![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
melodywilde.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kinkfestTitle: Alive at Last
Author/Artist: Melody Wilde
Rating: PG
Warnings: Blood, insanity, spoilers for play/movie plotline
Word count: 1,229
Summary: He’d gone so quiet after all the noise he’d made for the past eight hours.
A/N: Apologies for being a little late with this (surely it's still February 3 someplace, right?). It just refused to work until![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
evilmissbecky called with some audio inspiration and I turned the story in a whole different direction. This isn't what I meant to write, but this is what I got. Thanks, Evil!
The prompt: Sweeney Todd, Sweeney/razors: destiny - we are the lovers of the dying
Alive at Last
by Melody Wilde
It was only that she was worried about him, him going so quiet after all the noise he’d been making for the past eight hours or so. That was the only reason she was creeping up the stairs, clutching her robe about her and hoping that none of the neighbors looked out and saw her sneaking around like some burglar in the not-quite-yet-dawn.
Yesterday had been such a trial for him; she knew it had been; would be for any man, all them things happening, one right after the other. First there was that boy barging in and talking about taking Johanna even farther away from him than ever. Then that business with Pirelli; must’ve scared him out of a year’s growth, that man recognizing him and threatening him with Bamford. Then the Judge—and what a cock-up that had been, him thinking he had the man and then losing him. No wonder he went half mad—truth be told, maybe a bit more than half. He had had her worried there for a bit at the end, going so quiet and still, like the lamps was lit but nobody was home.
She paused near the top step, lifting herself up so she could peek in through the window. She didn’t want to disturb him if he’d finally gone to sleep. Lord knew he probably needed sleep by now, after all he’d been through. She’d gone to bed right after they’d hauled Pirelli’s body down to the basement and finished up with it. But him, he’d gone back upstairs, and it had been all nice and peaceful for a while and she’d just started dozing off when the banging had started and gone on the whole rest of the night.
He was sprawled back in the chair, but it didn’t look like it had when they’d hauled it up yesterday. He’d changed it somehow. That’s what all the noise had been about. She leaned up a bit more to try to see and realized he wasn’t asleep after all. He was sitting there with a razor open in his hand, sort of waving it around in front of him. And God help us all if he wasn’t talking to it, just like he had been that first day when he came back.
That made her mind up. She’d had quite enough of him treating those damn razors better than he treated her. She straightened up and knocked on the door, and when he didn’t answer her, she pushed it open and went right on in.
“Mornin’, Mr. T,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “I came to see if you wanted some breakfast.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. He just kept moving that razor, back and forth, and smiling that strange little smile that he’d got once or twice when she was talking to him, and muttering to himself.
“Mr. T?” She took a step closer, then stopped dead still and put her hand to her mouth, because there was blood on the razor, bright and red and fresh, still sliding down the blade.
She was almost afraid to look around, afraid she’d see some new victim that would have to be dealt with, but the rest of the shop was neat as a pin, all tidy even though she knew he’d been sawing and hammering and had to have made a mess. She took a step closer, then another, and then almost screamed when she realized the blood was his.
His left arm was down across his lap; that’s why she hadn’t seen it until she got closer. He’d pushed his shirtsleeve up to his elbow, and there was little cuts all up and down his forearm, so neat and precise and evenly spaced that there was no way they could’ve been an accident.
And as she watched in horror, he lowered the razor, crooning to it, and made another slice in the flesh.
She decided if she didn’t step in and do something, he was going to run out of arm and do himself an even greater harm, so she took a deep breath and put on her cheeriest voice and walked right up to him (but not too close, because that razor almost seemed to be smiling at her and she didn’t want any of her blood feeding it).
“Morning, Mr. T.”
“Good morning.” His voice was flat, and he never looked away from the razor, never even blinked.
“I was...I was wondering if you’d care to join me and Toby for a bite to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
The damned thing was swooping back down toward his wrist. She had to say something quick, because she’d always loved his wrists, and she didn’t want to see them all scarred up any more than they already were.
“What are you doing, Mr. T?”
“Praying.”
Not to any God she knew, that much was for sure, but who knew what heathen ways they had in that prison. Still...
“What you prayin’ for?”
“Customers.” He said the word with relish. “That man from the market. I want him to be the first.”
“The one what asked if you had an establishment?”
“Tapped me with his cane, as if I were...nothing.” The razor dipped again. He didn’t even seem to feel it.
“Mr. Todd, you’re scarin’ me just a little.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, my pet.” Swoop, swoop, swoop, back and forth.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself bad if you don’t stop that.”
“They wouldn’t hurt me. They love me.” There was that smile again. Made her shiver.
“They’re just silver, Mr. T. They ain’t real.”
“My friends. My lovers. Do you know what they whispered to me?”
She didn’t know and she wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to know, but she said, “What?”
“They want to make love to the men who come to be shaved. Caress them. Make them spill. They want to see blood spill. They want to be lovers to the dying, give them a final caress, make them—”
“Mr. T!” She realized she’d shrieked his name, but she didn’t care. “You stop all that foolish nonsense talk, right now.”
“Don’t you understand,” he whispered. “They’ve shown me my destiny. I’m alive at last!” And then his eyes went closed and his head dropped back and the hand clutching the razor fell into his lap.
“Mr. T?”
He was gone again, just like yesterday. Poor man. All the work he’d done and no sleep, no wonder he was talking so crazy. Any man would, after what all he’d been through.
He didn’t stir, didn’t make a sound, when she tentatively grasped the handle and pulled the razor from his loose grip. Encouraged, she went for the pitcher and bowl, glad to see there was water in it. She didn’t want to go downstairs and worry Toby, so she tore a strip off her nightgown (and thank goodness it was an old one what didn’t matter no more) to use as a bandage for his poor arm. She’d clean him off and fix him right up, almost good as new, and he’d wake up after a while and be right as rain, and come down to the shop to thank her, and then they’d both laugh at how he’d talked so wild.
And everything would be fine. Just fine.
Author/Artist: Melody Wilde
Rating: PG
Warnings: Blood, insanity, spoilers for play/movie plotline
Word count: 1,229
Summary: He’d gone so quiet after all the noise he’d made for the past eight hours.
A/N: Apologies for being a little late with this (surely it's still February 3 someplace, right?). It just refused to work until
evilmissbecky called with some audio inspiration and I turned the story in a whole different direction. This isn't what I meant to write, but this is what I got. Thanks, Evil!The prompt: Sweeney Todd, Sweeney/razors: destiny - we are the lovers of the dying
Alive at Last
by Melody Wilde
It was only that she was worried about him, him going so quiet after all the noise he’d been making for the past eight hours or so. That was the only reason she was creeping up the stairs, clutching her robe about her and hoping that none of the neighbors looked out and saw her sneaking around like some burglar in the not-quite-yet-dawn.
Yesterday had been such a trial for him; she knew it had been; would be for any man, all them things happening, one right after the other. First there was that boy barging in and talking about taking Johanna even farther away from him than ever. Then that business with Pirelli; must’ve scared him out of a year’s growth, that man recognizing him and threatening him with Bamford. Then the Judge—and what a cock-up that had been, him thinking he had the man and then losing him. No wonder he went half mad—truth be told, maybe a bit more than half. He had had her worried there for a bit at the end, going so quiet and still, like the lamps was lit but nobody was home.
She paused near the top step, lifting herself up so she could peek in through the window. She didn’t want to disturb him if he’d finally gone to sleep. Lord knew he probably needed sleep by now, after all he’d been through. She’d gone to bed right after they’d hauled Pirelli’s body down to the basement and finished up with it. But him, he’d gone back upstairs, and it had been all nice and peaceful for a while and she’d just started dozing off when the banging had started and gone on the whole rest of the night.
He was sprawled back in the chair, but it didn’t look like it had when they’d hauled it up yesterday. He’d changed it somehow. That’s what all the noise had been about. She leaned up a bit more to try to see and realized he wasn’t asleep after all. He was sitting there with a razor open in his hand, sort of waving it around in front of him. And God help us all if he wasn’t talking to it, just like he had been that first day when he came back.
That made her mind up. She’d had quite enough of him treating those damn razors better than he treated her. She straightened up and knocked on the door, and when he didn’t answer her, she pushed it open and went right on in.
“Mornin’, Mr. T,” she said as brightly as she could manage. “I came to see if you wanted some breakfast.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. He just kept moving that razor, back and forth, and smiling that strange little smile that he’d got once or twice when she was talking to him, and muttering to himself.
“Mr. T?” She took a step closer, then stopped dead still and put her hand to her mouth, because there was blood on the razor, bright and red and fresh, still sliding down the blade.
She was almost afraid to look around, afraid she’d see some new victim that would have to be dealt with, but the rest of the shop was neat as a pin, all tidy even though she knew he’d been sawing and hammering and had to have made a mess. She took a step closer, then another, and then almost screamed when she realized the blood was his.
His left arm was down across his lap; that’s why she hadn’t seen it until she got closer. He’d pushed his shirtsleeve up to his elbow, and there was little cuts all up and down his forearm, so neat and precise and evenly spaced that there was no way they could’ve been an accident.
And as she watched in horror, he lowered the razor, crooning to it, and made another slice in the flesh.
She decided if she didn’t step in and do something, he was going to run out of arm and do himself an even greater harm, so she took a deep breath and put on her cheeriest voice and walked right up to him (but not too close, because that razor almost seemed to be smiling at her and she didn’t want any of her blood feeding it).
“Morning, Mr. T.”
“Good morning.” His voice was flat, and he never looked away from the razor, never even blinked.
“I was...I was wondering if you’d care to join me and Toby for a bite to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
The damned thing was swooping back down toward his wrist. She had to say something quick, because she’d always loved his wrists, and she didn’t want to see them all scarred up any more than they already were.
“What are you doing, Mr. T?”
“Praying.”
Not to any God she knew, that much was for sure, but who knew what heathen ways they had in that prison. Still...
“What you prayin’ for?”
“Customers.” He said the word with relish. “That man from the market. I want him to be the first.”
“The one what asked if you had an establishment?”
“Tapped me with his cane, as if I were...nothing.” The razor dipped again. He didn’t even seem to feel it.
“Mr. Todd, you’re scarin’ me just a little.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, my pet.” Swoop, swoop, swoop, back and forth.
“You’re gonna hurt yourself bad if you don’t stop that.”
“They wouldn’t hurt me. They love me.” There was that smile again. Made her shiver.
“They’re just silver, Mr. T. They ain’t real.”
“My friends. My lovers. Do you know what they whispered to me?”
She didn’t know and she wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to know, but she said, “What?”
“They want to make love to the men who come to be shaved. Caress them. Make them spill. They want to see blood spill. They want to be lovers to the dying, give them a final caress, make them—”
“Mr. T!” She realized she’d shrieked his name, but she didn’t care. “You stop all that foolish nonsense talk, right now.”
“Don’t you understand,” he whispered. “They’ve shown me my destiny. I’m alive at last!” And then his eyes went closed and his head dropped back and the hand clutching the razor fell into his lap.
“Mr. T?”
He was gone again, just like yesterday. Poor man. All the work he’d done and no sleep, no wonder he was talking so crazy. Any man would, after what all he’d been through.
He didn’t stir, didn’t make a sound, when she tentatively grasped the handle and pulled the razor from his loose grip. Encouraged, she went for the pitcher and bowl, glad to see there was water in it. She didn’t want to go downstairs and worry Toby, so she tore a strip off her nightgown (and thank goodness it was an old one what didn’t matter no more) to use as a bandage for his poor arm. She’d clean him off and fix him right up, almost good as new, and he’d wake up after a while and be right as rain, and come down to the shop to thank her, and then they’d both laugh at how he’d talked so wild.
And everything would be fine. Just fine.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}