Innocence Deserves No Mercy

By: Kayani Neko and SEES

Chapter One

Many a season had passed past the window pane, and Edward had been the first to witness winter. Of all the people in this mansion, he was the most soft, the most quiet, the most… Alone.

Now it was another of the countless winters, the longest, saddest time for the gentle man. Edward's eyes watched the first snow fall, covering his green plants, his unkempt garden fade into soulless, colorless shapes. His hands made a light clink sound as they touched the glass, Edward wanted so badly just to trim the plants… Give them the life they lacked. It was such a lonely sight, his heart could barely take it.

Edward closed his eyes and sighed. The girl with soft lips, wavy blonde hair and curious brown eyes was there once more, the memory fresh from the night before. Every single night he was haunted by this face, along with the face of his father. But though his father's dying face was haunting, hers was more so. It tore at his heartstrings, made him both want to forget and treasure it. Her dress was white, but stained with blood. On her lips, precious words had been spoken. In those eyes, terror and sadness. And all Edward could think was "No, don't be sad. Don't miss me. Be happy, love, be happy." Edward opened his eyes to see that the snow had erased all life from the once green garden. There were only two seasons here, winter and spring. Death and life. Innocence, and…

INNOCENCE DESERVES NO MERCY

'Vast' was not the best word to describe the mansion. Neither was 'enormous.' No, this thing was massive and sprawling, ever-changing and there seemed to be no end to it, something that Sweeney found to be more and more true the more he wandered the expanse of the thing.

It was also very, very interesting.

There were rooms that one could fit only a foot in, and others so large the whole of London could sit comfortably. Some were clean and probably devastatingly bright in the light, and others were black with dirt.

'Dirt, dirt…' The man frowned, his memories flooding his vision once more. This person was important, so important, but he couldn't recognize her, this person most dear to him, covered in filth and moaning softly. It was only after he had made that clean line and blood had flowed in that sweeping flood-

Abruptly, Sweeney came to a stop in his explorations. Turning on his heel, he tried his best to find his way back without trouble, and of course encountered some, getting lost for about half an hour. Darkness had fallen, blanketing the place in shadows and making it seem unfamiliar, almost frightening. He began to climb the stairs, knowing that if he went high enough he would eventually find his room… find his friends.

Finding the right staircase had not been easy. Sweeney had been becoming increasingly frustrated with the mansion he lived in, but once he found the kitchen, he had made his way back alright. More or less. The walls seemed to think that it was great fun to switch around, and had him heading in the entirely wrong direction for a good ten minutes before he realized it.

As it was, he was climbing the dusty stairs, not trying to mask his footsteps. He knew other… things lived in the mansion, but they must not live close enough to him- after all, he had only ever met a few, and that was far outside his room.

Thump. Thunk. Tump, tump. Listening to the sound of his footfalls reminded him of the eerie yet satisfying sound of bodies falling to the stone floor, until something invaded his ears- something that sounded remarkably like blades. Razor-sharp (if you'll pardon the pun) and moving, the metal slipping over another piece of silver to create a soft 'snip,' the sound of not two, but many more.

One would have to hold at least one of those blades with each finger to make that cacophony of snips.

Now curious, and interested in seeing what could be possibly be the first living thing he had encountered that night, Sweeney turned the circular handle and stepped inside the oddest and coldest room he had been in yet.

The room was covered (absolutely covered) in magazine clippings, newspaper articles, and dust. There was a soft, blue light coming in from the window in the far side of the room, and sifted through holes in the wall. Every corner was dark, and turning his head slightly, he noticed that the door (and handle) were also covered.

'Odd.' The sound hadn't stopped, only intensified, and frowning, Todd turned his head sharply towards the sounds, wondering what- or who- was making it. His footsteps seemed to echo as he moved forward, and the snips only intensified, confirming that he was getting warmer.

It was only until he was nearly on top of the other man (read: five feet away from) that he saw his shape, the human form and two very large eyes staring out at him from the dark. As a precaution, long fingers went to his razor, knowing that some creatures in the mansion were quite mad. He stared back, studying what he could see- a shape that seemed to fade in and out of the darkness of the room, ghostly pale skin, and the shine of blades.

Sweeney had been content with observing the other person, the frown permanently affixed to his face deepening as the sound intensified. It almost seemed dangerous, and he took one more step, staring down at… whoever this was. His eyes began to adjust, and the darkness seemed to slink back to reveal a crouched figure, with blades on all his fingers. Sweeney's mind went immediately to his friend resting against his leg, the weight of silver reassuring him.

Dear sweet merciful Jesus, those blades were attached to his palms! The barber nearly swallowed his tongue at this realization, trying now to calm his racing heart.

A soft, nervous voice spoke. "… Hello…" He was not prepared for the sight of this odd, odd figure, and even less prepared for when he spoke. Sweeney barely bit back a gasp, a finger trailing across the ornate design on the handle, as though to make sure it hadn't moved from its position, or to be ready to draw it at a moment's notice. The voice drifted softly, high and the word barely reached his ears. He was certain that he had started visibly, and it took a moment for him to respond.

"Hello…" He noticed the difference in their voices, his deep, older, and it was almost like the other man had never been outside the room. But he seemed on edge, and his short little breaths pervaded the silence of the room, along with the slipping of blades over one another.

When in doubt, be polite. "Pardon my intrusion."

Sweeney was certainly going to leave, as it seemed that he was intruding on his living space- indeed, it was obviously the other man's living space. He was about to turn and leave, not liking five blades pointing at him, when the most pitiful sound he had ever heard in his life came from that figure. "Don't… go…" That wasn't what stopped him, though. No, it was the fact that he had no idea about the level of sanity of this person. "I'm sorry…"

"Fine. I'll stay." He ran over the apology, not hearing it in his… not fear, nor anticipation, but a combination of the two, with a touch of curiosity. To alleviate the strange feelings, the strangeness of meeting someone, he lifted his blade from its holster, opening and closing it, over and over, not moving from his spot.

That is, until a draft, one of the coldest he had felt in years, blew through and landed a few snowflakes on his face and hair. He closed his razor and replaced it to where it normally rested, brushing the dewing droplets from his face. A shiver ran through him, and he was quickly was regretting his decision to stay.

Sweeney didn't want to sit on the floor, nor get any closer to the strange man. But, the room was very, very cold, and he wanted to go to his own room.

"Aren't you cold, sir?" If I must stay with you, may we at least go to somewhere where it's warm?

Sweeney watched warily as the man scooted himself in front the hole, wondering what exactly he was doing. "No… I'm used to it…" He saw him better, the light not silhouetting him but instead showing him better. "Ah!" The boy gasped lightly as he cut his face trying to get a snowflake off his face. He wore what looked like black leather, and his hair was a complete and total mess, very, very knotted and as a barber he felt the urge to fix it. He had scars all over his face, which was the only skin that showed.

"All right…" He was like a child, Sweeney observed, and watched, unsure of what to do as he cut himself. It was quite obvious, and the look that he got afterwards- apologetic, pleading, and scared, was a bit unnerving. In the back of his mind, Sweeney thought that he would never cut himself like that with his own razors, that he would never have so little control with a blade in his own hands.

"But wouldn't you rather be where it's warm?" He was getting snow all over himself, not to mention that there were too many holes pretty much everywhere for it to make much of a difference.

Questions filled his mind as the man moved his fingers, the blades snipping over one another. He didn't wait for an answer on his previous questions, wanting to examine the suspicious hands.

"May I look at your hands?"

Maybe that wasn't such a good idea to ask that. Sweeney saw that the man was a bit shorter than himself, and very, very skinny, but that didn't change the fact that he had very sharp scissors for hands. He raised his arms and held out his hands, the blades/fingers twitching and making that soft snipping. "I'm not finished." His voice seemed very quiet, and nervous.

Taking two steps forward before stopping and planting his feet equally, the younger man lifted his own hands and touched softly the wrist, beginning to support it, before gripping softly and turning it over, staring at the strings connecting the blades.

"I see that." His eyes trailed over the blades, knowing not to touch them, and making sure to keep himself out of cutting range. He turned the hand palm-down and felt against his fingers a pulse, quick and panicked, tapping a frightened beat against his fingertips.

"Why not?" Oh, curiosity.

The odd man was cold as ice, which wasn't surprising considering that he had been sitting in front of a hole when there was snow outside. Sweeney noted the difference in the sizes and in the changes in shape, and the bit of blood that rested on the tip.

"He didn't wake up."

The moment he got his answer, the barber regretted it. He didn't even have to look at his face to feel the sadness rolling off him in waves, and glanced up at his current companion. His had hung his head, and somehow it seemed as though it were only a matter of time until he was going to cry.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Not that he had gotten a clear answer. He could only guess what that meant, and lifted one finger and ran it across the top of the index blade. He made sure not to cut himself, only wanting to feel the metal on his skin. He glanced up at the impossibly anguished face in front of him, and that was enough.

"I didn't mean to offend, sir." He removed his hands, unsure of what to do with them now, touching his own blade and resting the other one at his side.

"I'm sorry." Sweeney raised an eyebrow, a bit confused. He was the one who brought the subject up, so he should be apologizing, not the other way around. He watched, almost leaning back as the hand went up a bit.

"Edward." Then, he spoke what was most obviously a name, and probably his own since it was most obviously not his. Being polite, he responded in kind, and would have shaken his hand if, well…

"Todd, Sweeney Todd." Not going to go farther into that. He lifted a corner of his mouth in what could have been a smile, if you squinted and tilted your head a bit. Edward himself smiled a small, sheepish smile in return.

Sweeney felt a bit odd, seeing them exchange smiles, something he normally didn't do. However, he would have to, as he couldn't really shake his hand. He was being stared at, he could tell, and felt quite uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny. "Um… Could you wait here a bit… please?" The man felt relief as the intense gaze shifted from him to the clippings and papers that flew around the room.

"Yes, of course." Polite as always. Sweeney watched as Edward moved around, noting the jerky, odd way of walking he had and turning his head away as he bent over. Instead, he looked at the papers skittering around the floor, leaning over to pick a few up and looked at their contents.

BOY LEARNS TO READ WITHOUT EYES, read one headline. Another was about a girl who played tennis without feet. And another about someone who had lost the use of their voice and gave speeches, through a machine. 'Odd.' Sweeney merely held them, not putting them in his pocket, and looked over to Edward.

Who seemed to be having a bit of difficulty, whatever he was attempting to do.

"If I may ask, what are you doing, sir?"

"O-oh… I…" He looked up at the man sheepishly, seeing him holding the clippings. "You said it was cold… So… But I can't pick it up." Sadly, he tried some more, sending a piece of blanket flying past his head.

"Oh!" He tried to catch it, but succeeded only in cutting his ear and a chunk of hair. He turned shyly to the man again. "Sorry."

Sweeney watched Edward as he moved and talked, becoming more and more sure that he was dealing with someone who had the mind of a child. He was becoming uncomfortable, feeling like he was intruding again. Edward reached over his head and sliced open his ear, and blood was dripping from it, only a drop or two, but it caught his attention and Sweeney couldn't take his eyes away from the sight.

"Quite alright." He didn't know to say. Or do. This was such an odd situation, an he didn't know how to handle it. "I'll be fine without it. I do have a jacket, after all." Which was true- he had donned it before leaving his room, something he was beginning to regret doing, and regret his curiosity. The papers crinkled in his hand, and he looked down again, dark eyes sweeping over the tabloids.

"Oh. Alright." Edward watched the man… He seemed uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I'm… not used to guests." To say the very least. The boy looked down at his toes, sadly.

Well, that was obvious. The blatant shyness and sheer awkwardness of the situation made it very, very clear that he had probably never had guests in his life. Sweeney kept an eye on his… companion, glancing back at him from time to time, and instead looking at the articles in his hand. None of them were recent- indeed, all the papers had gone yellow with age, and they had holes with some clean tears.

It was obvious that Edward had cut these out himself, and Todd had half a mind to ask where he got all the newspapers and magazines when he spoke up a bit, seeming a bit more happy than usual.

"Once, he told me something…" Edward paused a bit, clearing his throat. "There once was a man from the cape, who made himself garments of crepe, when asked if they tear, he replied here and there, but they keep such a beautiful shape!" Edward smiled at the other man, thinking this was absolutely hilarious.

He stared at his hands when he spoke, pulling the words from the dregs of his memory, and then presented the happiest smile to Sweeney.

Who was completely unnerved by it all. His frown only deepened, and he was quite ready to turn on his heel and practically run back to his room. Clearing his throat, he lifted his arm and held out the clippings, a phrase running through his mind, one that he didn't say but thought about it.

"That's all very well."

Who said that? He couldn't remember, but it was a woman, trying to get something done. "These are yours, and if you don't mind…" Sweeney swallowed, unsure of whether he would get stabbed (even though that now seemed unlikely).

"I'll be going now." The frown hadn't disappeared, and he placed the articles on Edward's palm, before taking a few steps back and wanting to just get out that strange, freezing room.

"Wait…!" He looked up, desperation apparent in his eyes. "W… will you come back?"His eyes pleaded his case, that being his biggest weapon(so to speak), far more effective then his words ever would be.

Sweeney nearly fell back at the mental blow he was receiving from that look, regretting that he even looked back in his attempt to escape through the door. The man had let the clippings fall in a parody of snowflakes that was almost sad, and to anyone else, it was probably very disheartening. In the back of his mind, the barber huffed indignantly at that- he had picked them up, after all.

"Uhm…" What to do? He didn't really want to admit it, but he was quite intrigued by this man with scissors for hands, but as it was, he was too unnerved by the turn of events to want to stay any longer.

"Sure." He frowned harder at this, not really prepared to come back to this place, but too interested to just stay away. He took one step back, and then another, before reaching the door handle.

"Good night." And he was out the door, closing it behind him out of habit, and taking the stairs again, taking note of where Edward's room was- that was, if it was still there and it hadn't decided to shift to the other side of the house.

He had such sad eyes. He reminded Todd of a little puppy, one who had been kicked and then turned those eyes on his master, asking why he did such a thing.

Damn. Now he really did have to go back there.