Hello, em, well, basically, this is my first attempt at a Sweeney Todd story. I adored the movie and was incredibly inspired to write something...but couldn't think of anything original! So, this is just my little take on one of the scenes from the film. It takes place just before Anthony runs in to tell Todd that Johanna is "locked in a madhouse". Thanks so incredibly much to a2b for reading this over for me. She's the best!
I do not own Sweeney Todd. Because, if I did, I would make Johnny Depp my love slave and would have no time at all for anything else.
Sweeney desperately tried to ignore Mrs. Lovett's shuffling movements; the gentle wisp of her breath, the swish of her voluminous skirt. He hoped fervently that she'd just set down the tray and go. Stop fussing over him. Leave him alone with his thoughts.
"Mr. T., can I ask you a question?"
He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing reflexively. He refused to acknowledge her query with so much as a quiver and continued to stare resolutely out of the grotty window onto the teeming streets below.
"What did your Lucy look like?"
Apparently the woman was ignorant as well as intrusive. Surely she should realise that when a question was posed but wasn't answered, common sense indicated not to pursue the topic. So wrapped up was he in his silent derogatory commentary on Mrs. Lovett's personality that he failed completely to comprehend what she had just asked.
"Can't actually remember, can you?"
Finally he grasped what she was investigating. He was just about to let out a derisive snort, accompanied by a callous sneer, when he realised he'd have nothing to follow up these actions with. He nearly choked, eyes widening of their own accord as he struggled to recall adjectives to describe his wife. He was exceedingly relieved that he hadn't turned to face Mrs. Lovett, as he knew his expression must look the very picture of uncertainty.
"She had yellow hair,"
They both heard the unsteady croak of his voice. The description hung heavy in the dusty silence between them. The deficit of those four simple words throbbed against his ears. He could almost taste her attempting, in vain, to suppress a satisfied smile.
His thoughts were reeling. Yellow hair? After all they'd shared, all he'd thought, felt and said to Lucy was 'yellow hair' honestly her most defining characteristic? To say it seemed grossly inadequate…
The rough wood of the window frame scratched the palm of his hand but he did nothing to relieve the pressure. Yellow hair? He dug his palms in deeper, needing the pain, needing to feel as though he was being punished. Was that truly the entirety of what he remembered? What about her smile, her laugh, her scent, her touch… He shook his head gently; trying in vain to conjure eternally lost memories back to the surface.
"You've got to leave this all behind you now…"
It took a moment for her words to register. His mind seemed to be shrouded by an almost impenetrable fog. He remained staring out of the window, though his lip curled grotesquely. He would not, could not, let her see how much her thoughtless comments were affecting him.
"She's gone."
Had she seen the pain this statement ignited in his face she would have wished she'd never opened her mouth. His lips slackened, his skin, pale as it was, seemed to blanch. But, Mr. Todd, as proud as ever, would not let her see his despair.
Only the morning sun saw and reflected the anguish blazing from his eyes. The sun alone witnessed the shimmering unshed tears that he furiously blinked away and how they mixed with his dark lashes. Had he turned around, she might have noticed droplets of water decorating the sooty frames of his burning eyes. But, he didn't turn…and, so, she never knew.
"Life is for the alive, my dear. We could have a life, you and I. Maybe not like I'd dreamed…maybe not like you'd remember…but we could get by."
He could feel the words shivering off her lips: her desperate attempt not to appear overly enthusiastic but the quiver in her voice betrayed her underlying longing.
Sweeney expected his teeth to grind, his blood to boil…he honestly wouldn't have been surprised to discover that he'd spun around and unceremoniously wrung her neck.
But, he didn't. Startlingly, he found himself considering, processing, wondering… His gaze roamed over the dirty rooftops of the city through the smudged windowpane. He watched a plume of inky smoke ascend lazily from a chimneystack near the Temple Bar. Still he didn't speak.
Images, snatches of stolen glances: a kaleidoscope of half-forgotten memories of Nellie Lovett was plundering his confused mind. The way her hair glowed red in the incandescent morning light…and the way her unruly curls darkened to an oak brown by nightfall…how her lips would purse and pout so attractively when she wanted something…but could curl into such an innocent smile when she was truly happy. He recalled the luminescence of her skin, how it seemed to glow, ethereal and pearly by lamplight and yet could take on a grey tinge after a long day, when the charcoal surrounding her eyes began to flake with tiredness.
He took in a shaky, silent breath. The husky timbre of her voice…the grace of her movements… The cinch of her tiny waist and the glimpse of ankle he had been witness to over a fortnight previous, the memory of which remained ingrained on his retinas. She was so delicate…so womanly…the generous displays of cleavage over the top of her few dresses were indisputable testaments to this. Yet, she was strong too. She had a resilience and courage about her that he couldn't help but admire.
True, she was standing in the room with him so his olfactory memories were undoubtedly strengthened…yet, he imagined himself surrounded by her smoky, feminine scent…a mixture of roses, soot and…something else. Something dark and thoroughly irresistible. Startled, he realised it had been her scent, the very essence of who she was, that he had woken with this morning, a smile gracing his cracked lips.
Wordlessly, he turned to face her, the dusty floorboards creaking with the sudden movement. Her eyes had widened slightly, emphasising the vulnerability and hope that radiated from their depths. He took a steadying breath, imagining that the cobwebs coating the room's corners had somehow lodged in his throat, rendering him speechless. The air between them was tense, crackling with possibility. He opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say but knowing he had to address this.
Suddenly, Anthony Hope smashed the door open and the moment was shattered, lost forever as Mr. Todd was reacquainted with his bloodlust as Master Hope informed him of the latest diabolical actions of Judge Turpin. Mrs. Lovett knew better than to let anyone catch sight of her tears.