I do not own any of the characters except for the father figure guy. Everyone else belongs to their respective playwright/producer Tim Burton included.
Hands.
Apt tools, steady forces of guidance, imagine the creations they may unfold. This boy imagined or at least he had once of the dreams his hands could hold. In the corner of Barker's shop he did his imagining. It was a pleasure to see the deft stroke of a master's hand create such a masterpiece. Where else could one find hands such as those? His mentor was a genius when it came to the swift yet almost sensual art of the knife. A man beneath his knife could close his eyes and just…breathe.
His could not follow that graceful line that epitomized his mentor's talent. He could not force his ungracious hands to be so delicate. Alone at night with his drunken father he could almost see that line. He was certain it was there when his father touched him. His hands would lie firmly at his side and he would lie flat on his back as large hands traced over him. They were not curious, they were not searching, they were confident. They grazed surely over the flat planes of his chest, just as surely as they knew whom they were attached to. Gazing at his own digits, the line of his palm, the nails that graced the tip, he could not help but wonder why he did not possess such a gift. Then there would be another drunken kiss from his father; perhaps he was not worthy.
I am Adolfo Pirelli
Da king of da barbers
E buon giorno, good day
I blow you a kiss!
Gone.
His mentor was forcefully taken from his wife and child. They had been together at the market and Judge Turpin had had him removed by several officers. What of the wife her whispering curls enshrouding an angelic face and what of the babe at her mother's breast without a loving father? Fathom the farthest lie and there you would find Barker committing a sin. Farther still would be the young boy's dream of learning the trade. Benjamin Barker husband and father, Daniel O'Higgins, the boy wanting barber, both chained in their own misery.
To market, to market, where Barker had been,
He grew older to realize that mannish hands would entail a taller, more lithe figure and frame; he realized he would need to accommodate such ungracious, ungodly, unforgiving hands. To make his fortune he decided that someone would be left behind.
Home again, home again, living in sin,
'What's in a name' a playwright had asked. Danny would tell you when a name should be dead. To rid a name and come up with something new is a talent that Danny boasted and had to put to use. Peel away a layer of truth and apply a layer of lie. Put on an Italian suit and follow through with the gaudy voice. Tawdry and hammered to a glimmering shine a new man would step forth from the wagon. Crooked and leaning at his newly heightened frame he would trick the oblivious crowd into a liar's little game.
To market, to market, to tell them all lies,
He could not help but want a clever little one to appease his baser nature. To live a lie is fine, to do it alone is a choking bind. Ragamuffin at the orphanage, this boy had been, and he was glad to have him now. Brown hair loose and untrimmed would look perfect beneath a pretty blond wig. He caressed the quivering boy's cheek and brought him closer that he could make his desires known.
Home again, home again, till Toby boy cries.
There he was, though no longer a man with wife and child. The little boy now a nefarious and twisted older gent could take away the glimmering glamour and be what he really was. He could not ask for what he needed, not even after spending so many years without him. He could not have the truth and so settled for the constant that all men desired; money. Accent unaccounted for, hat from on top of head, he would ask for the money instead.
It take-a the skill,
It take-a the brains,
It take-a da will,
To take-a the pains,
It take-a the pace,
It take-a the grace.
Lifeblood, all blood glossy yet dull, shivers quite nicely under a quivering hand. Large mannish hands still not perfect in the art of trimming and cutting could not appease a jugular's wish. Pumping and flowing between hard and heavy hands he knew there was no escaping this.
You hear this foolish man? Now, please, you will see how he will regret his folly.
Locked in a box on the top of floor of Sweeney's shop he could hear his heart slowing to a still. Hand gripping the outside of the chest seeking relief and knowing there would be none. His father had offered none, he had offered none, and Barker had taken his only hope away.
There was nothing but darkness and blood.
No more lies.
No more pretend.
No more Pirelli.
There was only Danny boy resting in burgundy pools of glimmering tawdry clothes of a pseudoItalian barber.
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me
A/N Alright so these are really a series of drabbles. They are simply moments of time in a character's life and are written with no obvious sense of order. Originally this was going to be a Toby piece but I figured Pirelli deserved some sort of snippet. Anyway more will arrive soon.