Hello everyone!! All of you are simply amazing…seriously, I never thought this story was going to do as well as it's been doing, and you all have made it possible (I wrote a more detailed "thank you" section at end of this very long chapter). This chapter was fun to write, although it did give me some difficulty at times. I really look forward to June when my class load is reduced to one course (ASL) and I shall be able to update more frequently. Please read and review loves, I want to know what you think since this idea has rarely been used (if at all), and I would like to see if my readers like where this is headed. Enjoy)- Chrys.
MY READERS, I NEED YOUR HELP: Does anyone out there happen to have a more than basic knowledge of European history, general history, and/or ancient religious practices?? Don't worry, I'm not trying to ask anyone to do my homeowork for me. lol. I seek this knowledge because of a work of fanfiction, and I also need an opinion...so please please write to me if you can help or are interested. Thank you- Chrys
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Sweeney Todd sat motionless and silent within the darkened confinement of his cell, a pale statue carved by rigid contours and harsh features. It appeared that the barber had abandoned even the simple act of respiration, as if mere breaths wouldn't dare to cross the wicked curl of his thin lips. Twin pools of liquid ebony completed this formidable picture of madness. The soulless black shade of his unblinking eyes blended perfectly with the midnight blanket the cold night had cast over the sleeping prisoners. Upon Sweeney Todd's otherwise stiffened form, a slight motion could be identified. The muscles of Todd's arm contracted in determination, and at the end of his unyielding limb, an unfortunate Mrs. Lovett was being held captive. The delicate bones of her neck were being slowly compressed beneath Todd's palm.
Short bursts of white light obstructed her eyesight. Her large brown eyes watered and widened in terror, as her hazy vision sought out some form of rescue from her captor's grasp. As her gaze fell upon her slumbering and oblivious cell mates, she reluctantly acknowledged the alarming possibility that rescue may not arrive in time. Mrs. Lovett's form writhed desperately as her slim throat was crushed beneath Todd's cruel fingertips. Her once pallid face now displayed sickly bluish hues, and her bare feet scraped across the cool stone floor in an unsuccessful escape attempt. As the woman's lips widened in a pathetic effort to capture any measure of air, a strangled gurgle managed to escape her discolored lips.
"Mr. T..," Mrs. Lovett gasped in a pained whisper, using her fingernails to claw frantically at the merciless grip which constricted her frail windpipe. The panicked baker felt the security of consciousness begin to drain from her form as the white bursts of light were being quickly replaced by patches of black.
The bloody sadist 'as already made up 'is mind that 'e wants me out 'a this world and sent into the next…why doesn't 'e jus' finish the task at hand?
The enraged woman pondered this fact, as she was being slowly robbed of her right of life at the hands of a heartless thief. Her body was nearing the end of its struggle, her straining muscles had lost the majority of their tension, and she began to slump against the bars of her cell.
At that critical moment, just as the strings of life had begun to unravel from around Mrs. Lovett's form, Sweeney Todd proceeded to lean forward slowly. Bringing up a free hand to brush back Mrs. Lovett's tangled curls, the man placed his lips within inches of her ear and emitted a barely audible whisper.
"Did you truly believe I would allow you to escape that easily, pet?" Sweeney Todd hissed in indignation, as he further increased the force of his grip around her throat, "Patience is a virtue, as you well know, and blessings come to those who…wait. Isn't that what you claimed, love? I could steal the life directly from your pathetic lungs this very night. Or death could arrive tomorrow, as promised as the rising of the sun. Regardless of the time or location, revenge will be taken, but the act shall not be committed in haste."
After Todd spat his venomous threats, he rapidly released Mrs. Lovett with a harsh shove, causing the frantically gasping woman to fall forward onto her belly. Mrs. Lovett, still stunned from her ordeal, hadn't collected enough strength to raise her weight from its fallen position. However, this factor didn't detour the frightened woman from rapidly crawling to the corner of her cell. Hugging her knees to her body, she inhaled deeply in an effort to feed her weak and deprived lungs. Mrs. Lovett trembled fiercely in her corner and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as small and helpless as a beaten child.
Soon her breathing regained its familiar rhythm. The fact that she had finally succeeded in putting a bit of distance between Todd's hand and her throat caused her heart to steady in her chest. As the moments passed by, she could slowly feel her mental composure rise above the thick cloud of fear and uncertainty
Stop actin' like a useless whelp. You're still alive, Nellie. You're alive, you're alive, you're alive…
Mrs. Lovett forced her eyes open, and immediately regretted her overzealous decision. The sight that met her frightened gaze forced her to rethink the validity of her previous notions. Todd's predatory glare hadn't shifted its position, and continued to scan her features with blatant scrutiny. The dreadful man made no effort to conceal his evil smirk and malicious amusement. Surely, the blood starved barber would do everything in his power to complete two last tasks. Without a doubt, Todd would first ensure that every remaining moment of her life was lived in hellish misery. When that first task was complete, he would see to it that her life would come to a devastating halt at his hands. Sweeney Todd had the means and ability to guarantee her a grisly death, and she was certain that not a bloody thing would be done about it.
On this island, in this sweltering corner of hell, justice had become an unnecessary luxury and an annoyance to the officials in charge. Besides, of what significance was justice to a filthy criminal? Her lifeless body would be buried in an unmarked grave, and vacant cell space would be granted to the next unfortunate soul. No one would bat an eyelash, or even glance briefly in Todd's direction. Not a single word of reprimand would be flung his way. The insolent barber would continue to breath, sleep, and smirk as she lay rotting.
I suppose there's only one question worth askin' now Nellie; wha' can ya' do ta' avoid such a fate?
The clear jangling of keys and the shrill pitch of a whistle banished Mrs. Lovett's thoughts and roused numerous moaning prisoners from the sanctuary of their dreams. Mrs. Lovett had become so enveloped within the trappings of her own ordeal that she hadn't noticed the glare of sunbeams creeping through the barred windows of her cell. The brunette olive skinned woman, who had lay snoring upon the floor of the cell, slowly opened her eyes to a half-lidded state. She made no effort to contain a wide-mouthed yawn as she gently nudged the petite blonde woman who had curled into the fetal position against the wall. The blonde whimpered softly in protest, but quickly stiffened her posture into a sitting position at the sound of heavy boots making contact with the stone floor.
" Good morning me lovelies," The brunette muttered in a husky tone, as she stretched her arms above her head and cast warm brown eyes to Mrs. Lovett and the quivering blonde.
"The names Emily Swift," As soon as the woman finished her sentence, her nose wrinkled in disgust, as if a foul odor had invaded her nostrils, "Never cared much for the Emily portion of the name though. Therefore, me chums calls me Swift…and I wager we may as well be bloody swell chums at this point. You ladies have names of your own, voices of your own even? Or are we doomed to spend the rest of eternity together in silence?" Swift chuckled heartily at her own clever antics, and stuck out a strong hand in the direction of the two women.
Mrs. Lovett was thoroughly impressed by the woman's ability to smile and display a bit of wit, even from the floor of a prison cell. The curious baker studied the woman's face. Everything about the Swift's features appeared to be alive and beaming. There was a measure of comfort to be found in her wide brown eyes, round childish cheeks, and large teeth, all of which were white with the exception of a small black spot upon the lower row.
Despite the hopelessness of her current condition, Mrs. Lovett attempted to match Swift's smile, and firmly grasped the woman's large hand, figuring that any form of companionship was a blessing on this desolate piece of earth.
"Name's Nellie Lovett, pleased ta' make yer acquaintance dearie," Mrs. Lovett stated as she tightened her grip on Swift's hand. A thin layer of calm settled upon Mrs. Lovett as she made the realization that for the first time in months, someone had made the decision to take her side.
"Aww, so the brave one speaks. Pleased as pie to meet you Nellie." Swift declared through a wide smile in a delighted tone.
Both women turned their attention to the small figure, huddling in the corner like a wounded kitten. Mrs. Lovett felt pity strike deep within her heart, for no more than an hour ago, had she been driven into that very corner, trembling violently in genuine fear. The baker's features softened in sympathy, and she opened her mouth to offer gentle words of comfort. Her good intentions were hastily interrupted.
"To yer feet ya miserable creatures, I 'ave news fer ya'. Ya should all be honored ta' know, that yer presence 'as been requested by Master Skelter 'imself," A broad shouldered man with a protruding gut barked at the prisoners. The sweaty fellow chuckled deeply, causing his enormous belly to shake violently. Mrs. Lovett instantly recognized the rotund gentlemen as Watson, the warden's second in command.
The creaking of rusty cell bars filled the air as trembling prisoners slowly shuffled to exit the hut, each of them dreading their unknown fates.
"D-D-Dottie…In-n-grrr—idd Da-da- Dourden," The blonde woman whispered, a heavy stutter characterizing her soft syllables. Her eyes remained downcast failed to as her sentence faded into the humid air.
Mrs. Lovett gently grasped the frail woman's tiny hand as the barred door of their cell was flung open with a ringing CLANG.
"Come along now love. Jus' stick ta me, an' we'll conquer this day yet, I promise ya that," Mrs. Lovett whispered, silently doubting her own words of encouragement, and cursing herself for making promises she couldn't possibly hold true to. As the baker set foot upon the burning sand, she realized that she never expected to feel such intense pangs of reluctance upon leaving the confinement of her dreadful cell.
--
Mrs. Lovett was certain she was being burnt alive, her skin allowed to cook, blister, and roast. In no time at all she was destined to be reduced to ashes. Mrs. Lovett silently cursed herself for constantly scoffing at the cool atmosphere associated with London weather. "Always bloody rainin ,' " she had whined," Wot I wouldn't give for a glimpse of the sun" she had said.
Stupid, stupid woman..ya' surely got wot ya asked for, did ya not? Mrs. Lovett thought spitefully as she struggled to place one foot in front of the other. The oppressive presence of the sun had demolished nearly all forms of potential shade. Prisoners were instructed to remain on the open path, steering clear of the small shadows cast by the palm trees. Even the winds had failed to make an appearance, as the ill-fated troop was left vulnerable to the beating rays of the sun Heat, thick and biting, coated every last one of the twenty-four sweating prisoners who trudged through piles of burning white sand and faded brown dirt.
Finally, mercifully, Watson's whistle broke the silence, signaling that the herd had reached their final destination. Mrs. Lovett raised a hand to banish droplets of sweat from her reddened brow as she observed her surroundings. The group of prisoners where standing in the center of a dirt trail. All grains of white sand had disappeared a few miles back, and they currently stood on dark brown earth. Multiple outlines of footprints were visible upon the hardened dirt. There were several feet of free space along the edges of the trail where numerous trees appeared to have been removed. An eerie silence hung over Mrs. Lovett's surroundings with the exception of a curious murmur coming from the troop of exhausted prisoners.
Suddenly, a rustling of trees and the appearance of a tall figure sent a stunned hush over the group. Skelter took a quick step forward in order to stand before the frightened crowd, his action causing the front rows to fall back in alarm. His tall figure, clad entirely in black, was a formidable sight indeed. Mrs. Lovett caught a slight glimpse of the hated leather whip hanging loosely at his side. The image brought back vivid memories of her suffering from the previous day and fierce shivers ran down the woman's spine, despite the scorching nature of the weather.
A sly smile decorated the man's thin lips, and the motion caused the harsh angle of his cheekbones to jut sharply from the edges of his face. Sending fiendish topaz eyes over the crowd, the tyrant issued his orders.
"I trust you all slept well, judging from your extreme tardiness, lazy incompetent filth that you are. Fortunately for you, the only punishment I shall inflict is the deprivation of your breakfast privileges," The man lowered his voice, narrowed his vision, and scanned the crowd. His threatening gaze appeared to lock directly upon Mrs. Lovett and his eyes flashed menacingly, "However, mark my words, your next transgression will not be rewarded with such mercy."
The man cleared his throat and continued in a less intimidating tone, "Your task for today is simple, and I trust you shall have little trouble completing it, for the simple fact that your inability to comply shall result in unfavorable consequences. As many of you can see, a number of trees have been cleared out from the edges of this trail by the hands of previous prisoners. That particular action has been completed for one reason; to make your job as the digging committee extremely uncomplicated. Women will line up parallel to the left side of the trail, ten feet apart. Men are to do the same to the right side. The required quota of the day is to dig a hole, a hole with a width wide enough to accommodate a standing body. The depth should be deep enough so that the hole's edges stand half a foot taller than each woman's head, and two feet taller than each man's head. Loose dirt is to be flung to the middle of the trail and positioned in a neat pile. I expect this task to be completed by dusk, and failure to meet quota will result in a starvation penalty. Watson will disperse the necessary equipment," Skelter completed his statement, and snapped his fingers, the noise sending Watson and ten other guards to disappear within the crowd.
Following the example of her fellow prisoners, Mrs. Lovett tightened her grip upon Dottie's quavering hand and hastily stumbled to the left side of the trail. Swift, taking long strides, followed her two companions.
"How does that horrid man expect us to function properly without a scrap of food or drop of water?" The woman stated with a scowl and forceful shake of her head.
Before Mrs. Lovett could offer an answer, a lanky guard, clad in a white shirt and brown britches, was upon the trio. The guard's face grew increasingly red as he reached within the grey sack he hauled upon his back. Drawing out three shovels, each no more than sixteen inches long, he tossed the undersized tools to the ground.
"This ain't a bloody tea party, separate and get ta' work if ya value yer hides," The man ordered in a rough voice.
At the given command, Mrs. Lovett and Swift moved the required ten feet apart, allowing Dottie to remain in her spot. The blonde woman was barely breathing and appeared to be rooted firmly in place by her fear.
After a short few moments, the prisoners fell into correct order on either side of the trail.
Watson sauntered slowly down the center of the trail, surveying the position of each prisoner. His journey came to a slow halt as he reached the end of the path. Placing thick, spittle rimmed lips around a whistle, he produced a high pitched tone which brought all sets of eyes in his direction.
"Cell 861, begin yer task," The man bellowed, allowing the click of his musket to act as a threat for potential escapees.
As he spoke his next sentence, a devious grin played over his features.
"Oh, and remember me lovelies, all it takes is a generous offer ta the guard a' yer choice, and half a' the burden shall be removed from your pretty lil' shoulders," Watson eyed the women's labor line and licked his lips, slobber dripping from the corners.
--
Mrs. Lovett was unable to tear her gaze away from her palms. Embedded within the pale flesh, were tiny wooden splinters. The flesh surrounding each small wooden plank had reddened with dried blood, and the small shovel was the guilty culprit. The useless piece of rusted steel was no match for the harshly compacted dirt, and often collided harshly with large pieces of buried rock. As each hour passed, Mrs. Lovett's energy escaped through every pore of her tortured body. Each of her muscles betrayed her and screamed their protests in the form of a burning ache. However, it wasn't the nature of the task which had triggered her exhaustion. It was the merciless heat, the force of which had slowly caused countless women to drop to their knees over the course of the day. Every hour, Watson, or some other pompous official, made a "water round". Each prisoner was rewarded with a single sip of brown water from a large wooden bucket. The bucket was strapped to the back of a balding elderly man. Emaciation plagued the poor fellow, for his ribs were prominent beneath a taut layer of skin. The foolish pairs of parched lips that dared to beg for a second sip received two quick lashes in return. This blatant denial of basic hydration had produced countless fainting spells, sickened sounds of dry heaving, and pitiful sobs.
At leas' I'm still standin.' Jus' continue ta' move an' it'll all be over soon,
Mrs. Lovett thought as she bent over to penetrate the ground with her shovel. After adding a few extra inches of dirt to her pile, the baker glanced down to evaluate her progress. Seeing that she now stood knee deep within her hole, she paused to scan the other women along the labor line. Swift worked diligently to Mrs. Lovett's right, concentration etched deeply within her features and her broad shoulders contracting with every heave of dirt. Further down, a trembling Dottie sat upon the edge of her shallow hole, and inhaled deeply. Along the line, other women's faces were stained with streaks, and whether the source was tears, blood, or sweat, could not be certain.
Across the path, the men seemed to be suffering the ill consequences of the harrowing conditions as well. Deep throated grunts of pain filled the air as dirt clumps were flung upward. However, there was a noticeable difference present between the two weakened groups; the holes on the right side of the trail were deeper, and the majority of the male labor line had managed to remain on their feet. Mrs. Lovett was very aware of the fact that broadened shoulders and thickened muscles had a great impact on the matter, but as she took a second glance at the men, she noted another significant characteristic. Every last man had removed his shirt and tied the sweat drenched piece of cloth around his forehead, with the exception of that devil Mr. T, who was nowhere in sight. Small gusts of air hit the men's bare chests and the cloth tied about their foreheads prevented the droplets of sweat from stinging their eyes. More importantly, the damp cloth acted as a shield from the unforgiving sun. No doubt, this half-robbed state had put the males at an advantage in comparison to the women, who remained fully clothed in their multi-layered garments of lace and velvet.
Mrs. Lovett ran disapproving eyes over the pathetic state of her own dress. The costly purple silk was adorned with soft lace, and had once been her most prized possession. She had purchased the frivolous garment back in London, hoping to achieve a single goal. That one goal, so unattainable in its nature, was to be rewarded with a single glance of approval from Mr. Sweeney Todd. Mrs. Lovett believed that if the sullen man ever set his darkened eyes upon her, the ebony orbs filled with any emotion besides blood lust, she could die a million happy deaths. Yet her goals were left unfulfilled. Not a single word of kindness had fallen upon her ears, her skin had been left yearning for a compassionate touch, and Todd's eyes had remained transfixed to his razors, never once falling upon her dress. Digging her nails into the already torn material, Mrs. Lovett scoffed in disgust.
The bloody garment was useless then, and it remains useless ta' this very day.
Mrs. Lovett began to frantically rip the dress from her body, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. The purple and black fabric pooled at her feet, and was soon followed by numerous layers of white cotton. Finally, a victorious Mrs. Lovett stood knee deep in her hole, clad only in the white cloth of her ankle length pantaloons and a lacy undershirt. A grin of sweet relief erupted across her features, as a slight breeze made its way through the thin layer of her clothing. As the finishing touch to her new uniform, Mrs. Lovett tore a piece of ivory colored cloth from her shift and tied it around her forehead. The blessed cloth served to prevent both her unruly auburn curls, and multiple droplets of sweat from invading her eyes. With her accomplishment a success, the determined baker set to work.
"FOUR HOUR CALL, FOUR HOUR CALL!!" Watson's booming voice sent out the alert in order to warn the slower prisoners of their dwindling time.
Fighting to dig past endless layers of brown dirt and grey rock, Mrs. Lovett clung to every last ounce of her draining strength in order to meet her quota. The woman's eyes were locked downward in concentration, never once straying from her task, not even to examine the blue shades of the sky above her head. With each passing hour, her measly pile of dirt had made the transformation into a miniature mountain. Slowly, but certainly, the edges of the gaping hole rose to half foot above her head. After tossing the last particles of dirt upon the pile, she threw her head back and laughed aloud in triumph. She stood successfully at the bottom of the hole, the blisters of her aching feet compensated by cool granite rock. Pressing her sun scorched back against the cold earth of the hole's edge, she allowed her throbbing muscles and rattled bones to slump to into a sitting position at the bottom of the pit. Finding contentment and satisfaction within the shade of the freshly dug abyss, Mrs. Lovett felt her eyelids flutter to a close.
Without warning, a stream of dirt, heavy and damp, rained down upon the baker's shoulders. The pressure of the falling particles sent Mrs. Lovett into an instant state of alert. Immediately glancing upward, a dark shadow, outlined by the yellow haze of the sun, filled Mrs. Lovett's vision. The panicked woman leapt to her feet and strained her tired eyes in order to identify her tormentor. Soon, through the fierce haze of sunlight, a set of cold, rigid features came clearly into view.
Sweeney Todd stood at the edge of the abyss. The barber had planted one foot within the pile of freshly plowed earth that sat conveniently close to the edge of the cavity. A cold smirk greeted Mrs. Lovett's frightened eyes. Without uttering a sound, Todd swept his foot over the dirt pile yet again, causing more dirt to tumble into the abyss.
"Mr. Todd, wot in God's name, do ya think ya are doin'?" Mrs. Lovett inquired. The woman attempted to tame her voice into a calm tone, but felt instantly suffocated by waves of alarm.
Todd's black eyes scanned Mrs. Lovett's features, as a sneer caused the corner of his lips to curl slightly, "Are you daft, woman? Or blind? I'm refilling the bloody pit."
Mrs. Lovett gazed up at Todd in utter disbelief. The man intended to see her starve. She watched in horror as a new avalanche of dirt cascaded down the wall. Seeds of rage began to sprout within Mrs. Lovett, and she was forced to suppress a crazed laugh, as a new realization danced wildly about in her head. All of her work and efforts, everything she had left to speak of in the area of accomplishments, was a mountain of dirt. She allowed her indignation to boil and expand at the thought that Todd was intent on demolishing even that. Positioning her hands upon the edge of the crevice, Mrs. Lovett strained to lift her body weight to level ground. Brushing the dirt from her hands and rising to a standing position, Mrs. Lovett placed her body directly in front of Sweeney Todd.
"You will cease at once, Mr. Todd," The woman firmly stated her demand, fists clenched. Mrs. Lovett brought her face within inches of Todd's smoldering gaze, challenging his actions.
Todd locked gazes with Mrs. Lovett, his eyes ablaze. Yet the man maintained silence. Sweeney Todd's eyes remained fastened to Mrs. Lovett's widened orbs, and in response to the baker's command, he slowly swept his foot forward in order to knock yet another large clump of dirt into the hole.
Bringing his lips close to Mrs. Lovett's ear, the barber whispered mockingly, "Memorize this sight for future instances, pet, for this is all that your words will ever signify to me. Dirt, filthy, worthless dirt."
Todd drew his face away from Mrs. Lovett's ear, and continued to kick at the pile.
Mrs. Lovett' fingernails dug deep within her palms, and her face burned with a reddened shade of rage. Her racing pulse began to pound in her ears with the steady rhythm of a battle drum. The baker had no concept of what overtook her at that point. She didn't feel the muscles of her arm start to tense and contract. Surely, it wasn't her fist which clenched and tightened as it shot forward. Most of all, she failed to feel the harsh contact her knuckles made with Sweeney Todd's nose, or hear the satisfying crack of bone descending upon bone.
The baker jerked back in shocked disbelief at her own actions, as the barber brought blood coated fingers away from his stunned face.
Todd gazed down at his blood stained fingers. Blood upon Todd's hands wasn't something out of the ordinary; the barber had eagerly painted countless throats with the same crimson shade. However, the sight of his own blood upon his hands was appalling.
Gazing at the tiny baker in disbelief, Todd allowed his eyes to wander over his unlikely opponent, until a sight caught his eye. It was a sight which shoved the barber into an altered state once again; Mrs. Lovett's fist was coated with the splatter of his blood.
Throughout the entire murderous rampage Todd had waged upon London, not a single soul had been successful in drawing blood from the demon barber's form. His victims had made valiant attempts; weakened limbs had shot forth in his direction in a last hope to maim their assailant, seconds before their bodies descended down the chute. None had accomplished their goal, and that fact had given Todd a sense of invincibility. Therefore the thought that Mrs. Lovett, insufferable and conniving bitch that she was, had been the single individual successful in producing his bloodshed, had blinded Todd with anger.
Violent currents of astonished fury sent a fierce tremble through Todd's body. Stepping forward until his form stood directly before hers, the barber brought swift hands up to grasp Mrs. Lovett's shoulders, his grip biting harshly into her sensitive flesh. Mrs. Lovett winced at the force of Todd's fingers, but continued to stand her ground and maintain eye contact with her attacker.
"It appears, Mrs. Lovett, that you have successfully dug your own grave," Todd hissed ferociously, and shoved against the startled baker's shoulders.
A shrill scream tore from Mrs. Lovett's lips, as she tumbled backwards. The descent from level ground back to the bottom of the abyss was a short, but difficult journey. A journey which Mrs. Lovett did not make gracefully. Brown dirt stained her white cotton garments as she came into contact with the hole's edges. Particles of earth and small pebbles coated her hair as her flailing form crashed to the bottom of the hole with a loud thud. Stunned and enraged, she lay motionless, a pitiful heap of stained clothing and bruised limbs. The woman's form was soon followed by a cascade of thick dirt, courtesy of Todd's determined foot. The heavy particles descended, covering her hair and shoulders and settling within her mouth, eyes, and nostrils.
As Mrs. Lovett sputtered and gagged, her determination began to grow once again. The baker couldn't allow it, wouldn't allow it; Mrs. Lovett had come too far to allow herself to be buried alive by this man's hate. The woman leapt to her feet, and grabbed the edge of the hole. As soon as she was able to successfully gaze over the edge, past the cloud of dirt, she spotted her target. With a swift lunge her hands latched tightly around Todd's right ankle, and she yanked upon it with all the force left in her exhausted limbs.
A shocked Sweeney Todd immediately lost all balance as his form came crashing down to the floor with a rough growl. His back made contact with hard dirt as he sent a hateful gaze to the woman who was currently dangling at the edge of the crevice by his foot.
" Let me out of this blasted hole, ya hateful, sadistic bastard! Ya 'ave no right wotsoever , ta' treat me so shamefully!," Mrs. Lovett screamed at Todd from the edge of the abyss. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of his ankle and twisted with all her might.
Small twinges of pain shot up Todd's ankle, yet the man refused to be detoured from the task at hand. Planting his free foot upon Mrs. Lovett's heaving chest, the man uttered his words in a wickedly baritone voice.
"If not for your reprehensible lies, Lucy would still be breathing. I have every right to send you directly into the pits of hell," Todd stated through clenched teeth as he ground his foot into Mrs. Lovett's chest, and shoved.
The force of Todd's foot forced Mrs. Lovett's hands to unlatch from around his ankle, and the baker shrieked as she collapsed to the bottom once again. The woman felt a shudder of defeat and fright course through her as the sun disappeared over the horizon. Watson sounded his whistle, a sharp ring which signaled that all attempts must come to an end.
--
He had witnessed it all, the woman's screams and flailing arms. Amusement flickered across the wicked contours of Skelter's face. The manner in which those eyes flashed with violent determination as she had struck her pale assailant with a reddened fist,had caught his attention. Skelter was aware of the atrocious conditions associated with the infamous island, and the warden was ardently devoted in assuring that his prisoners roamed about with their heads bowed and spirits shattered. Courage and nerve were rarities amongst the thousands of broken prisoners. It was especially uncommon, for such characteristics to be present in the form of a mere female.
Ten of Skelter's subordinates had sprinted toward the commotion with muskets firmly in tow, only be stopped dead in their tracks by Skelter's raised palm.
The warden emitted a malicious chuckle and stated to his troops, "What's the harm in a bit of entertainment?"
Eager not to displease their honorable commander, the only physical restraint enforced was upon a fuming Swift. The tall woman struggled against the arms of guards in an attempt to provide aide to her screaming companion. It required four guards to prevent Swift's muscular frame from darting in Mrs. Lovett's direction.
A delighted Skelter watched and waited. At the sound of Watson's whistle, the tall warden strolled over to the dirt covered pair.
"Be gone."
Skelter issued the stern command to Sweeney Todd. The barber locked eyes with the warden for a prolonged moment and smirked. Then sharply turning, Todd slowly made his way to the right edge of the path.
Skelter sauntered to the hole and peered over its edge at the dirt covered woman. He ran an eye over her shivering form, and a sardonic smile spread over his lips as her large brown eyes rose to meet his.
"I'm confident, my poor dear, that you are well aware of the penalty for failure to complete an assigned task." Skelter snapped his fingers, summoning Watson to his side.
"This prisoner is off by half an inch, issue her the starvation penalty."
--
A blanket of midnight air had descended upon Devil's Island, driving out a measure of the unbearable heat associated with the scorch of the sun. Foam brimmed waves of the ocean lapped gently against the sands of the shore, creating a soft lullaby. Faded bursts of glowing light produced by fireflies decorated the ebony tapestry. The sight was one painted by the hand serenity, disrupted only by the harsh clanging of iron.
Mrs. Lovett stood amongst a crowd of seven prisoners, composed entirely of women. Shackles bit deeply into the sun burnt flesh of their ankles and wrists. The entire line had been bound together by a single chain, and they stood huddled as one large group. No more than a few yards away, a second group of seventeen prisoners stood.
The second group waited patiently outside of a large white tent, surrounded by twelve whip clutching guards. The white cloth of the tent was held up by a number of splintered wooden planks. Boisterous laughter mingling with the clink of tin mugs could be heard from the outside of the tent, evidence that the guards were enjoying their sumptuous feast. Every so often, the flaps of the tent were opened, and heaps of leftovers in the forms of chicken bones, apple cores, and bread crusts, were tossed upon the sand in front of the starving prisoners.
Pitiful cries begging for mercy were emitted from the group of women who had been issued the starvation penalty. Mrs. Lovett was forced stand to the side and witness as the more fortunate crowd of prisoners swarmed upon the pile of food. Her stomach knotted and cramped with the cruel pangs of hunger as she watched numerous scraps disappear into salivating mouths. Many of the women surrounding her had fallen to their knees, allowing sobs to overtake them. Truth be told, the baker herself wasn't entirely certain that her sanity still remained intact. For only a demented woman could have had the ability to remain on her feet and calmly observe the scene before her.
However it was one factor, and one factor only, which was keeping Mrs. Lovett on her feet.
Sweeney Todd's patronizing gaze was all the fuel Mrs. Lovett required to remain silently rooted in place. Without breaking eye contact with the seething baker, Todd repeatedly lifted a slice of sweet apple to his lips. She watched as the juices of the succulent fruit dribbled slowly down his chin. Mrs. Lovett was familiar enough with Sweeney Todd to recognize that his consumption of each delectable scrap had little to do with hunger, and everything to do with mockery. Mrs. Lovett knew all too well, that Sweeney Todd fed off of fear and intimidation, and he wanted nothing more than to watch her break. Todd craved tear brimmed eyes, slumped and trembling shoulders, a body wracked by uncontrollable sobs, and pleas for mercy.
Mr. Todd, you are indeed sadly mistaken, if ya believe I'm ta depart this hellhole without a fight.
Satisfaction washed over Mrs. Lovett as her gaze landed upon the bruised tint which decorated Todd's upper lip. If the barber was intent on waging a war, she would need to devise a battle plan.
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A couple of extra points:
1. Ok so I really think that the following folks deserve an extra THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! and HUGS:
riceandchopstixs,silver and rubies, Silverbone, Miss Poisonous,
Lizzienuss88, SakuraLeeChan, hoteltokio, Full-Metal-Darkness, Shyaway, Elven Apparition, AngelofDarkness1605, ShadowedElegance, friska-freak, ByTheBeautifulSea,
MrsMargeryLovett, Marzi, PiratePrincess29, LivelyLenore, VerelLupin, shmokki, The Bloody Wonder, Astria07, Lobsters forever, BritishDracoLuvr, ABloodyWonder, sarahisaninja ,and the lovely Just a Little Crazy !! I seriously admire each of you for keeping an open mind, and reading this story, since I know that the idea is semi-unusual and rarely used.
2. FOR THE SWEENETT LOVERS OUT THERE: I am a devoted supporter of that psychotic duo, and I PROMISE that this story will have heavy duty M rated Sweenett in in…but it has to develop and happen in time. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE LOVE LOVE all one shots out there, and fics which get down to the get down right away) I just have this love for the anticipation and build up of tension between two people..so that's the way I'm going to write this…but, again, I PROMISE SWEENETT so hang in there loves)
3. I know a lot of people are out there may be wondering why the heck the prisoners are digging holes, but I swear I have a purpose and it will be explained later.
4. Please let me know if I'm doing a good job at writing Skelter as a villain so far.…he's a very evil man…and trust me he gets much worse.
5. Hope the length of the chap wasn't too much for anyone.
6. If Mrs. Lovett seems OOC to anyone, keep this in mind: Despite any amount of undying devotion this woman has for Sweeney Todd, she is entitled to be VERY angry at this point. He tried to kill her, put her on Devil's Island, and saw to it that she went hungry. If I were placed in her shitty position, I'd be one hungry and pissed off bitch. That is all) Pardon my language and thanks again!!
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