Bleh. Okay. For those of you who think the chapters are short, I apologize. You have to realize, I'm writing this at school during one class period (1:30) and trying to think up plots at the same time…so…you'll have to allow slight shortness compared to other fictions as well as some scenes taking a bit to upload, as I may have to write that at home. Thank you.


Sweeney stared down at the boy, amazed that he had run into his shop of all places. He blinked, his eyes narrowing dangerously as the boy slowly lowered his eyes to try and avoid Sweeney's gaze. He wasn't very big, about the side of Mrs. Lovett minus the breasts. His hair was dark, black it seemed, and dropped to about his shoulders and hung in front of his face. His skin, pale like paper with, what looked like, the feel of silk. But his eyes were what caught Sweeney's attention. Bright blue, like the summer sky, shimmering with what looked fear and adrenalin.

Sweeney arched one eyebrow, questioning the boy with just a look. He slowly placed the blades in the holsters by his sides and crossed his arms over his chest; his black and white hair lay over his head. His dark eyes skimmed the boy over again before locking with his eyes. He was curious, as to why this boy was doing what he was doing. As to why he was running, and why he had ran into his shop of all places.

The boy didn't move for fear was still struck in his form. He was scared of what lay behind the door, and scared of what was in front of him. He had never seen this man before, and he looked rather scary compared to the other men that he had seen. He gulped down the lump that was forming in his throat and leaned against the door, his body shaking just a bit. It reminded Sweeney of a leaf in the autumn wind.

"…what are you doing in here, lad?" Sweeney murmured, taking a small step toward the boy.

He looked up, his crystal blue eyes still having a bit of fear in them. "I…I was running…from Beatle, sir."

Sweeney raised an eyebrow even higher. Beatle? That sad excuse for a man was chasing a boy around London? For what reason? This boy looked as if he had done nothing wrong and there for could do nothing wrong. It wasn't as if he, the boy, was doing any harm to this large city. He was, after all, just one small boy in a city full of men.

He stared silently, taking another step forward. The boy took a small step back and found himself pressed against the wall. He didn't mean to intrude, but he had. And now that this man before him knew he was running from Beatle, he might as well turn himself in for a right hanging at the gallows. There was no other punishment for what he had done.

"Why is it you're running from Beatle, lad?" Sweeney murmured softly. "And what be your name?"

The boy lifted his head a bit to hold his chin up. He was trying to be bold now? Smooth move.

"I'm running because I insulted Judge Turpin and his way…and my name is Ishmael." The boy said strongly, his words strong.

Sweeney smirked. At least it wasn't some little git he was dealing with. No, this boy had brains and he had looks about him as well. He wasn't some boy who allowed himself to be pushed around, even when fear was about him; even when he could die any moment. He was holding himself high and doing so with great honor.

Ishmael stared Sweeney up and down, taking in the sight of him. The man was particularly scary looking, with the black hair and white stripe pushed back and his obvious rings under his eyes darkening his demeanor greatly. He looked to be a man of little importance, and yet with great power. It was rather shocking how this man looked, and even more shocking that he hadn't been turned in yet.

Sweeney thought for a moment before slowly grabbing the boys wrist. He yanked him from the door, practically flinging him across the room. Ishmael stumbled but grasped onto the wall so he wouldn't fall. He stared toward Sweeney as if he was crazy and looked toward the door. Sweeney slowly peered out the window, his eyes darting around as he tried to figure out where the Beatle was. He spotted the rather stout man and glared, watching him walking away from Fleet Street.

"He is leaving…" Sweeney murmured softly before wheeling around on his heel. "But you, boy, might need some assistance. You will be a wanted man because of your stupidity to spout off your mouth around Beatle. Sit."

Without a moments though, Ishmael plopped himself down in the chair that Sweeney used to sit his customers down. He stared toward Sweeney a bit scared, watching the man pace by the window before walk behind him to the vanity. He was about to lift his head to see what the man was doing when he felt the smoothness of cool metal along his throat. He gulped, sitting perfectly still.

Sweeney smirked and slowly removed the blade of the scissors that he held in his hand from his throat. He grabbed a comb, brushing out the black locks before he measured and started to trim off the hair. Ishmael's eyes shifted toward the falling hair and he gasped, his eyes going a bit wide. The man was cutting his hair off. Cutting it off. Without permission! He glared and quickly tried to pull away but felt Sweeney's hand tighten on his hair. He hissed and sat still once more, allowing his hair to be cut from his head.

By the time Sweeney was finished, he didn't recognize the boy at all. He had cut most the hair off, leaving him with short hair all in one length. It was about an inch or two long. His bangs, which were longer, still hung in front of his eyes but not as badly. He looked like a young boy instead of a boyish girl. Putting the scissors away, he slowly swung the chair around and had the boy look at himself in the mirror.

Ishmael's eyes practically tripled in size. He stared, amazed at the transformation. Was that really him? Had his hair really been so long that a little trim was all it took to change his appearance completely? He slowly reached up, running his fingers slowly through his hair. He couldn't believe his eyes. That small hair cut had changed the way he looked, and he himself didn't recognize him.

"What…how…"

Sweeney smirked as he dusted the hair off of Ishmael's shirt. "Just a trim, but it changes a lot. So, what do you think? You can actually roam the streets now without worrying about Beatle recognizing you."

Ishmael looked up to Sweeney, staring silently. He blinked, a bit of confusion entering his eyes as he slowly lowered them. He was shocked. Such a man was going to help him…had helped him. Amazed, he slowly stood from the chair and looked up at Sweeney. He wasn't sure what to say really. He just stood there, staring silently. Sweeney reached over and took his hand, sighing softly as he pulling him to the door. He dragged the boy out of the upper shop and started down the steps.

Ishmael blinked, staring around as he watched himself being pulled. He looked toward some people and then ducked a bit, knowing they might recognize him as the boy that pushed them out of the way to find a hiding spot. He gulped softly as he walked with Sweeney, his eyes darting from space to space. He soon found himself in the shop, the smell of pies and ale assaulting his nose. He gagged, looking around.

Mrs. Lovett looked up slowly and blinked, staring toward him. "What's this? Where did this lad come from? Peaky little thing 'e is."

Sweeney smirked and looked toward Ishmael. The boy got a somewhat scared look and stared, watching him with light eyes. Sweeney turned back toward Mrs. Lovett and smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"He's my new assistant."