Author's note: This story is an expansion of Nixxie-the-Lizard's story "I started life as an orphan" which is awesome. I received permission to do so, they were very nice. Upon reading it I began wondering more about Seymour's parents stories, and when and if he ever found out who they were. So that's exactly what this is. Here we will find out about Seymour's origin through a series of time jumps (so bear with me). This is my first chapter fic and I will be updating. There will be 12-14 chapters
Important things to know before reading:
All my fics take place in the same universe, so if something seems out of place or unfamiliar it might be in another one of my stories. Sorry about that
Although the year is never mentioned, in the movie the calendar behind the counter matches September 1964, which doesn't make sense because Kennedy wasn't president then, but nonetheless that's when the events of the musical will take place in this world
Both the characters of Alana and Erik belong to Nixxie-the-Lizard (to whom I dedicate this story) and I do not own any of the characters from Little Shop of Horrors
Chapter One:
May 8 1952
Seymour wracked his brain trying to think of what he did wrong. He had taken off last week for a couple of hours, but he had already paid the price for that. He had the bruises as proof. There should be no reason Mr. Stanley should ask to see him now. He never did.
Mr. Dean, holding Seymour by the back collar of his shirt led him through the Skid Row Home For Boys. Several other boys caught sight and snickered. Others stopped to gawk. Goodie-two-shoes Seymour was never in trouble. His heart was pounding harder and harder the closer they came to the office. Seymour briefly considered taking off running. He wouldn't make it. Mr. Dean had a hard grip on his neck. And even if he did break free it would only be a second before he was grabbed again and pounded.
Upon reaching the office door his feet stalled. Looking up at it he felt only two feet tall. Unable to move, Mr. Dean opened the door and physically pushed him inside, slamming it shut behind him. He stood there dumbstruck. Mr. Stanley was sitting in his office chair. This was nothing out of the ordinary. What surprised him was, sitting just across from him was Mr. Mushnik, the owner of the flower shop. Mr. Stanley motioned to the chair next to Mr. Mushnik and Seymour slid into it.
Seymour couldn't help but stare. A job?
"Unless you'd rather stay here."
Seymour hesitated slightly considering his options. He'd grown up here. It was the only home he knew. It wasn't anywhere near perfect though. He could go without the beatings and the berating from the other boys. He thought back to the times he had spent in Mr. Mushnik's shop in the past. The aroma of flowers, the freedom to move about as he pleased. A job would put food in his belly, real food, like meatloaf and water. A job? A real job? A shy smile spread on his lips and he shook his head.
Mr. Stanley nodded. "That's what I thought."
"And we don't have to worry about his parents?" Mr. Mushnik asked lowering his voice, but only slightly.
Mr. Stanley snorted and motioned his thumb at Seymour. "For this one? No. In fact…"
He rose from his swivel chair and crossed the room to a silver filing cabinet. The drawer made a loud unpleasant screech upon being opened. He ran his fingers along the lines of the folders inside until he found what he was looking for. Reaching in he grabbed a manila folder Seymour had never seen it before but read his name clearly on the front.
"Oh I remember this one," Mr. Stanley chuckled slightly opening it and sinking back into his chair.
"Really?" Mr. Mushnik asked with a hint of interest.
"Not many dolls wander here in the middle of the night with an open head wound and a face full of bruises," he replied not looking up.
Seymour gripped the arms of his chair. He had never really heard anything about his parents. It was all kept under wraps considering how young he was. What did Mr. Stanley mean? Open head wound?
"I actually knew Alana," Stanley replied pulling him out of his thoughts, "Quite the dancer." He laughed at the recollection.
"Alana?" Seymour mouthed. His mother's name was Alana? He squeezed the arms of the chair tighter, knuckles turning white, and felt his heart beat loud in his chest.
"Here, see for yourself."
He closed the folder and extended it out. Seymour reached out for it but instead it was placed in Mr. Mushnik's hands. In doing so Stanley caught sight of Seymour and frowned. He'd nearly forgotten his presence. Mr. Mushnik opened the folder and Seymour craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse. There wasn't much in there. Only a few papers. Mr. Mushnik shook his head and made a faint "Tsk" noise before closing it and flopping it on the desk. Stanley reached for it but not before Seymour snatched it up with both hands and pulled it toward him. He tried to protest but realized the damage had already been done and turned back to Mushnik.
Unfolding it he found his birth certificate. He'd never seen it before, though he figured he'd obviously had one. His eyes darted across the page at the sloppy writing in black ink next to the thick typewriter print.
Full name: Seymour Krelborn
Sex: Male
Date: September 23 1940
His hand trailed to the bottom of the page
Name of mother: Alana Krelborn
Age: 20
His fingertips traced the words and a smile bubbled on his lips. Alana Krelborn. His mother. He'd often wondered what she looked like. He imagined her to be quite beautiful, maybe with a hint of curls like his own. His vision was always cloudy though, trying to conjure up a ghostly face he had never actually seen before. But now he had a name to add to it. Alana Krelborn. He liked the way it sounded. His hand continued to trail down the paper.
Name of father: Erik Scr…
Age:
This confused Seymour. He tried to focus on his father's name to make it out, but to no avail. "Scr" was all that was written clearly. The rest was just a trail as if someone was done writing or didn't know how to finish. And why wasn't his age present? He knew why though and his heart sank. He'd been taunted by the other boys about this, and even considered it for himself. They didn't know who his father is. He had figured it to be true but it hurt nonetheless. So is life for a Skid Row orphan. He chewed on the inside of his lip in irritation. After contemplating this he turned it over to see what else was in the folder. Immediately he froze.
Certificate of Death
Name: Alana F. Krelborn
Date: September 23 1940
His mother was dead. September 23 1940. He didn't need to be told what killed her. Clasping both his hands over his mouth he let faint screech as if he'd been harmed. Both men who had paid him little to no notice before now stopped and turned to him. He sat there frozen, both hands clasped over his mouth and eyes squeezed shut in fear of weeping. Stanley leaned against the desk slightly to see exactly which paper was in his lap.
"Ah Jesus kid," he sighed shaking his head.
Seymour took several deep breaths behind his palms before he said anything. He felt like crying. Desperately he tried to hold it in but was unsuccessful. His throat burned. Looking up at Stanley through his tearful eyes he choked, "What… what did you mean, head wound?"
Stanley sighed again and rubbed his hands hard on his face thinking of how to respond, if at all. He had forgotten Alana. He saw her now before him, clear in Seymour's face. Even the look of tearful eyes was familiar. He had never shown much love or even admiration to Seymour in the past but suddenly he felt pity.
"Right here," he said tracing his index finger down his temple. "Like a boot."
Unknowingly Seymour mirrored his movement.
"She had bruises too. Everywhere," he moved his hand in a circular motion in front of his face for emphasis. "She'd been through hell."
"Why? What happened?"
Stanley didn't answer this. Seymour's eyes darted from Stanley to Mr. Mushnik, who seemed completely unmoved, and almost irritated by this conversation. He threw his gaze back at Stanley. WHAT HAPPENED? He wanted to scream. His eyes fell back down at the folder on his lap. He flipped back over to his birth certificate, knowing he had to asked the burning question.
"Who is Er…"
His words were halted by Mr. Stanley reaching over the desk and snatching the folder out of his hands.
"Look kid, another time. Alright?" He turned his eyes back to Mushnik, "As I was saying, it could be a couple days but I'll try to shuffle some paperwork around."
"How soon can he get to work?"
He shrugged.
"Monday at the latest. And like I said, we'll call you if there's any trouble," Mr. Stanley said rising from his chair as if to signal the end of their conversation. Mr. Mushnik got up as well and shook Mr. Stanley's hand. He turned to Seymour and briefly considered extending his hand to him as well, but instead he nodded and ushered himself out the door. Seymour's eyes followed him until the door closed fully then spun himself back around in his chair to face Mr. Stanley. He didn't say anything. His expression spoke his thoughts clearly. Ignoring his wishes Mr. Stanley crossed the room and refiled his folder.
"That'll be all, Krelborn. Close the door behind you."
He couldn't move. He watched as Mr. Stanley returned to his desk and pulled out a form and began writing, completely ignoring his company. It was clear he wasn't giving any more answers today. Reluctantly, Seymour rose from his chair and moved his body slowly into the hall. As he closed the door behind him two things were on his mind:
His mother was dead,
And he was finally getting out of here.
