Ghosts of Fleet Street

[l u c i d `]

She sniffed, turning to look as he placed them in the musty dresser.

“And why not?” she asked with a small tilt of her head. “I can’t take them. And if you won’t, then I know someone who will..” she cringed inwardly at the thought of having to give the things over to Edward Quinn but she really did not want them here. Especially if people knew. She would have too much trouble on her hands..

[Egyptian Myth]

He paused half way to the door, frowning, eyes narrowing as he looked to her now. He hated the idea of the razors going to anyone else, anyone. He hated it enough that he'd kill anyone who took them.. but he shook his head, shaking the thought from his mind. He shouldn't consider such things. He stared at the floor again, struggling to think of a sensible way to keep them safe, but nothing came to him.
Well, there was one thing, but there was no way she'd let him stay here. She didn't know him. He had nothing to pay her with. He had nothing; he was nothing. It was enough that she had let him in to see them in the first place. He glanced towards the glistening blades sorrowfully. There was nothing else for him, there would never be anything more for him. He walked back to the box, carefully picking up one of the razors and staring at it. A faint, mournful smile played onto his lips. "... I think if you make me into a pie, no one will ever have to suspect a thing." He raised the blade above his wrist.

[l u c i d `]

((=_____= Pie.))

Her eyes widened and flashed with panic at the sight of the blade hovering over his wrist and her insides squirmed in distress. Her all ready pale face grew even paler and she was struggling with the idea of running over and snatching the razor from his hand. Again, the word “death utensil” seemed to strike a chord with her and she let out a small, sharp breath.

“No, don't-- AGH! NO!” her voice squeaked as she stamped her foot, shuddering at the idea of both his suicide and meat pie. “Pie -- You -- UGH!” words failed her and she shook her head, opening her mouth then shutting it as no sound escaped her lips. It dawned on her that he was blackmailing her. He couldn’t keep the razors, he wouldn’t take them, yet the very mention of letting someone else have them made him threaten suicide. The more she had studied him before this sudden turn of events, she came to the silent conclusion earlier that perhaps he was homeless. And the only way he could keep the razors was if he had a place to stay.

The idea of letting him live here just slightly frightened her but only because she didn’t know him.

“If I let you live here…” she said after a quickly made decision, “will you please not kill yourself? I don’t think I could handle seeing someone die again..” her brows knitted together as her small hands curled into tight fists. She scowled at him gently, not upset that he had blackmailed her but because he was so desperate enough to keep those razors that he would threaten to kill himself over them.

And perhaps that’s why she was giving them to him anyways.

“What’s your name?” she asked abruptly. “Since you're.. living here now and what not..." it was hard to digest the idea. This was going to become another Sweeney and Lovett story.. but she would be damned if she would be shoved into an oven.

[Egyptian Myth]

( .. It wasn't a threat... There was just nothing else to live for. -Smiles.- )

He jumped slightly at her outburst, but didn't look at her. The blade started coming down but stopped less than a centimeter from his wrist at her proposition. He frowned, holding it there a moment longer as if still considering, then finally let his threatened hand drop to his side. He stared at the shining razor that remained in his other hand, then looked to her.

His dark eyes, no less hopeless than they had been a minute ago, studied her; the expression holding her face, what her eyes showed of her thoughts - her curved frame, mildly unkept hair, and fragile skin.
"..... Hollow.. Simon Hollow."
He didn't ask for hers; she'd give it if she felt it important to know, but he didn't particularly care. His gaze wandered again around the room, thoughtful. Starting a barber shop in Sweeney Todd's old place... Business would be very slow to begin with, and might slow down further once people heard of his skill. But perhaps when suspicion died down he could make steady money. He looked out the window, lost in thought now.

[l u c i d `]

((=______= That's okay. At least it got us to the point where Simon is living there now.. I STILL DON'T LIKE IT! AND ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU SMILE LIKE THAT!!))

She glared for at him for a few moments, the scowl lingering on her face before she looked away. She seemed suddenly more weary then she had before, as if this whole ordeal had taken a lot out of her, "I suppose it's nice to meet you, Mr. Hollow." she didn't bother with her name. If he wanted to know, he would ask.

She let out a small sigh, itching her hair before letting her hand drop away listlessly.

"Everyone is going to think that we're just like Lovett and Sweeney," she said, eyes flashing with distaste. She gazed down at the razor in his hand and raised a brow, the accusations written across her face.

[Egyptian Myth]

His gaze remained out the window. Silence. He looked to the box of razors, setting the one in his hand back in. He then reached into each pocket to pull out his old, rusted blades that now seemed even less reliable in comparison to Sweeney's, staring at them almost nostalgically before setting them on the dresser. He picked out two blades from the box and put one in each pocket, then moving to the coat rack in the corner and hanging his top hat there. Staring out the window again, he rubbed his arm - either in a habit of cold or awkwardness, it couldn't be told which.

He wondered what he was to do now. Would this new Lovett advertise for him downstairs, or would he have to do so himself? It couldn't hurt to wander around a little... but tomorrow; it was late now. His empty gaze flickered to the woman, slightly questioning although no specific question was clear. Despite the hatred always at least subtly present in his eyes, at times he seemed so innocent and unsure.

[l u c i d `]

She blinked at his expression then waved an airy hand, saying as she did so, "I'm going to go back downstairs. I have to get up early in the morning..." she trailed off, pursing her lips for a moment. "If you need anything, just.. let me know.." she gave a small shrug before crossing the dusty floor and disappearing out into the darkness.

She climbed down the stairs once more, grabbing a bit of her dress and holding it up as she did so. As she descended the last step, she grabbed her broom and slipped back inside her shop, wondering vaguely if she should lock the door. She sighed loudly at herself before she set the broom down and stalked back into the living room-like section, arms crossed tightly against her chest once more. She plopped down on the couch in front of the crackling fire and gazed into it, her face blank.

"I'm going to get murdered, honestly," she said to herself, her voice barely even audible.

[Egyptian Myth]

He watched her leave, expression unchanging until he heard the side door downstairs shut. He looked out the window briefly before walking to the ragged bed in the corner that looked like it could collapse at any second. Simon stared at the bed, eyes narrowed as he tried to remember the last time he had slept in one. Sitting on it for a minute, he then lifted one leg and the other onto the uncomfortable, noisy mattress, then lying on his back.

He knew he wouldn't sleep, even in a bed. So he spent some time studying the spiders on the ceiling, eventually rolling over and closing his eyes as if he were sleeping. The candle that had already been short eventually died some time in the night, leaving the room in pitch blackness until the dark outside grew into a slightly lighter gloom in the morning. Around then he fell into light half-sleep, which was the best sleep he ever got on the occasions he managed; Mr. Hollow was most awake at night.