Fanfic 100 - 018, Black
Mar. 16th, 2006 05:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: City on Fire
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: O.C.s - Andrew Charles, Lydia (mention of Mr. Fogg)
Prompt: 018, Black
Word Count: 1717
Rating: PG for a tiny bit of blood
Summary: A fateful night seen from afar.
Author's Notes: After a long hiatus, I'm back with a fic that's not about any of the canon characters. Oops. But the story took hold of me and wouldn't let go, so here it is. I've been working on some other fiction too, which has been eating my time, but I've not given up, so you'll be getting at least sporadic Sweeney love in the meantime. Thanks for sticking with it.
The gas lights had blown out. Not all of them, of course, but in the course of the wind whipping through the streets of the slum, a good portion of the lamps had been extinguished, faster than the frantic lamplighter could restore them. It bathed large portion of the streets in blackness, only the faint glow from farther down giving an indication of where the street ran. The clouds were thick above, though no rain or sleet had yet fallen.
The young man wrapped his coat closer around him, more concerned with staying warm than worried about being a patch of ink against the obscure walkway – any carriage would have its own lamp or wouldn’t venture moving, and his best safety was getting back to the light as quickly as he could. Even a pickpocket couldn’t see in the dark. A woman’s voice called out “’ey gov’ner…got a shilling for a poor woman on a winter’s night? Or maybe yeh’d like a bedwarmer ‘o your own?”
He didn’t stop, almost loosing the end of the proposition in the roaring of the wind. The flickering greenish light was his goal, a stepping stone on the road to his own parlor and a warm bowl of broth. Mercy would berate him, he was sure, for his need to go out on such a night, to such a place. But he had been summoned, and he couldn’t ignore such a cry for help.
With a shuddering sigh of relief, he passed back into the light, flames flickering wildly, making him almost seasick. He didn’t slow, sure of his destination and eager to get there; he’d hire a coach on the way back, extravagant or otherwise, that was for sure.
The house was a slumping ruin of a building, as if standing straight required too much energy. He knocked sharply on the door, shifting his weight to try and distract himself from the cold wind, working its way between the folds of his greatcoat.
A pale, skinny girl of twelve or thirteen opened the door, her eyes widening as she automatically dropped into a curtsey. “Ma…the doctor’s here.” Her voice lowered a little as she addressed him. “Please, sir, do come in.”
The room he entered was low, and barely warmer or brighter than the street outside. A small lamp guttered in the corner, and a soft, high pitched whistle signaled the passage of the wind through cracks above. There was a woman kneeling by a bed in a corner; she couldn’t have been far over 30, but her face showed the lines of care and there were strands of silver worked through the fine auburn hair. A boy of ten, in clothes designed for a lad of fifteen, was trying to keep the fire in the grate alive, though it was a loosing battle. Two young children were in the corner; dolls indicated they should have been playing, but they were dead silent. In the bed, a small girl was coughing softly, her face pale in the lantern light.
“Elizabeth, close the door. The sky’ll open any minute now.” The girl who had answered the door obediently closed it behind the doctor. He removed his hat as he stepped into the room. The woman stood and turned to him. “God bless you, Andrew, for coming all the way out here on such short notice. And on such a night.”
It pained him to see her in this shack with too many children and no husband, but he simply nodded. “Of course, Lydia. I came as soon as I got your message.” He moved to the child’s bedside, kneeling in the place where her mother had been. As he checked the girl’s pulse (weak, but still regular), he added gently, “You know, there’s no need for you to live all the way out here. I’m sure Mercy and I…”
“Not another word, Dr. Charles. You aren’t so rich as all that, even if you are wonderfully clever.” The woman stood a pace or two back, thin but sturdy arms crossed over her chest. Though her words were gently teasing, she bit her lip, and the boy at the fire looked up, as if he would like to say something but didn’t think he should.
Andrew shook his head, but continued to check the girl, pulling out his new stethoscope to listen to her breathing. The girl was barely awake, reacting only in the smallest ways to his inspection. Quietly, he asked “Has she been coughing up any blood?”
The mother shook her head. “No, thank the Lord, not as yet.” He nodded and removed a small kit from his bag.
“How long has she been this way?”
“Two days, almost three, now.”
Another nod. His voice still quiet as he prepared his equipment in the dim light, he said, “You might want to go ahead and put the other children to bed. It is getting late, is it not?” Lydia nodded, and moved to tuck the two youngest children into bed. The boy at the fire and Elizabeth moved start closing up the house against the wind as best they could, though the high whining proved very persistent indeed.
Andrew fetched a small empty basin, and pulled one small arm out from under the blankets. Blood letting was tricky under the best of circumstances, and in a dark, drafty shack it was worse, but it was her best hope with no money to get to a hospital. He would offer to take her home, but he knew Lydia wouldn’t have it.
He was so focused that, as he finished, he had no idea how long she had been standing behind him, watching. Shaking his head, he began bandaging the little girl’s arm. “There are no guarantees, of course, but I’ve seen much worse. If your children have your hardy constitution, I’m sure she’ll be quite all right soon enough.” He tucked the girl securely into bed. “Give her water if she’ll take it, a touch of brandy, perhaps, if you have any. Nothing more solid than soup until she’s completely alert again.”
Lydia bowed her head, eyes closing as she took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you how grateful I…”
“Ssh.” He began gathering his supplies. Very softly, trying not to disturb any of the children, he looked up at the woman standing before him. “Of course I came. I only wish…”
“Hush, now, Dr. Charles. I told you to stop asking. I’ll make do without being a burden to my friends.” Using a small apron, she dabbed at her eyes, tearing a little in the uncertain light, the dying fire and the tiny lamp barely keeping the black night at bay.
“Helping a friend is hardly a burden, Lydia, but I’ll not force you to accept it.” He straightened, snapping his bag shut. “How are you keeping, yourself?”
She took a deep breath and smiled at him a little, moving to resume her seat beside her daughter. “I am well enough. Working so much I hardly see the children, but Lizzie’s a fair angel. I got Tom an apprenticeship, to a good firm, so he’ll be off Monday week.” Her face softened, a bit of her true youth showing through. He could remember how beautiful Lydia had been once, in another life. “And you, Andrew? How are you and Mercy?”
“She’s well enough. I think it bothers her we’ve had no children yet, but it only pains me because it pains her. I would never expect such a thing.” He leaned on the hearth, watching his young patient for a moment. “I’ve just secured an excellent position however; I’m the house surgeon for Mr. Fogg, in his asylum. After Bedlam, it’s the best in the city, you know.”
Lydia smiled. “Good for you. I knew you’d make a lovely doctor some day, Andrew – you always were the quickest boy in your form.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he looked back to Lydia, his gray eyes still gentle. “I’m a country boy who managed to have a touch of good fortune, no more. But Mr. Fogg has been very kind indeed.”
The wind stopped. They hadn’t noticed before the pause, but now the moaning wind had fallen silent just as the two within had done, and the night was still. The silence filled up the shadows of the house, lurking to overtake them as surely as the darkness.
Finally, Andrew said, “I should be on my way. I’ll hire a coach back if I can find one.” He pulled his coat back around him, and retrieved his hat from the low table. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, I pray, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“All right.” Lydia stood and dipped into a curtsey, echoing her daughter’s. “God bless you, Andrew.”
“And you, Lydia.” He turned and opened the door and stopped short.
The lamps in this part of the street had mostly blown out, though he could see the bobbing spark of the lamplighter scurrying down the street. But it was no longer black. The sky was lit with a ruddy false dawn, and a brittle sound, like someone breaking bundles of sticks, indicated that there was a fire not far off. “Good god,” the doctor breathed.
Just then a large police coach went tearing by, lamp bobbing precariously before them. Several people were following on foot, rushing after them. Lydia had come to the door, watching in concern as Andrew caught the attention of one of the men.
“What has happened? What’s going on?”
“Gov, ‘aven’t ye ‘eard? The city’s gone mad, that’s wot; lunitics’ escaped from Fogg’s, and now there’s a pie shop ‘as caught fire. Word’s there was grizzly stuff a-going about there, but none knows fer sure, gov’ner.” The small, dark man lifted has cap and then dashed off, eager to catch up.
Andrew looked back up at Lydia, horrified, before touching his hat and dashing off after the mob. He was sure Mr. Fogg would be able to explain everything once he got to the asylum, but meanwhile, he hurried on through the night; the silence broken by the shouting of the mob in the distance, the blackness broken by the sinister ruddy glow beckoning the young doctor on.
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: O.C.s - Andrew Charles, Lydia (mention of Mr. Fogg)
Prompt: 018, Black
Word Count: 1717
Rating: PG for a tiny bit of blood
Summary: A fateful night seen from afar.
Author's Notes: After a long hiatus, I'm back with a fic that's not about any of the canon characters. Oops. But the story took hold of me and wouldn't let go, so here it is. I've been working on some other fiction too, which has been eating my time, but I've not given up, so you'll be getting at least sporadic Sweeney love in the meantime. Thanks for sticking with it.
The gas lights had blown out. Not all of them, of course, but in the course of the wind whipping through the streets of the slum, a good portion of the lamps had been extinguished, faster than the frantic lamplighter could restore them. It bathed large portion of the streets in blackness, only the faint glow from farther down giving an indication of where the street ran. The clouds were thick above, though no rain or sleet had yet fallen.
The young man wrapped his coat closer around him, more concerned with staying warm than worried about being a patch of ink against the obscure walkway – any carriage would have its own lamp or wouldn’t venture moving, and his best safety was getting back to the light as quickly as he could. Even a pickpocket couldn’t see in the dark. A woman’s voice called out “’ey gov’ner…got a shilling for a poor woman on a winter’s night? Or maybe yeh’d like a bedwarmer ‘o your own?”
He didn’t stop, almost loosing the end of the proposition in the roaring of the wind. The flickering greenish light was his goal, a stepping stone on the road to his own parlor and a warm bowl of broth. Mercy would berate him, he was sure, for his need to go out on such a night, to such a place. But he had been summoned, and he couldn’t ignore such a cry for help.
With a shuddering sigh of relief, he passed back into the light, flames flickering wildly, making him almost seasick. He didn’t slow, sure of his destination and eager to get there; he’d hire a coach on the way back, extravagant or otherwise, that was for sure.
The house was a slumping ruin of a building, as if standing straight required too much energy. He knocked sharply on the door, shifting his weight to try and distract himself from the cold wind, working its way between the folds of his greatcoat.
A pale, skinny girl of twelve or thirteen opened the door, her eyes widening as she automatically dropped into a curtsey. “Ma…the doctor’s here.” Her voice lowered a little as she addressed him. “Please, sir, do come in.”
The room he entered was low, and barely warmer or brighter than the street outside. A small lamp guttered in the corner, and a soft, high pitched whistle signaled the passage of the wind through cracks above. There was a woman kneeling by a bed in a corner; she couldn’t have been far over 30, but her face showed the lines of care and there were strands of silver worked through the fine auburn hair. A boy of ten, in clothes designed for a lad of fifteen, was trying to keep the fire in the grate alive, though it was a loosing battle. Two young children were in the corner; dolls indicated they should have been playing, but they were dead silent. In the bed, a small girl was coughing softly, her face pale in the lantern light.
“Elizabeth, close the door. The sky’ll open any minute now.” The girl who had answered the door obediently closed it behind the doctor. He removed his hat as he stepped into the room. The woman stood and turned to him. “God bless you, Andrew, for coming all the way out here on such short notice. And on such a night.”
It pained him to see her in this shack with too many children and no husband, but he simply nodded. “Of course, Lydia. I came as soon as I got your message.” He moved to the child’s bedside, kneeling in the place where her mother had been. As he checked the girl’s pulse (weak, but still regular), he added gently, “You know, there’s no need for you to live all the way out here. I’m sure Mercy and I…”
“Not another word, Dr. Charles. You aren’t so rich as all that, even if you are wonderfully clever.” The woman stood a pace or two back, thin but sturdy arms crossed over her chest. Though her words were gently teasing, she bit her lip, and the boy at the fire looked up, as if he would like to say something but didn’t think he should.
Andrew shook his head, but continued to check the girl, pulling out his new stethoscope to listen to her breathing. The girl was barely awake, reacting only in the smallest ways to his inspection. Quietly, he asked “Has she been coughing up any blood?”
The mother shook her head. “No, thank the Lord, not as yet.” He nodded and removed a small kit from his bag.
“How long has she been this way?”
“Two days, almost three, now.”
Another nod. His voice still quiet as he prepared his equipment in the dim light, he said, “You might want to go ahead and put the other children to bed. It is getting late, is it not?” Lydia nodded, and moved to tuck the two youngest children into bed. The boy at the fire and Elizabeth moved start closing up the house against the wind as best they could, though the high whining proved very persistent indeed.
Andrew fetched a small empty basin, and pulled one small arm out from under the blankets. Blood letting was tricky under the best of circumstances, and in a dark, drafty shack it was worse, but it was her best hope with no money to get to a hospital. He would offer to take her home, but he knew Lydia wouldn’t have it.
He was so focused that, as he finished, he had no idea how long she had been standing behind him, watching. Shaking his head, he began bandaging the little girl’s arm. “There are no guarantees, of course, but I’ve seen much worse. If your children have your hardy constitution, I’m sure she’ll be quite all right soon enough.” He tucked the girl securely into bed. “Give her water if she’ll take it, a touch of brandy, perhaps, if you have any. Nothing more solid than soup until she’s completely alert again.”
Lydia bowed her head, eyes closing as she took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you how grateful I…”
“Ssh.” He began gathering his supplies. Very softly, trying not to disturb any of the children, he looked up at the woman standing before him. “Of course I came. I only wish…”
“Hush, now, Dr. Charles. I told you to stop asking. I’ll make do without being a burden to my friends.” Using a small apron, she dabbed at her eyes, tearing a little in the uncertain light, the dying fire and the tiny lamp barely keeping the black night at bay.
“Helping a friend is hardly a burden, Lydia, but I’ll not force you to accept it.” He straightened, snapping his bag shut. “How are you keeping, yourself?”
She took a deep breath and smiled at him a little, moving to resume her seat beside her daughter. “I am well enough. Working so much I hardly see the children, but Lizzie’s a fair angel. I got Tom an apprenticeship, to a good firm, so he’ll be off Monday week.” Her face softened, a bit of her true youth showing through. He could remember how beautiful Lydia had been once, in another life. “And you, Andrew? How are you and Mercy?”
“She’s well enough. I think it bothers her we’ve had no children yet, but it only pains me because it pains her. I would never expect such a thing.” He leaned on the hearth, watching his young patient for a moment. “I’ve just secured an excellent position however; I’m the house surgeon for Mr. Fogg, in his asylum. After Bedlam, it’s the best in the city, you know.”
Lydia smiled. “Good for you. I knew you’d make a lovely doctor some day, Andrew – you always were the quickest boy in your form.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he looked back to Lydia, his gray eyes still gentle. “I’m a country boy who managed to have a touch of good fortune, no more. But Mr. Fogg has been very kind indeed.”
The wind stopped. They hadn’t noticed before the pause, but now the moaning wind had fallen silent just as the two within had done, and the night was still. The silence filled up the shadows of the house, lurking to overtake them as surely as the darkness.
Finally, Andrew said, “I should be on my way. I’ll hire a coach back if I can find one.” He pulled his coat back around him, and retrieved his hat from the low table. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, I pray, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“All right.” Lydia stood and dipped into a curtsey, echoing her daughter’s. “God bless you, Andrew.”
“And you, Lydia.” He turned and opened the door and stopped short.
The lamps in this part of the street had mostly blown out, though he could see the bobbing spark of the lamplighter scurrying down the street. But it was no longer black. The sky was lit with a ruddy false dawn, and a brittle sound, like someone breaking bundles of sticks, indicated that there was a fire not far off. “Good god,” the doctor breathed.
Just then a large police coach went tearing by, lamp bobbing precariously before them. Several people were following on foot, rushing after them. Lydia had come to the door, watching in concern as Andrew caught the attention of one of the men.
“What has happened? What’s going on?”
“Gov, ‘aven’t ye ‘eard? The city’s gone mad, that’s wot; lunitics’ escaped from Fogg’s, and now there’s a pie shop ‘as caught fire. Word’s there was grizzly stuff a-going about there, but none knows fer sure, gov’ner.” The small, dark man lifted has cap and then dashed off, eager to catch up.
Andrew looked back up at Lydia, horrified, before touching his hat and dashing off after the mob. He was sure Mr. Fogg would be able to explain everything once he got to the asylum, but meanwhile, he hurried on through the night; the silence broken by the shouting of the mob in the distance, the blackness broken by the sinister ruddy glow beckoning the young doctor on.
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Date: 2006-03-17 07:25 am (UTC)