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dolevalanTitle: Out of the Past
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: O.C. point of view, mentions of Todd, Lovett, and Lucy
Prompt: 065, Passing
Word Count: 673
Rating: G
Summary: People pass one another in the streets of London every day.
Author's Notes: Two prompts in one! How exciting. I originally wrote this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
15minuteficlets, word 150, but some Sweeney fic popped out. I spent a little more time polishing up and expanding it a tiny bit, because I wanted to fix some things before I posted it. I hope it isn't too confusing.
ETA: It's also the 25th of these fics, for those keeping track; I'm a quarter of the way there.
He had never expected to see him again. They’d not properly said goodbye; of course they hadn’t, as he'd later learned the man had been arrested with no warning and shoved off to the underside of the world as soon as the legal system could toss him there. It seemed everything connected with this man came to him later, by hearsay, though he had only himself to blame, he supposed. And even if the barber had known, beforehand, that he was likely to go (which he most certainly had not), they probably would not have said farewell in any event. It could not, after all, be said that they were especially close. Not in the conventional sense, at the very least. No, their relationship was a bit trickier than that.
If he had ever expected to see the barber again, it certainly would not have been while wandering through St. Dunstan’s market. A middle aged gentleman positively did not do his own shopping, but then again, convicts shipped to Botany Bay on a life term did not wander the public squares in central London, either. Which is why, at first, Mr. Carlyle was certain he’d made a mistake.
It was the woman who had made him sure. Discreetly, he trailed behind the pair, noting a well cared-for, if antique-looking case under the man’s arm. The woman leaned in, touching his elbow every so often as if for support, leaning in to murmur in his ear in the telltale fashion suited more to a young girl than to a woman with streaks of silver in her auburn hair, though her companion seemed to take no notice of her manner or its irregularity. Mr. Carlyle was tempted to smile; the baker’s wife hadn’t changed much since he’d last seen her, though he would be willing to wager that she was no longer a wife; not the baker’s, certainly, at the very least.
He realized, of course, how relatively conspicuous he was making himself, but he didn’t especially mind, for the present. An established, respectable bachelor could afford a few harmless eccentricities, and one of his was indulging his own curiosity. He had never cared for Mr. Barker, per se, but, to be fair, that was no fault of the barber’s; indeed, it was more a confounded bafflement as to why his sister, with a face like hers, had chosen to remain exactly where she was when, with her brother’s rapidly improving connections and her beauty, she could have moved up in the world substantially. Instead…
Shaking his head, he slipped off to one side, allowing him a glimpse of the man’s profile. He had been altered, of course, and badly altered from the look of it. However, there was no mistaking Mrs. Lovett, and now Mr. Carlyle was close enough to hear Mr. Barker speak, even if he couldn’t make out the words. The voice was his final proof; the low, powerful tone had been one of Lucy’s favorite things about her husband, and though the quality was perhaps even more altered than the once kind, open face, it removed Mr. Carlyle’s last doubts. How it came to be, he knew nothing of; all he knew was that, against all odds to the contrary, he was less than a yard away from the man who had loved, married, and utterly ruined Lucy.
No one would have begrudged him some revenge; all he needed was a word to rid London once and for all of the unlucky man whose foolishness had killed his sister. But as he watched the stony, changed man, it was as clear as day that any such foolishness had, itself, long since died. And had he not, himself, cut his sister…no. Regrets and revenge he would leave to other men.
Mr. Carlyle turned away amid the sounds of salesmen hawking their wares and curious spectators tittering to one another, the sun slipping into a gray glove of clouds. And he firmly, in both resolution and body, left the ill-fated barber behind him.
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: O.C. point of view, mentions of Todd, Lovett, and Lucy
Prompt: 065, Passing
Word Count: 673
Rating: G
Summary: People pass one another in the streets of London every day.
Author's Notes: Two prompts in one! How exciting. I originally wrote this for
15minuteficlets, word 150, but some Sweeney fic popped out. I spent a little more time polishing up and expanding it a tiny bit, because I wanted to fix some things before I posted it. I hope it isn't too confusing.ETA: It's also the 25th of these fics, for those keeping track; I'm a quarter of the way there.
He had never expected to see him again. They’d not properly said goodbye; of course they hadn’t, as he'd later learned the man had been arrested with no warning and shoved off to the underside of the world as soon as the legal system could toss him there. It seemed everything connected with this man came to him later, by hearsay, though he had only himself to blame, he supposed. And even if the barber had known, beforehand, that he was likely to go (which he most certainly had not), they probably would not have said farewell in any event. It could not, after all, be said that they were especially close. Not in the conventional sense, at the very least. No, their relationship was a bit trickier than that.
If he had ever expected to see the barber again, it certainly would not have been while wandering through St. Dunstan’s market. A middle aged gentleman positively did not do his own shopping, but then again, convicts shipped to Botany Bay on a life term did not wander the public squares in central London, either. Which is why, at first, Mr. Carlyle was certain he’d made a mistake.
It was the woman who had made him sure. Discreetly, he trailed behind the pair, noting a well cared-for, if antique-looking case under the man’s arm. The woman leaned in, touching his elbow every so often as if for support, leaning in to murmur in his ear in the telltale fashion suited more to a young girl than to a woman with streaks of silver in her auburn hair, though her companion seemed to take no notice of her manner or its irregularity. Mr. Carlyle was tempted to smile; the baker’s wife hadn’t changed much since he’d last seen her, though he would be willing to wager that she was no longer a wife; not the baker’s, certainly, at the very least.
He realized, of course, how relatively conspicuous he was making himself, but he didn’t especially mind, for the present. An established, respectable bachelor could afford a few harmless eccentricities, and one of his was indulging his own curiosity. He had never cared for Mr. Barker, per se, but, to be fair, that was no fault of the barber’s; indeed, it was more a confounded bafflement as to why his sister, with a face like hers, had chosen to remain exactly where she was when, with her brother’s rapidly improving connections and her beauty, she could have moved up in the world substantially. Instead…
Shaking his head, he slipped off to one side, allowing him a glimpse of the man’s profile. He had been altered, of course, and badly altered from the look of it. However, there was no mistaking Mrs. Lovett, and now Mr. Carlyle was close enough to hear Mr. Barker speak, even if he couldn’t make out the words. The voice was his final proof; the low, powerful tone had been one of Lucy’s favorite things about her husband, and though the quality was perhaps even more altered than the once kind, open face, it removed Mr. Carlyle’s last doubts. How it came to be, he knew nothing of; all he knew was that, against all odds to the contrary, he was less than a yard away from the man who had loved, married, and utterly ruined Lucy.
No one would have begrudged him some revenge; all he needed was a word to rid London once and for all of the unlucky man whose foolishness had killed his sister. But as he watched the stony, changed man, it was as clear as day that any such foolishness had, itself, long since died. And had he not, himself, cut his sister…no. Regrets and revenge he would leave to other men.
Mr. Carlyle turned away amid the sounds of salesmen hawking their wares and curious spectators tittering to one another, the sun slipping into a gray glove of clouds. And he firmly, in both resolution and body, left the ill-fated barber behind him.
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