Fanfic 100 - 092 Christmas
Jan. 15th, 2006 10:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Comfort and Joy
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: Johanna, Judge Turpin, Beadle Bamford, Blackstone (OC)
Prompt: 092, Christmas
Word Count: 459
Rating: G
Summary: A Christmas mid way through Johanna's childhood.
Author's Notes: Sorry for being MIA for about a month. Between illness and holidays and travel, I was just a bit overwhelmed. But I'm back, and I should be doing at least a fic a week, unless something goes horribly, horribly wrong. As for this fic, I started writing it to use during December and got tackled by the above. So...better late than never. The New Year's fic should be forthcoming.
It was snowing. Johanna gazed out at the street below, watching a group of children fling handfuls of wet flakes at one another, creating miniature blizzards and screaming with delight. They were dressed cheerily for the day, ribbons adorning their brushed coats and frocks, even if the clothes had seen better seasons.
There were no ribbons on Johanna’s black gown. It was new, and had no threadbare places, nothing that needed mending. Neither did it have any ornament except her corn blond curls, just long enough to brush her shoulders as she walked.
Enviously watching the urchin children play in the street, her notice was accidentally attracted by another figure. A lone black spot, like a splatter of misplaced ink, rolled its way across the pristine white scene below. Her eyes widened into blue saucers. There was no mistaking Beadle Bamford for any of her father’s other visitors. At the sight of the package wrapped in sensible brown paper tucked under his arm, the girl had to suppress a groan; it appeared that the Beadle was intending to stay for Christmas dinner.
“Johanna! Come downstairs, my pet.” She lingered at the window, drinking in the sight of the children allowed out to play before turning and heading downstairs, ringlets bouncing with every silent step.
“Here I am, Father,” she said softly. He liked it when she spoke softly. It was just hard to remember, sometimes.
“Ah, child. You look lovely.” Her father bent down to kiss her hair. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Father.” She blushed a little, uncomfortable without quite knowing why. The moment ended abruptly as the doorbell rang, and Blackstone swept past them to answer it.
The beadle swept in without even seeing the butler. “Ah, sir.” He gave her father a little half bow. “A very merry Christmas to you, my lord. And to you, miss Johanna,” he added, turning to give her what she could only guess was supposed to be a warm smile. It looked like a grimace.
“Well, Johanna, return the wish like a good girl.”
She dropped into a short curtsey, eyes on the floor. “Merry Christmas, sir.”
Her father laughed, low and rumbling. “There we are, nice and cozy.” Blackstone silently took the Beadle’s coat and the package from under his arm. “You are just in time, as always; the goose is nearly ready. Shall we eat?” The Beadle readily nodded his agreement.
As the two men swept her along into the dining room, Johanna turned to get one final glance at the sunny, snowy morning through the heavy damask curtains. Her father’s hand on her shoulder firmly led her away, and she wondered absently if Christmas was as dreary for anyone else in London as it always was for her.
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: Johanna, Judge Turpin, Beadle Bamford, Blackstone (OC)
Prompt: 092, Christmas
Word Count: 459
Rating: G
Summary: A Christmas mid way through Johanna's childhood.
Author's Notes: Sorry for being MIA for about a month. Between illness and holidays and travel, I was just a bit overwhelmed. But I'm back, and I should be doing at least a fic a week, unless something goes horribly, horribly wrong. As for this fic, I started writing it to use during December and got tackled by the above. So...better late than never. The New Year's fic should be forthcoming.
It was snowing. Johanna gazed out at the street below, watching a group of children fling handfuls of wet flakes at one another, creating miniature blizzards and screaming with delight. They were dressed cheerily for the day, ribbons adorning their brushed coats and frocks, even if the clothes had seen better seasons.
There were no ribbons on Johanna’s black gown. It was new, and had no threadbare places, nothing that needed mending. Neither did it have any ornament except her corn blond curls, just long enough to brush her shoulders as she walked.
Enviously watching the urchin children play in the street, her notice was accidentally attracted by another figure. A lone black spot, like a splatter of misplaced ink, rolled its way across the pristine white scene below. Her eyes widened into blue saucers. There was no mistaking Beadle Bamford for any of her father’s other visitors. At the sight of the package wrapped in sensible brown paper tucked under his arm, the girl had to suppress a groan; it appeared that the Beadle was intending to stay for Christmas dinner.
“Johanna! Come downstairs, my pet.” She lingered at the window, drinking in the sight of the children allowed out to play before turning and heading downstairs, ringlets bouncing with every silent step.
“Here I am, Father,” she said softly. He liked it when she spoke softly. It was just hard to remember, sometimes.
“Ah, child. You look lovely.” Her father bent down to kiss her hair. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Father.” She blushed a little, uncomfortable without quite knowing why. The moment ended abruptly as the doorbell rang, and Blackstone swept past them to answer it.
The beadle swept in without even seeing the butler. “Ah, sir.” He gave her father a little half bow. “A very merry Christmas to you, my lord. And to you, miss Johanna,” he added, turning to give her what she could only guess was supposed to be a warm smile. It looked like a grimace.
“Well, Johanna, return the wish like a good girl.”
She dropped into a short curtsey, eyes on the floor. “Merry Christmas, sir.”
Her father laughed, low and rumbling. “There we are, nice and cozy.” Blackstone silently took the Beadle’s coat and the package from under his arm. “You are just in time, as always; the goose is nearly ready. Shall we eat?” The Beadle readily nodded his agreement.
As the two men swept her along into the dining room, Johanna turned to get one final glance at the sunny, snowy morning through the heavy damask curtains. Her father’s hand on her shoulder firmly led her away, and she wondered absently if Christmas was as dreary for anyone else in London as it always was for her.
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no subject
Date: 2006-01-15 11:53 am (UTC)One tiny little quibble: "Shall we go eat?" doesn't sound quite right to me. "Shall we eat?" would be better.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-15 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-15 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-15 05:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-15 08:07 pm (UTC)