It is one of those times, again, where he simply sits alone with his thoughts. His thoughts and his friends, that is. He looks into the deep eyes of one of his razors, its glint catching his eye. He wonders wistfully, his mind straying, how anything can glint so soothingly in a place like London. Even with the windows shut tight and the clouds obscuring the sky, that refraction is always there.
The blades aren't unlike him, he thinks absently. Like the ghostly white streak in his raven hair, the reflection gives a touch of mystery. A mystery, it seems, that nobody wishes to solve.
Only the razors understand him, really. Only they truly know what it means to be abandoned. Only they are aware of the pain that fifteen lonely years can bring.
The similarities roll on, and suddenly he doesn't feel alone at all. He had come back with hopes of his old life, careless and free. But London had left without him, leaving behind only a hell of shadowing memories. And his hand, the one that yields its deadly instrument, surely isn't the same hand that it was all those years ago. Both of their homes are dead, and they are only making due with what they have.
With these thoughts comes the overwhelming feeling of urgency, but he doesn't know what it is about. The bell on his door rings an awakening, and he mutters rehearsed words in a monotone that comes from years of avoiding conversation.
As his mind clears in the anticipation of warm rubies, the glinting blade catches his eye again, and he realizes that he's not quite sure if he wields his razor or his razor wields his arm.
Who is using who in this friendship of ours?
A/N: I finally got the soundtrack, and it made me feel like writing again . . . Actually, I felt like drawing, so I did, and then I wrote. My scanner isn't up yet, but if anyone wants to see the fanart then just say so and I can send a link once I upload it. I was going to draw Casey Calvert afterwards, but I really wanted to write this down. While I'm on that topic, R.I.P., Casey. And now, before we get more angsty than what's needed, Sweeney Todd belongs to Hugh Wheeler/ Steven Sondheim/ Tim Burton, not me.
-Holly