dolevalan | Fanfic 100 - 005, Outsides

Title: Five People Lucy Barker Spoke with While She Was 'Insane'
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: Lucy Barker, Fred, Anthony Hope, Judge Turpin
Prompt: 005, Outsides
Word Count: 870
Rating: PG-13
Summary: As the title says
Author's Notes: Written for

assimbya

1) She couldn’t remember, precisely, why she returned to Fleet Street. There was something there that drew her, but she could only get it in bits, and it tired her so much, trying to work things out. So she didn’t question it, just allowing herself to go there, like a leaf in the wind. It was so easy to just do things without fretting over the why of it.

But like a leaf, she couldn’t linger in one place long. She circled, and twisted between streets, and she met the others. Other people, tracing the streets in circles, never resting one place for very long. She learned which ones were safe.

“Morning sir,” she would say shyly.

“Morning, mum,” he’d always say, polite, and the birds would always twitter at her, wishing her a good one.

They’d talk about the weather, sometimes, or the birds. But she’d never follow him to Tierney’s lane for very long. Not at all, the first few years. It was a place she couldn’t linger, and he never said a word about it.

2) “Remember the poor, sir,” she implored, head clearer than usual today. She reached out a slender arm to the young gentleman walking past with a Christmas wreath tucked under his arm.

He stopped and looked at her, really looked, in a way that no one ever did. He pulled a half crown from his pocket and said, earnestly, “Merry Christmas, mum.”

She willed herself not to shake as she took it from him, from cold or fear. “Thank you kindly, sir. Thank you.”

He smiled, and though she knew he was a stranger, the cold-flushed glow seemed like a memory from brighter times. “It’s a time of year for remembering the poor, more than most. I always – ”

“Fred!” A glowing young woman came running up. “We’ll be late for our own party, darling!”

“Coming, Clara.” He smiled and said once more, “Merry Christmas,” before moving off with his beautiful young wife. Lucy watched them go, trying to remember why watching them made her sad.

3) The docks were a good place to get coin, and when should could think half straight, she’d head for the smell of water. There were other beggars about, hoping to profit from the generosity of sailors who’d just been paid and superstitious travelers hoping to buy favored luck with a bit of charity. Her thin, high plea for alms mingled with a host of other voices, beggars and hawkers and mates calling “All aboard!”

A young boy nearly ran into her. He had a large duffel bag slung across his back and nearly toppled backwards to avoid hitting the woman before him. “Sorry, sorry mum.” He caught his balance and smiled. “When I come back, I’ll give you a whole guinea. For almost knocking you down.”

She murmured “Thank you, kindly…” and trailed off. He was such a sweet child. She’d had a child, she knew. Or was that a dream? She began to hum a bit, absently. He looked a little unsettled, but gave her a tentative bow, then took off for his ship again. Lucy didn’t notice, drawing her tattered shawl closer as he ran up the gangplank of the Bountiful.

4) The young man caught her off guard. “Hey there, pretty lady. Where’re y’off to in such a right hurry, then?” His hand was around her arm, and his other at his chin, forcing her chin up. “Too pretty a lady to be a beggar, that’s for right sure. No one ever told you what you can sell to earn a bit o’coin, eh?” He was drunk, she could smell it, and a soft, tinkling song began to creak to life in her head.

He kissed her, and she struggled at first, but then something seemed to click into place, and she was kissing him back. He leered against her lips, and murmured “Givin’ it away for free, lovey, that’s what’ll make you a beggar…”

She ground herself against him. “Don’t ye like what ye see, sir? Or do ye need to see more?” The voice that came out was harsh and rough and not her own. She didn’t know whose it was.

He pulled her out of the gas light into an alley, and she didn’t resist him. The person who owned the voice seemed to be enjoying herself. Lucy watched the whole thing in puzzlement.

5) “Alms, sir, alms for a pitiful woman,” she said, her voice almost a question. She reached a small hand up to the man passing by. He glanced down at her, seeming to hesitate for just a moment. Everything about him gleamed with careless riches, and he looked at her as if she were a piece of furniture somehow out of place in a familiar room.

Something in his face caught at her memory, like a small hand tugging her skirt. “Hey… don’t I know you, mister?” she asked, hesitantly, afraid without knowing why.

“Not unless you were up for transportation, woman,” he said, briskly. “But no. I pride myself on remembering the faces of those I try. I’m sure I’ve never seen you before in my life.” And Judge Turpin turned and walked away.