wore his ring upon her slender finger.
The world still smiled on him. Lucy was as mild of temperment as she was delicate and sheltered. So very different from Nellie; he told himself often that he enjoyed having a woman who did not challenge him. That if he had married Nellie, they both would have been dreadfully unhappy. For a while, at least, until the self deceit began to make him feel truly ill. And after that he refused to think about it at all. He and Lucy would be blissfully happy together. That much he had no doubt.
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I hope you liked it so far, the second part should be up in a day or two!
Reviews are my brand of heroin.