Fanfic 100 - 090 Home
Nov. 7th, 2005 09:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: The Way
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: Tobias, Mrs. Lovett
Prompt: 090, Home
Word Count: 303
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Short and sweet. I just had a hankering to write a bit of Toby this morning.
It was a hundred little things. The way she smiled. How she called him “Toby,” and never “boy” or “son” or “you.” Sometimes she’d call him her Toby, or “Toby, love.” It was the way she made him special pies, just for him. The way she always had a bonbon ready as a little treat. The way she sparkled and laughed and was full of life in a way no one else he’d ever known had ever been. It
was her joy.
It was his room, small and bare as it was – it was a whole room, just for him. A place that was his. It was the salary she gave him in addition to room and board; he had never had any sort of pocket money before. He didn’t know what to spend it on, so he mostly just collected it under his mattress and was happy to know it was there.
It was the way she wasn’t Signor Pirelli. She didn’t fly into rages. She never hurt him to make a point. She didn’t make him lie to sell more. She wouldn’t force him to stay up all night and guard the supplies while sleeping soundly and deeply. She didn’t use him to take out anger at the world, or to try and trick nice, innocent people. The only person he’d ever seen her raise her voice to was the old beggar woman, and even she couldn’t totally break the good cheer that hung around Mrs. Lovett.
It was the way she wasn’t his father. The way she didn’t drink herself into stupors, or throw shoes at him. She didn’t willfully misinterpret everything he did to include laziness or malice. She wouldn’t leave him to fend for himself.
Toby had lived in lots of places. But she was his first home.
Fandom: Sweeney Todd
Characters: Tobias, Mrs. Lovett
Prompt: 090, Home
Word Count: 303
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Short and sweet. I just had a hankering to write a bit of Toby this morning.
It was a hundred little things. The way she smiled. How she called him “Toby,” and never “boy” or “son” or “you.” Sometimes she’d call him her Toby, or “Toby, love.” It was the way she made him special pies, just for him. The way she always had a bonbon ready as a little treat. The way she sparkled and laughed and was full of life in a way no one else he’d ever known had ever been. It
was her joy.
It was his room, small and bare as it was – it was a whole room, just for him. A place that was his. It was the salary she gave him in addition to room and board; he had never had any sort of pocket money before. He didn’t know what to spend it on, so he mostly just collected it under his mattress and was happy to know it was there.
It was the way she wasn’t Signor Pirelli. She didn’t fly into rages. She never hurt him to make a point. She didn’t make him lie to sell more. She wouldn’t force him to stay up all night and guard the supplies while sleeping soundly and deeply. She didn’t use him to take out anger at the world, or to try and trick nice, innocent people. The only person he’d ever seen her raise her voice to was the old beggar woman, and even she couldn’t totally break the good cheer that hung around Mrs. Lovett.
It was the way she wasn’t his father. The way she didn’t drink herself into stupors, or throw shoes at him. She didn’t willfully misinterpret everything he did to include laziness or malice. She wouldn’t leave him to fend for himself.
Toby had lived in lots of places. But she was his first home.
