A/N:

Hello you beautiful readers, you.
Thank you so much for checking out my story, and reviewing the previous chapter!
Also, apologies if you get an email every time I update, because my internet spontaneously combusted every time I tried to add the second chapter, so I had to do it several times. Which probably made your inbox explode. D:

On with the show! :D

.Ivory.

chapter ii:

A Hole in the World

The ship moved faster than Violet expected, the bow cutting through the cold water like a knife. The fog parted around the vessel, giving a more detailed sight to the city beyond. Tall black buildings rose up around the ship, their empty windows ominous; as if a thousand eyes were leaning over to watch the small ship enter the harbor.

Violet retreated back to her cabin to stuff her few belongings into a small shoulder bag before returning to the deck. Funny how everything she owned was reduced to a small haversack; fitting, she thought. The small handful of passengers rushed to the front of the ship, carrying her along with them.

"Men! Prepare the Diablo for docking!" a harsh, authoritative voice barked to the crew members. Ms. Blackwell smirked to herself as she donned her dress-coat; Diablo, what an amusing name for such a small boat. When she had boarded this tiny ship, she remembered hearing the whispers of complaints among the guests on board that the crew members were clumsy; and the captain a drunkard. But the voyage had been cheap, something Violet couldn't pass up.

As if to confirm her thoughts, the ship lurched to a violent stop against the side of the pier. Everyone aboard rocked to the side from the unexpected momentum, many of them cursing loudly. Violet gripped the wooden planking to steady herself, ignoring the wave of nausea that ran through her body.

"I'm going to be sick…" someone murmured behind her. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, anxious to get onto solid ground once more. Everyone else seemed to agree as they pushed to exit the Diablo, shoving past each other in the effort. She moved along with them, as restless as the rest.

Violet Blackwell didn't know what it would feel like once she returned to the land that had wronged her. Maybe some sort of wave of nostalgia or perhaps regret; but when her boot touched the stone dock, all she could acknowledge was a grim determination. It was sort of gratifying to know that she had left this place in fear; only to return willingly. Stepping unreservedly into her own personal circle of hell seemed like the only choice left; and it wasn't altogether an unpleasant feeling. A small smirk curved her lips. She couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled with such malice.

The crowd dispersed quickly, turning away without hesitation from the people they had spent the last two weeks of their lives with; she could relate. She'd never considered herself someone who suffered from claustrophobia, but the people she was now leaving behind had managed to change her mind.

It had been raining; the thick overcast sky told her that, as well as the muddy puddles that bespattered the uneven cobble stone road every few feet. The buildings surrounding her were made of a dark brick that had been assembled who knows how long ago. The corners were dark, hiding the whores, pick pockets, and the homeless riddled with disease. It was all very familiar.

She swayed slightly on the spot, "Be careful, Ms. Blackwell," a youthful voice called out from behind her. That young sailor from earlier was grinning at her, his blue eyes bright. "It'll take a while before you get your land legs back."

She nodded at him, "What is your name again?"

His grin widened, "Calvin," he answered, "well, see you around, Ms. Blackwell." He turned and jumped back aboard the Diablo to start unloading the supplies that it had carried all the way from New York.

She turned and started to make her way down the pier, only a few feet away from the gray water. Her mother used to take her on walks here; when the summer sun beat against their faces, and they could afford to toss copper pennies into the water as wishes. Those were happy memories that she'd repressed for such a long time. Happy memories. Although unwanted.

The ground tilted beneath her and she paused a moment to regain her balance. Why did walking in a straight line take so much effort?

Up ahead, she could see another vessel, much larger than the tiny boat she had been aboard. It had clearly been unloaded recently, barrels and crates were piled in a enormous load around the dock. Exhausted sailors were patting each other on the back and tossing large bundles of personal items on their backs; ready to leave for the night to a hot meal and a warm bed.

Many of them passed her as they searched for their way home, a few were still loitering on the stone pier. She approached two of them now, fully intending to walk right by them. One was a young boy, probably no older than Calvin, with bright blonde hair that grew to his jawline. His whole aura screaming of innocence, she thought as she approached. The other was very close to her, only a foot or two away. His back was to her, and as she passed she caught the musky scent coming off of him. He was saying something, but she couldn't make it out as she was suddenly gripped with vertigo, tripping over her own feet.

The ground disappeared from underneath her, and for a moment, all she could see was the oncoming rush of cold water that was about to engulf her. A hand clamped on her upper arm, fingers digging into her pale skin; she yelped in alarm and pain as she was yanked back to safety.

Violet took a moment to breathe, hardly believing she'd avoided that clumsy fall, "Terribly sorry," she mumbled, a bit embarrassed. Her savior glared down at her with annoyance; as if he couldn't believe he'd even bothered to save her. She assumed this was the man that only moments before had had his back to her. His hand was still gouged into her arm; she could feel the bruises already forming underneath his fingertips.

His face was gaunt and sunken: darkly handsome, with wild black hair that curled madly about his head. His eyes were entirely black, seemingly hollow. It was clear that it had been a while since he saw sunlight, drawing from his pale skin. He looked like every storybook villain she had ever imagined as a child; yet he was fascinating to look at.

"Thank you." Violet said lowly, still staring up at him curiously, with a touch of annoyance that he was refusing to release her. She glanced at his hand; iron like on her arm, the knuckles stark white. He let go.

"Watch where you're going." He grumbled, turning abruptly and swinging a gray duffle bag over his shoulder. Before the woman could get another word in he stalked off into one of the alley ways, and was lost from sight. Gone. Like a ghost.

Strange.

Violet stared after him, biting her lower lip bitterly. Who did he think he was, grabbing her so roughly?

"Sorry about that, Miss," the boy said from behind, the apology turning his cheeks a bit red, "my friend can be-"

Ms. Blackwell went along on her way, not caring at all what the boy had to say. Her irritation caused her unsteady feet to carry her faster away from the docks. She turned down the familiar street, walking along the cobble stones, without a second thought.

[Flashback]

"What would you like today, Agatha?" Isabel asked warmly.

The little girl standing before her smiled and tucked a lock of her chocolate colored hair behind her ear. She really was a beautiful little girl with her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. She wore a light peach dress with satin and ruffles, just the sort of raiment that any little girl would beg for.

"Red poppies, please." She cooed.

"Alright, can I ask who they're for?"

"Grandma." She giggled a little, fiddling with the ribbon in her hair. Mrs. Isabel Turpin nodded and smiled to herself as she gazed around the shop for the appointed plant. They were the little girl's favorites, as well as her Grandmother's; the old woman had raised the poor child since infancy when the illness took her parents. The Grandfather was some sort of official in this area, although she wasn't sure what kind; whatever it was, was enough to provide for his wife and grandchild. And more.

"Nellie, can you hand me those red ones behind you?" Isabel asked her friend. Mrs. Lovett looked up from the bowl of seeds she was playing with, her auburn curls falling in her face. She sighed and nodded, reaching for the potted plant, "Honestly, love, I don't see how you get any rest at all."

Isabel laughed as she took it from her and passed the plant to little Agatha, collecting her money in return. "You get used to it, Nellie. I like keeping busy."

"Thank you, M'um!" Agatha sang as she skipped away followed closely by her aged nanny.

"Where do you want this?" a familiar voice huffed.

Mrs. Turpin's cheeks grew warm with the bubble of laughter already growing in her throat, even before she turned to look at her husband.

"Where do you want this?" Nate arrived through the back entrance, struggling with a large sack of soil in his arms. She stood there for a moment with her arms crossed, giggling quietly to herself, biding her time; just to watch him battle with the weight a little bit longer.

"Isabel," his voice shook as he tried not to chuckle, "dear wife." Unable to contain her snickering any longer, she pointed towards the ground in the corner of her stall. He set it down quickly, pulling himself up with a grin of triumph on his handsome face.

"I don't understand why you need this, Isabel." He said, raking a hand through his brown hair. His face she knew by heart, but never grew tired of admiring it anyway. Green eyes specked with brown that reminded her of the pictures of the forest she had seen as a child. He was tall with the broad shoulders of his brother, but slender in the way that caused him to appear smaller than he really was. But his best feature, she thought, was his warmth.

"If I want the flowers to grow, they need strong roots." She answered stubbornly. Kissing him lightly, she turned back to Nellie who was fiddling with the wedding ring around her finger.

"Oh the way you tease me, woman." He said loudly.

"You're so lucky," Eleanor sighed dramatically, "I do wish my Albert would do things for me. I wouldn't mind him carrying a few bags of flour," she murmured. Her eyes focused on something behind Isabel.

"Excuse me." A light voice said softly.

Mrs. Turpin turned to see a beautiful woman, probably no older than herself, with long blonde hair that hung in gentle waves around her pale cheeks. She was dressed in white, which only increased the angelic charm she held. A man was behind her, leaned over a wicker pram as he set a tiny babe inside. He straightened and faced the counter, his hand transferring itself to the small of the woman's back.

"Yes?"

"We'd like to purchase these." She held up a bunch of scarlet roses. "Oh, Mrs. Lovett, hello." She beamed at Nellie from around Isabel's shoulder. Isabel turned in a bit of surprise, Nellie was already on her feet, collecting her purse.

"Hello Lucy," she mumbled, "this is my friend Isabel Turpin."

The woman, Lucy, cocked her eyebrows in surprise, as did the man behind her, "You are Judge Turpin's-"

"No." Isabel shook her head, "No, his brother Nathaniel is my husband." she turned to introduce him, but he had already vanished; probably to fetch another bag of soil.

Lucy smiled again, relieved, "Oh, wonderful." Isabel ignored the vile taste that flooded her mouth whenever people assumed that Richard owned her. The man beside her handed over the amount owed and she took it lightly.

"I'm Lucy Barker, this is my husband Benjamin." Lucy said, breaking the awkward tension. Her husband busied himself with adjusting his shirt front, and trading the bunch of roses from hand to hand. It was clear he was very shy. Lucy gestured to Nellie, who was staring at the ground. "We live upstairs from Mrs. Lovett."

Isabel nodded thoughtfully, "It's nice to meet you."

"No." Violet whispered, staring at what had become of her flower stand over the past 13 years.

What had been a dozen sweet scents that tickled her nose, was now replaced by the stench of rotting fish. Pile upon pile of the rotting fish stared up at her with their dead eyes, where dozens of blooming plants should have been. They seemed to be mocking her. An old man sat behind the counter, rolling a coin between his fingers.

He caught her staring and stood; his cracked old face turning into a rotten smile, a few of his teeth were missing. "Fresh fish, M'um? Caught this mornin'!"

She remained silent, highly doubting that. It was like everything had died again, and the pain came in a fresh wave, pounding her where she stood. It hadn't been unexpected, of course; she hadn't thought that they would have kept her business running. But actually seeing it, reduced to this level…

"M'um? You alrigh'?" the old fisherman questioned warily at her blank expression.

She took slow steps towards him, "Who sold you this stall?" She demanded, the sadness quickly replaced by fury. Hot and angry. He seemed taken aback by her sudden mood swing, and folded his arms firmly.

"The Beadle, M'um, courtesy of Judge Turpin." She remembered that rat, Beadle Bamford, always following Richard around like a sick puppy. He'd bounced his authority around, using his association with the Judge to get whatever he wanted. Money, women, power. He was almost as bad as his master.

"Beadle." Violet growled lowly.

"Yep," the old man continued, "this ole' place used t'be a flower shop. But I guess the owners up and left one day. All the plants died, jus' sitting there without any care. 'Was pretty sad, M'um."

A deep cold spread its way to her finger tips; the hurt was surprisingly sharp. Her jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles jumped, and before she could pause to think about what she was doing, Violet turned on her toes and ran down the street. The old man called something after her, but she couldn't make it out. She didn't care.

If Richard had somehow jumped out of the shadows, she would have murdered him right there with her bare hands.

She passed a market and a few pubs; sped by a broken brothel. Her feet remembered the way to go, having been there many times. There was only one place Violet had left; only one friend she had left in this God forsaken city. Twisting and turning down back alleys, she finally came to an abrupt stop.

Violet looked up at the meat pie shop, her breath whooshing in and out of her tired lungs. It looked exactly the same; if a bit more shabby. The sign read, 'Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Shop.'

"Nellie," she breathed, before rushing to the front door and letting her way inside.

A/N:

For those interested, the flower shop comes from the 'Poor Thing' scene in the movie when Benjamin is arrested while they're in a flower shop. This story was mostly born from all the flower references:
"Every day he sent her a flower, but did she come down from her tower?"
"I've been thinking flowers, maybe daisies, might relieve the gloom."
Please review! The more reviews = faster updates! Thanks!

.ivory.