Just a slightly depressing (in my opinion) drabble-ish fic with Johanna and Sweeney Todd that occured to me last week when I watched the movie for the three hundreth time...
Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd. ;_;
He was there again today.
Unlike previous visits, he didn't bother trying to hide his face behind pillars or poles, dark hats or other people. Today, she was being brazenly watched. Stared at.
Being eternally captive in her own home, Johanna had always been fond of her large window. It was like her personal doorway to the rest of the world—like a picture she could observe, but never be a part of, as she so ached to be.
At least with the window in place, she could pretend she was connected to the world, although that thought becoming reality was as likely as all of London spontaneously bursting into flame.
It was common that she sit for hours on end at her window daily, sewing or drawing, knitting or talking to her unresponsive birds. But most of all, she liked watching the people. It was the only thing in her small slice of the world that ever changed, unlike her room, her bed, her array of nannies and pretty dresses, and her guardian, all of which stayed exactly the same, day in, day out.
Watching the townspeople walking up and down the street soothed her immensely in a way that she couldn't explain. She liked watching the little exchanges— the nods, smiles, and handshakes. And especially when two close friends ran into each other— they'd draw back with grins at coincidence, and then hug or give one another friendly slaps on the back. Sometimes, she liked to pretend it was her down there, grinning and hugging merrily with comrades.
It was while she was performing this person-analysis that she first saw him. Of course, her eyes merely lingered on him for a moment, and were soon swept up by something more captivating.
He had his nose planted in a ragged, overloved book, and was looking at it with disinterest from where he sat on the bench outside of her home. He looked adult, and worn, old physically about only forty or so, but in spiritual age, he was a worn-down elder, his dark hair frazzled, his skin white as a ghost.
As her eyes fell upon him, he seemed to take notice of it, his own obsidian eyes darting up to meet hers. Their mutual gaze lasted only a second, but soon, the man stood, tucked his book under wing, and walked away. Johanna, responsively focused on someone else.
She didn't see him again until a few days later.
This time, he walked with a witch-looking woman. They held themselves gently, the both of them, and together, they looked like the most fitting couple ever to roam the earth. They shared the deepest, sunken eyes, the palest skin, the darkest, frazzled hair, and even thes strangest taste in their tattered clothing.
Though the woman accompanying him not once looked up to Johanna's window, the man stole several unhidden glances. His companion's moving mouth made it clear she was chattering contentedly, but upon noticing she was speaking to herself, she turned to glimpse the man. With a pitying, almost irate exhale, shoulders slumped, she turned back forward, her chattering stopping, as she accepted it was no use.
The next time she saw him, it was the most peculiar thing: he was sitting at his little bench once again, and occasionally he would take a handful of bread crumbs from his pocket and scatter them to the flock of awaiting crows at his feet. While not such a strange act in and of itself, just the image of someone so morbid looking performing such an act was just—off.
When he stood and left that day, Johanna considered telling Judge Turpin about his occasional ganders, but she stopped herself in time. She didn't want to think about what her guardian would do if he knew a man was stopping by her house so often… and the man probably meant no harm. The fact was, Johanna didn't get out very much. She was probably reacting irrationally.
But he was back again today.
She felt, if possible, his cold eyes on her window from the moment she awoke. The feeling was so strong that she brought herself to close and lock he window before changing into her dress, and, although she could have left the window open, she lifted it up once more before sitting at her chair.
She convinced herself that she did that to let some sun in… not to see the man.
Whatever force was alerting her that someone was watching, it was right.
He didn't even flinch as her eyes landed on him. He sat, as per usual, at his old rotting and rickety bench. The crows were flocking again, but today, he shared none of his breadcrumbs.
As their eyes locked, Johanna felt a shiver prance down her spine. She felt cold, warm, shocked, naked. …Welcome.
Invited.
He didn't take his eyes off of her like she expected him to. Instead, he stood from his bench, their eyes still locked… and took a step towards her.
Inside her room, Johanna flinched and stepped backwards.
Ah, she was being foolish again. What could this man do to her from the streets? With a deep, cool breath that filled her lungs with icy air, she sat in her favorite chair by the window.
For the rest of the morning, as she knitted and hummed awkwardly, the man remained in his stance, staring. Ever staring.
What was it that he was trying to see?
It was as if she had something that he wanted. As if he was trying to piece together a puzzle, to remember her from old days. He was unabashedly, unhiddenly… staring.
Around mid day, Johanna decided that she wasn't going to let him bother her anymore. She turned down, and focused on her knitting… but her streak of strong-mindedness didn't last very long. About twenty minutes later, she looked back up out of the window.
He was gone.
"Mistress! Your meal is growing cold!"
Johanna bounced up, happy for an excuse to leave her room, and headed for downstairs where one of her maids was undoubtedly waiting with her lunch.
After a three-hour session from her tutor, Johanna felt more tense than she had before.
It wasn't only just that the lessons always made her tense—mainly because the Judge was insistent upon sitting with them and listening to Johanna's responses and conclusions.
But he was there again.
She half expected him to start throwing pebbles at her window, and then, when she opened it, ask her to come away with him. Like in some romance story. Romeo and Juliet.
Only this man was… well, he was a man. Nowhere close to her age. Why would he devote himself to staring at her? If he wanted her hand, he would have to go through the Judge… and the Judge would make it perfectly clear that Johanna was not an item. As he had so many times before, unaware that Johanna could hear his shouts at whichever poor fellow had stumbled upon the dilemma from upstairs.
And then an emotion that Johanna rarely felt fled upon her… annoyance. Anger.
Why couldn't he leave her alone?
But before she could do anything about it, he had pocketed his hands and walked away, a glazed over expression plastered on his face.
The next day, the man didn't show up. She was ready for him with her curtains, ready to draw them closed should he show… but he didn't.
In fact, he didn't show up the next day… or the day after that.
Was he through with her?
The following morning, she sank into her chair happily. The Judge had brought her another beautiful bird, and while it was not nearly as satisfying as human companionship, the pleasant song it sent through the room cheered and calmed her remarkably. All of the tension from the past week… gone.
But out of the corner of her eye… her window… she couldn't help but throwing back the curtain.
...Her bird stopped its song.
He was there.
In one swift motion, Johanna threw up her window, letting in a gust of cool, late winter frost, and leaned out of it to lock eyes with the man.
For another moment, they only stared.
He didn't look intimidated, or worried, or angry or confused…
He just stared.
"Sir…" Johanna's voice sounded hoarse and unused, and wouldn't carry like that. She cleared her throat and tried again.
"Sir… please, leave me alone!"
The man looked taken aback.
He flinched away from her, and looked down at his feet, like a young boy getting scolded or admonished after being caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
And then he looked back up at her, and squinted almost as if holding back shouts or even tears… as if he was going to argue his case. But he didn't.
Instead, he pocketed his hands, and walked away.
He didn't return.
Johanna could only wonder what he would have to say—if he ever spoke to her.
He probably wouldn't have anything to say.
He would probably only stare.
Poor shy little Sweeney... ;_;
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