InsaneJournal

Really what had taken Petit the longest was the printouts, she knew quite a bit of the facts and the trivia, but written proof never went amiss as far as she was concerned.
  All in all it was about fifteen or twenty minutes before she stepped out of the shadows at one end of Fleet street, adjusting the strap on her bag.  She had a couple different maps, but she wasn't sure if either of them lined up with the way things actually were here.
 
The stout building with the large window in the loft was somewhere near four blocks in from that end of the street, and from it peered a ghostly white man who had successfully moved all the furniture that had been up in the loft downstairs to what had been converted into a living area. Apparently, the pie shop had long since disappeared and it was a quaint little home, which didn't suit his tastes whatsoever, so he fairly much ignored it. Sweeney was busy arranging things, not exactly as they had been, but close enough to a sense of normalcy all night, so he may have seemed a bit more pale than usual.
 Which was saying a lot.
 The door to the second floor was open, however, and he'd hung a sign in the window 'Open for business', just to alert what few customers he'd garnered in his first day of being around that he was as ready for them as he'd ever get.

Petit grinned when she spotted it, hoisting enough of her skirt up out of the way that she wouldn't trip on it bounding up the stairs, she'd only been able to find one hitch-clip for it, which while helpful for walking, wasn't quite enough for stairs.
  She knocked on the doorframe as she leaned around the open door, "Hello?"

He turned to the door and nodded, "You're the lady from the... whatever it's called, the journal, yes?" He asked, wandering from his place at the window to greet her properly, offering his hand once he reached her. "Sweeney Todd, ever a pleasure. Come, sit."

She was still grinning as she accepted the hand, bobbing a curtsey, "That's me, yes, Petit Lapan LeBeau, and I have to say it's a distinct honor to meet you."

The first thing he noted was her eyes, but then it was the dress and the name and the accent. "The pretty little bunny." He said with a slight tone of amusement before pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand, bowing as he did. "Please, no honors are needed." He said, the grim look on his face giving way to only the smallest hint of a smile. "I'm only but a man." He led her to a seat, a small fainting couch beside the wall. "Though you did surprise me when you said there's history behind my name."

She couldn't help but smile at that, nodding, "Exactly, though my theory is that I was named after a brand of liquor.  My parents weren't that good with the naming of stuff."
  She nodded again, shrugging out of her bag and setting it down so she could drag the veritable sheaf of printouts out of it, "Oh yeah.  Loads.  It's been... well, quite some time since you died."

His brows crept up at the printouts, then he turned his attention back to her. "Around a hundred and sixty years, more or less. Things have changed." He blinked a few times, "My apologies, but I've done quite a bit of travelling and I still can't place your accent." It would bother him until he knew.
Sterling: "Watered down Louisiana French-Creole."  She shrugged, "Rest of the family's got more of it, don't really know how I managed not to have it stick.  I also have this really bad habit of picking up accents from people around me, it was a wonder anyone could understand me at all when I was living here."

He nodded with a whispered, "Ah." And turned his attention back to the printouts, "May I have a look?" He asked. Here he was, in a world he wouldn't have ever dreamed the future to look like, and he wanted to see what that world thought of him. "I'm sure they didn't document what happened very thoroughly. Nobody could have." He murmured, mostly to himself.

She smiled, handing them over, "A lot of it was guesswork, and that's only gotten compounded over the years, theories built on theories built on flimsy evidence and a whole lot of 'might have gone like this'"
  The smile went even more crooked, "Serial killers are always hot news though, and have somewhat cyclical popularity."

"Yes, that's how it's always been." Said Todd, his eyes wandering over the pages before finally settling into reading. "Says here that I was a portly man, balding." He raised a brow. "With a scar runnin' down my left cheek from a brawl I got into in Australia." There was a twitch of a smile once more, "And here's one that says I was short an' firey, most likely Irish. Killed only fourteen? Peh." He tossed those aside and found himself at Sondheim. And there he stayed. "Really, they'll write plays about anything."

She shrugged, smiling again, "So they will, and you can hardly expect them to get facts right, I mean, look at Anne Bonney, first off nobody can even agree how her name is supposed to be spelled, and according to all reports she was a five foot, towering woman with short dark hair and a long sandy queue down her back who often flashed opponnents to throw them off but never revealed the fact that she was a woman."

And there it was, a real smile as he leaned back into the seat and continued reading, "Well, Miss Bonney was a noble lady of dubious nature, can't always get pirates down right." He was more focused on reading, then, and paused. "A... musical." He looked over the sheets at the young lady, "Actually quite fitting, and very much true, for what this writer's got down." He thought for a moment. "I might have to meet this Sondheim fellow."
 He set the papers aside, "Thank you for that, a man is never whole without his ego. So, have you any questions before I start asking my own?"

 She grinned again, "The musical's actually pretty awesome when it's done right, I've seen a couple of really really terrible productions, and they just started doing a revival that's like, totally spartan and the orchestra is the cast and I haven't had a chance to see that one yet, but it sounds awesome."
  She paused then, realizing she'd been talking without breathing again, "And I did have, but damned if I can remember any of them now, so, uh, ask away."

He was used to that from Lovett, actually. She tended to ramble without taking a breath and he always was half-waiting for her to pass out from lack of air. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and the first question was, "Why look up to a man out for revenge? A murderous barber which slaughtered over three dozen men? Surely, there are better role models than me floating around, in this day and age." He wouldn't have looked up to him if he were in her shoes.

She shrugged, "You had style.  I mean, lot of people out for revenge make a real mess of things, real damn mess."  She shook her head, "And there's worse things than revenge to kill people over."  There was a wry smile, "And given as how I come from a long line of villians, so to speak, there's a lot worse role models I could have had too."

He took that into consideration, tapping his chin, then shrugged it off, "Suppose there are." He said finally. "Well, that's the most personal question I've got. You said you might be able to help me understand the world in which I live now, and I said I might take you up on that. I will. But first, I've a small favor to ask." He stood then, wandering towards the small table behind the one chair, and pulled from its case, the only remaining razor of the four. "I need someone to find my friend's sisters." He said, offering Petit a look at the handle.

She smiled again, slow and easy and just as predatory as she ever got, even moreso than when she was cleaning up, "I'm good at finding things."  She shook her head then, fingers brushing against the design on the handle, "And you have no idea how long I've been looking for these.  Is it four, six or seven?"  Something else that there hadn't ever been agreement on, but those were the numbers that came up most often.

The design was of a mourning woman, whispy and windblown and flowing. He crouched down beside Petit, offering the razor for a closer inspection. "Four. Though if you can find only two more, I'll consider it a job well done. And if you find all three of her missing sisters, I'll consider it a miracle. And might possibly offer you a job. Of course, there's the discussion of price..." He said, his voice low, almost conspiring. "You can name it, I would be glad to pay any price whatsoever for the return of my..." He paused in his words and looked up at her, "Friends."

Petit's smile had just gotten ever more sharp.  It was an expression most people only saw once, twice if they were lucky or she was having a good day, "If I can sell two houses and a winecellar in this market, I'm pretty sure I can find the rest of the ladies."  She shrugged, "It's all a matter of resources and angle."

He slipped away, razor with him, and he put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it, Petit." He wandered away to put the razor back in her case. "Simple enough a task, but it'll be like finding a needle in a haystack. I will settle for just the handles, I can always refit them with blades." He turned, and there was a grim, sharp smile. "I've only just realized that I've inherited a rather large estate just north of London, heaven only knows why or how, but from what I've seen of my newly aquired life thus far, it seems I'm in the market of antiques. It can be your pick of the lot, I don't need a large home, or a great deal of posessions to make me happy."

She browarched then, fingers drumming against the edge of the seat a moment, "Sounds fair."  A shrug, fishing one of the plates out of her bag, "But if you've got a set of these, we'll call it an even trade.  The ones I'm looking for are stamped steel, not enamelled like these, pattern's ivy and honeysuckle."  A shrug, "They got left behind when I got sucked here, and I've been waiting for them to show up since."

He seemed to be amused. "Plates?" He asked. It was an odd weapon, sure, but then again, he really wasn't in any position to talk. "I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for them, Miss LeBeau." He blinked, "Well, other than in the pantry. But not for anything like what you're asking for. We could take a short trip over to that house and have a look around. Was planning on taking Mrs. Lovett over there tonight just to see what we could pawn off."

She shrugged, "That's where they're usually kept, actually.  China cabinet for enamelled ones like this.  These are for show-throwing though, mine were for everyday work."
  A grin, "I'm not opposed to taking a look though, if you don't mind.  And I can tell you the story of why plates on the way."

He walked over to twist the sign around to read 'closed' and he took up his jacket. "Always one for a story." He said, offering his hand to her to help her up. "And might I be so bold as to say that is a stunning dress."
 Well, for him, it was. More stunning that she was wearing it, though.

She smiled again, shouldering her bag once more, "Why thank you, it's my adventuring dress.  Though, honestly, I should probably stop wearing it because the sheer number of times I've been kidnapped or shot at while wearing the damn thing is astronomical compared to the number of times that nothing's happened."

"You do have that Damsel in Distress look about you." Sweeney pointed out as he pulled out the key from his pocket, and led her to the door. He locked up behind them, and then started down the stairs, humming to himself. Not that he read the score of his own musical, but it was No Place like London, oddly enough.

She shrugged, "S'just to throw people off, really.  Resources and angle."  Once they were on the street she said, "So, the plates.  Story goes that way back when, when Gypsies still roamed more or less freely, some king took it into his head that he wanted a Gypsy princess for a wife.  He figured the best way to do this was by killing her family and sweeping her off to his palace."

He nodded to that, staying fairly quiet, though he did offer his arm as they walked, and he walked closer to the street than she, just out of habit. His eyes were fixed ahead of him, and it may have seemed like he wasn't listening, but he was. He'd seen the busses and knew of the Underground, but didn't attempt to find his way to either a bus stop or a tunnel. He also didn't trust himself with a vehicle, they seemed to be too fast.

And Petit was just fine with walking, grinning again as she took the offered arm, she walked most places anyway, though generally through the Backstage, "So anyway, she plays he meek and proper princess the whole trip, even until they get back to his palace, she informs him that it's tradition in her clan for the new bride to prepare the wedding night-dinner and that they aren't properly wed until this has happened, so, reluctantly, he agrees."
curiouslygaian: He nodded and his brow furrowed as he already smelled traitor in the story, though a flicker of a smile showed a moment later. He was jumping three steps ahead in the story as he listened, as he so often did. Made for a fun little game in his mind to guess the outcome.
 He paused at a crosswalk and watched the cars go by, watched the other pedestrians who in turn gave him odd looks. He was certain it was due to his clothes.

Petit, being who she was, just beamed and waved at them before starting out across the crosswalk as soon as the light changed, keeping her arm looped through Sweeney's, "So anyway, dinner's set with the king at the head of the table and his new wife at the foot, and the royal guard sent away because that was part of the tradition as well, and she gives him a full on flattering, flowery speech and picks her plate up off the table, and light as a dancer steps up onto her chair and lets it fly."
  She shrugged, "Some tellings have the plate getting lodged in the back of his chair with his head on it like some bizarre rendition of John the Baptist, others have the plate going clean through and lodging in the far wall, and my favorite has it taking his head off above the eyes instead of at the neck and the would-be wife having his brain for dinner before slipping away in the dark never to be seen again."

The end of the story -- or more truthfully, her favorite version of it -- was what got a smile from him again. "Oh, that is a good story. I approve of plates." He decided immediately, before he paused in their walking and his brow furrowed, "This city grew too big for its own good, my dear."

She nodded, "And that's why it's tradition for the girls in my clan to learn to throw the plates.  And cities have a habit of doing that.  Especially the ones with history."

Sweeney huffed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really would rather not take one of those carriages." He muttered. "But it seems now that I have no choice. Walking the whole way would take hours."

She grinned then, "Whereabouts is it?  I can probably get us there in just a few minutes.  Or close, at least."

He moved his head, hand still on his forehead, to face her, "And how do you propose to do that?" He was suspicious. Very suspicious. And probably more paranoid than he wanted to let on.

As well he should be!  Especially after a story like that!
  She shrugged, "Just a little trick I picked up.  Here, practical demonstration's always best.  Wait here."  She slipped into the shadows between buildings then, emerging further up the block and waving.

That was a rather impressive trick and he raised both brows, walking up to her, still suspicious. "I'll be damned. How'd you do that?" He asked, before giving her the address and closest approximation to what he remembered there was in the area back in his time.

"I'd call it magic, but it's actually mostly genetics."  She shrugged, "Cells evolve and mutate with each new generation as it is, but sometimes they do so all at once.  I'm one of those."
  She took his arm once more, "Might want to close your eyes for the first part, it's disorienting."  It was easy enough to pull them both through, after that it was just finding the right direction.

He closed his eyes and when he opened them up to the Backstage, he huffed what could have been construed as a chuckle. "S'a very strange bit of magic, but I'm guessing from your brief explanation that your eyes also are related to it." He walked beside her, looking around them, trying to sort out exactly where it was that they were in relation to the real world. That didn't work.

She smiled again, "Got it in one, c'mon, this way."  For all of about fifteen feet, "This should do it."  She squinted to see what was going on outside, "Have to wait for the schoolkids to pass.  Give it a minute."  Or ten seconds, give or take."  She grinned again, stepping them both back out into the normal side of things again, "And here we are."

He looked around and got a crooked smile to the whole thing. "Hm. Well, that certainly makes things more safe to travel, all 'round." He pointed them in the right direction and only about a block later, they were at a gate before a house, which was rather Victorian in itself, but still well too large for his own desires. "Here we are, Miss LeBeau." He fished his keys out once more and unlocked the gate, then started up the stairs to the door, unlocking that as well. "Sweeney Todd, the Antiques Dealer. Just doesn't have a ring to it, wot?" He stepped in, and looked around, giving the whole place a thorough sneer of dislike.

She shrugged, following him in and taking a quick glance around herself, "Oh I don't know, there's worse things to have your name associated with.  Politics for instance.  Or professional wrestling."  Which were sometimes the same thing in her opinion.

He shrugged that off, "Rather be known this time 'round as I've always been." Even when he was Benjamin Barker, he was a barber, and that would never, ever change. He slipped into the kitchen, then to the pantry, scanning it for any sign of plates, then back out to the dining room, where he examined the chairs and table, the paintings on the wall, tallying up what they'd go for in his time. "Miss LeBeau, what's an oil painting this size go for, these days?" He asked, motioning to one of the pictures on the wall.

She padded in, moving nearly silently, old habits were easy to drop back into at times like these.  She eyed it from a distance at first, then shrugged, "Depends on who did it and who's buying usually, but if you're selling to the born-again yuppies it's pretty easy to convince them of anything, and they pay a pretty hefty chunk of change."

He nodded then, "Well there you have it." He turned to her, after looking at the painting for a moment. "I'll be getting rid of all of it. None of this suits me, none of it's worth my time." He left the dining room and headed to the parlor, looking just as grim as ever as he opened every drawer in the desk, every cupboard in the shelves. There wouldn't be any doubt in anyone's mind what he was looking for.

Petit's smile tilted, "I'm just as good at getting rid of things as I am at finding them."  She said with a shrug, "If you need help clearing things out."  Her nose wrinkled a moment later, "I wound up in a house full of all the latest in entertainment technology.  Didn't suit me either."

"Mm." He muttered. He'd heard her, yes, but he was busy. He was looking for the razors, and if any were in the house, he'd find them before they left. "Sell it all, then. Fifteen percent of the cut will be yours." He stated, his words stilted as he went up the stairs to go through more drawers and cabinets.

She did some quick math in her head, and then went: o.0 but she shrugged it off a moment later, "Alright.  Could take a while, there's enough of it, but I know where to look for people who are buying things."  Even outside of her own world and even her usual territory, she knew how to find collectors.

Frankly, Sweeney wasn't a greedy man, nor was he all that charitable. He just wanted enough money to get his business off the ground once more. There was a loud bark, almost, but not quite a laugh, as he was in the bathroom. He hadn't found razors, but he found a very nice grooming kit that was far more well equipped than the one he once owned. "Lovely." He tucked it under his arm and paced into the bedroom, where he looked through the wardrobes and drawers of the nightstands. "Fucking hell." He grumbled to himself, "Not a trace of them." He then stood from where he crouched near the nightstand nearest the wall and called to Petit, "All of it should fetch a good price." He looked at the still-open wardrobe and at the clothes inside it, then went through them. All of them were from the current era and he hung those over his arm as well. Suit shirts and vests and trousers that didn't seem too dated, but in his opinion, they were still far too fancy, and not sturdy enough.

She smiled, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, "More than just 'good' some of it."  She shrugged, "Could start a whole chain of barber shops with the profit off this lot.  And that's just the low end."  She scratched behind one ear a moment, "I know a couple guys who might be interested in some of the more esoteric stuff, and the rest is easy enough to get back into the system.  Still looking at six months at the minimum though."

"S'fine." He looked to her. "S'better than I was hoping." He didn't know the actual value of most things in the house, having never really kept track of the value of things back then, either, save for money itself. "Could have an estate sale for what you can't find a quick home."

She nodded, "Might do that for the remnants."  A shrug, "Might work better than just trying to find individual collectors.  And I know a guy with a shop not too far from here, might be willing to sell some of it on commission."
curiouslygaian: He turned to her fully, then, if only to get nearer the closet to grab one of the suitcases. "What's he sell?" He stuffed all the clothes into the case and laid the grooming kit on top, before zipping it up and ushering her out the door and down the stairs.

She shrugged, "Some of everything, actually.  Think his back room pulls in detritus like this place pulls in people.  Stuff's always been kind of drawn to him though."

The way he reacted, one would almost be able to see the lightbulb go on over his head. "Care to make a stop before I return home?" His obsessive behavior was probably called for. Maybe.

More than likely so in this case, "Don't see why not, been a while since I went to see him, probably wondering where I've gotten to, even though he knows I've been on a pirate quest the past month."

He was bemused by the 'pirate quest' bit, then he shook his head, letting it roll off him. He opened the front door again, letting the whole house sit in disarray as it was. He didn't care. "Shall we, then, miss LeBeau?"

And it was all getting sold anyway, so that hardly mattered in the long run.  Petit beamed again as she headed down the front steps, taking a moment to get her bearings before pointing, "Should be about four blocks that way and one or two to the east."

He nodded and locked up behind them before joining her on the sidewalk once more, offering the arm that didn't currently have a suitcase in its hand. "We'll walk, then." He saw no reason for magic when it was just a six block walk from one place to another. He was learning more about the present day just by being immersed in it than he could ever ask about. He did, however, ask, "Why is it that women have shunned dresses, Miss LeBeau?"

"I blame the sixties, but since I wasn't actually born yet, I don't really know if that's the reason or not."  She shook her head, "Could always blame Amanda Bloomer, she's kind of the one who started it.  Sort of, and she was even before the sixties."
  She shrugged, "And I'm not going to lie, I wear pants more often than skirts too, but that's mostly just for range of mobility, and I need that a lot in my line of work."

That didn't bother him as much as one would think, and he even said, "Well, I wouldn't expect someone with as many varied and outstanding talents as you claim to have doing all that in a full skirt." He was quiet again, however. It was actually rather odd how quiet he would become, all the sound that often came from him was his footfalls, and even those were muffled as he could make them with leather soles.

She grinned again, "You'd be surprised how many of them I can do in a full skirt, and a bodice to boot."
 
  The shop was right where it had always been, even if 'always' was only since the day before.  Petit knew that it moved now and again, but she wasn't going to let that bother her.  The chime over the door was cheery enough, as always, and the crocodile with the galoshes had been joined by a school of paper mache jellyfish and a couple of pufferfish lights, "Sneaky?  You around?"
 
  "Ah-ha!  Littlemother, how goes things at sea?"  He asked, emerging from the shelves with an armload of books, apparently just moving them from one place to another, or several 'another's as he was setting them down here and there, seemingly at random.

Sweeney was already wandering around the shop, having set the suitcase down at the front, making mental note to remember it before they left. He scanned the items on the shelves, quiet as ever, just as serious looking. He looked up once Sneaky showed up and gave him a cordial enough nod before going back to browsing.

Sneaky nodded a greeting in turn, carrying on a quiet enough conversation with Petit, mostly getting an update on the quest, making sure everyone was alright after time went screwy.
 
  It wasn't long before Petit went to find Sweeney again, swinging a keyring around her finger, "He says if any of them are here they're probably in the case, c'mere."
  The Case was actually a modified jewelry case, all lights and mirrors and turntables like cake-display stands, slowly rotating teirs loaded down with costume jewelry and zippo lighters and other various other sparkly bric-a-brac

The barber followed along and looked through the entire case twice, just to make sure. "No. None. Nothing." He muttered, standing up. He seemed a little darker then. He wasn't going to give up hope, but then again, He wasn't going to say anything about it, either.

Petit shrugged, "Oh well.  Never know what's going to come through the backroom though, I'll ask him to keep an eye out, let you know if anything shows up.  I'll check my usual haunts later on tonight, most of them are probably still sleeping right now."

He gave a singular nod to Squeaky as he started back towards the door, and picked up his suitcase. He did, however, wait for Petit to join him, so it wasn't as if he blamed her for the failure to produce any of his friends in the meanwhile. He did, however, look VERY put out by it. "Can't run a business without them. One on her own..."

Petit smiled, shaking her head, "It's only been a day.  Back home I've been looking for them for years. ... which, uh, in retrospect isn't really as ressuring as I intended."

Hence why he didn't seem to budge from his rather gloomy scowl, even as he opened the door once more and stepped out. "Tell me about the times. What has changed?" He was fairly certain he'd find nothing good about this time, but then again, he wasn't very good at finding the good in things.

She shrugged, "Besides women wearing pants?  They've got the right to vote now, and run for whatever seat if they want to, uh, dowries are mostly a thing of the past, everything's expanded, minds, horizons, waistlines, city limits."

He nodded then. "Can see that much. Women can vote? And be polititicans? Hell, can't be much worse, they've been running men's lives for years." He looked around, "And industry seems to have boomed considerably. Carriages without horses, people speaking into small devices all over the place, that... odd box that I used to contact you, and the other box that seems to be only one direction instead of two. Things have grown, indeed, become far too advanced. Take for example, what I found beside the kit I've got. Wires running out the back of it, and metal coils at the front. I can only assume it was a razor, what else would it have been? But I wouldn't trust a thing I'd fit into a plug on the wall to shave my face." He looked outright disgusted by that, walking south, though it was still just as long as a walk back to Fleet Street as it was from.

Petit nodded, "Technology's advanced in leaps and bounds, most people suspect alien intervention just on account of how quickly things have advanced.  The two-way box is the computer, the other one's a television, it's all melodramas and news, and sometimes it's the same thing, yep, electric razor, some people swear by them, but some people swear by microwaved dinner instead of actual food too."

"Micro Waves?" He asked, as his pace quickened to hurry across a street. "I simply must be right. This place is Hell."

She nodded, "Food gets partially cooked, then frozen, then finished cooking at home by controlled radiation.  And you just might be right."  She shrugged, "Either that or the inmates have finally started running the assylum."

His pace didn't slow once he reached the other side. He took all that he saw and heard in, and looked over to Petit. "London's always been a madhouse, though. Filled with only scum and villains since the day it laid claim to the banks of the Thames.  It only seems fitting that it's run by the madmen that populate it. Though If the whole world's this mad, I've no hope for it." He was ready for a good brood and a good drink. This whole world had changed in the time he'd been dead, and what was worse was that he knew that this would be the last place he saw before true Hell. He decided to dwell on something else. "That play of me. Is there a showing of it somewhere? I'd rather like to see it."

She shrugged, "It's usually playing somewhere, even if it's just a little local theatre."  She paused to think about that, "And that's probably better, actually, I mean, sure, the big West End or Broadway productions have a better budget, better costumes or whatever, but I've always liked little one-room-schoolhouse type of theatres better myself."

"Never enjoyed the high life." He said, speaking of himself. He rounded a corner on a street which he knew the name, seemingly driven by ghosts of his past, decidedly wanting to see how much of his own time still lived and breathed and kept its flavor. He looked beside him, to the lady, and scoffed, "Though it's a strange thought, that even my class is richer than my class has ever been. We live like kings, though I'm sure there's still much to be complained about. Taxes ever increase, wages always drop."

She kept pace with him easily enough, already having sent Toto off to find out where it was being performed, if anywhere.  She nodded at the statement, "That's why I work freelance."  A pause, "Well, that and it's family tradition."

"What's your family's profession, luv?" He asked, sounding only just this side of apathetic. Though his mood brightened somewhat once he found that one of his favorite North End taverns was still up and running. He detoured them in through the doors and sat down at a table closest he could get to the exit.
Sterling: Exits were good and having her back to the wall was better, "I wasn't kidding when I said I came from a long line of villains.  We're murderers and thieves.  Mostly the latter though."  She paused, thinking about that a moment, counting back in her head, "with one or two other things thrown in just for flavor.  "

He was happy to be seated with his back to the crowd, he could easily read expressions, and with the young lady that had been accompanying him, he wasn't near as edgy about people as he would have been alone. He did nod to what she did, "An interesting profession to be born into, I'm sure. As I'm sure you're aware, I was an orphan, my mum and dad were workers in the textile factory that's long since crumbled away and given rise to even more eyesores. They died on their way to a gin house one night and I was sent to the orphanage, picked up by a cutler as an apprentice." He waved over a bar maid and ordered some brandy, motioning to Petit.

She just nodded to the story, ordering a bourbon and scanning over the crowd herself, old habit, really, and something she still did with the crew every morning, checking for anything that set off the ingrained Guild-strengthened paranoia, "That's one of the few things most of the historians can agree on."

He nodded, "Cutler got sent to the gallows for stealing, and by that time, I'd gained ground and standing in the community. Even worked part time for a barber by the name of Stone, until I met Lucy." That's when he got quiet and just went into his memories, watching a couple banter on, still the same chatter that couples always had.

It was right about then that Toto returned, scrabbling up Petit's skirt to cling at her hip, waving tickets.  She blinked, then grinned, giving him a pat, "Clever little thing aren't you?"  To Sweeney she said: "How do you feel about Ireland?"

 "What the hell is that?" He was shaken from his thoughts by the Shadow, and then looked up at her, "Ireland's fine." He had gone back to being as succinct as possible.

She nodded, "In that case we've still got a couple hours to kill, and this is Toto, he's, uh... hard to explain.  The place we walked through to shorten the trip?  His kind live there.  Sneaky, who runs the shop, used to be one before coming here."

There was a little murmur of understanding that came from the barber, who then was thoroughly distracted by brandy and full-on Bar Maid cleavage, to which he said thank you. The waitress took his money and flounced off. He sipped his drink. "Glad to see busts are still in style."

Petit very nearly cackled at that, shaking her head, "I can't count the number of times I've gotten through a job on the power of cleavage alone."  She paused, "Well, okay, cleavage and a couple good throwing knives, but mostly the cleavage."

He got a brief smile, "Can see how that'd be an effective tool. Can hide things in it, too. Mrs. Lovett kept her change there." He said with a shrug, "Though it is rather disturbing to find a tuppance when you're bedding down for the eve." He took another sip of brandy and tried to relax. Well, so far as he ever did.

She nodded, "It's where I usually keep aromatherapy oils.  Never enough to do me in, but enough to take care of anyone who, you know, just happens to faceplant."  Because of course things like that happened by accident all the time.

He apparently liked her style, so the smile stayed. "Tricky little thief. You know, I might have more use for you than just to sell off my things. Never did have enough help 'round the shop, and provided that Mrs. Lovett's got no objections to it, I'd like to have you help provide a bit of... outsourcing. So to speak." He raised a brow, "Of course, that is once your obligations have been met elsewhere."

She blinked, then again, and once more for good measure, her glass caught somewhere between tabletop and sipping, just hovering there while her brain caught up, "Oh.  Uhm."  Another blink, "I... think I'd rather enjoy that, actually.  Piracy should be over in a month, maybe two depdnding on how the weather is coming home, and I'm sort of on retainer with this band for when they need cleanup done, but apparently that doesn't start anytime soon."  She shrugged again, "And it could take that long to find the ladies."

"Can't you do both at once? The ladies are important, yes, but I've been known to do without them. They're just special to me, as you know. Wouldn't feel right without them. But business is business, and business can boom without all four of my dears in their case. Business can't boom when there's no demand, or supply." He pointed out.

She mulled that over, taking a sip of her drink before setting the glass down again, "Could work.  The next few days are going to be high on piracy however, we're getting to our destination tomorrow, maybe the next day, and after that is the exploring and celebration, and then we'll be on our way home, pretty much running on skeleton crew these days, harder work than most people thought."

He nodded to that and thought it over, seeing how it'd mesh against what meager plans he'd already made, and it worked out well enough to him. "Fine with me." Then there was a smile once again and he held his glass up in toast, "To new aquaintences in a new world." Because that was something that was missing. The toast.

She smiled, "And to old business continuing to thrive."  Which could go just as much for the piracy as anything else, really.

And he found it very fitting, and drank to that, finishing what was left of his brandy. "The only detail I've not decided on yet is if it'll be the full business or only half of it. Can always be a barber, but I've no real motivation to polish them off. Landed me here, that did. And I can't say I'm not entirely unremorseful of what happened after."

She shrugged, "Put the right spin on it and people will be lining up around the block.  Like I said, you're famous these days."  The crooked smile was back, "It's all about resources and angle, same as everything.  And that way you can just get rid of the really seriously annoying ones."

"Infamous, luv. Difference is my name evokes more intregue than if I were merely famous." But the rest of it gave him reason to think it over, "Could work with that... Work that in. Got the same shop, got the same name." He mulled it over, running his fingertips over the brim of the empty glass, just thinking it through. "People pay for a spectacle, like the barkers in the parks. Half the business was entertainment alone. Depending upon how morbidly curious people tend to be, I could raise a fortune in just having my shop where my shop's always been."

"Exactly so."  She shrugged, "Could always refit the downstairs as a cafe again too, souvineir shop or something.  Sell some 'I survived' type shlock."

"That's horseshit." He said. "Mrs. Lovett's always hated that dreary little place. Might sell cologne upstairs with my loft, but I'm not going to turn it into a five pence freakshow. Barbering's a serious business, Miss LeBeau, I'm not going to make a mockery of it like Pirelli." He waved his hand towards the barmaid, signalling for another round.

Petit arched a brow, but shrugged, "Fair enough.  Though depending on how things go you might have to expand to the downstairs anyway, at least use it as a waiting area."

"I can live with that." He sat back in his chair, still thinking it through. His mind finally was made up by the time the barmaid walked back with the drinks. "You seem like a girl," He said to the waitress, "Whose head's on well enough. Would you pay to visit a place where infamous murders occured?"
 "Wot, like Whitechapel? Naw sir, would prolly jus' take th'free tours if I wanted t'see that sort've rubbish." She replied.
 "Whitecha..nevermind. Is Fleet Street on that tour?" He asked,
 "Think so, sir. Never been on one 'fore, but Fleet Street's only famous for barbers an' meat pies. Not dead whores."
 He gave her a tip for that, and turned to Petit. "Only famous for barbers and meat pies? Got to change that, I think."

Petit had very nearly snorted bourbon up her nose when the girl had said it, mostly just trying not to laugh, she did, however, manage to turn it into a mostly curious look, head tilting.
  She took a more cautious sip then, just nodding at Sweeney's statement, "Mm, definitely."

"Whitechapel?" He finally asked once the waitress was out of earshot, sipping his brandy. He hadn't been around for Jack the Ripper. Hell, that happened a good twenty-some years after he'd died. Fifty maybe.

It was the dead whores bit that had made it click for Petit, "Jack the Ripper, there's just as much argument about him as about you only far far more trivial, really, whether he was left or right handed seems to be the biggest bone of contention."

 "An' I'm supposing dead whores're more interesting than cannibalism to these folk, from what she's said?" He asked, "Or is that just a matter've taste?" Bad, unintentional pun. He sipped his wine, still looking gloomy, though that was fading slightly at the prospect of business booming due to his name.

She shrugged, "Everything's a matter of taste, really.  And most people don't believe the cannibalism part of it, even though the evidence is there.  Well, more or less."
  Another shrug, "And eviscerated pretty girls are always more of a draw than any other sort of murder.  Well, unless it's one done by a pretty girl."

"All Mrs. Lovett's hard work to be written off as mere speculation. Shame, that." He sighed, "And she did work hard, poor girl. Slaved over the grinder and stove all day 'til Toby came along." He shrugged it off, "Well, whether or not they would be interested, personally, it's a good idea, and I'll go with it."

"I've said it before, I'll say it again, angle and resources.  Have to tell people what they want, what they're interested in, that's why marketing firms make all the money these days, closely followed by the public relations people and the therapists."

"Have people gone that daft?" He asked. He knew people were morons but that just took a whole new level of idiocy that he wasn't aware of. "Believing what they're told, no matter who by?" He finished his drink and waited for her to finish hers.

She nodded, "Pretty much."  A one-shouldered shrug then, finishing off her drink, "And the therapists make the money because if people don't like what they're being told to then clearly there's something wrong with them and they need to be fixed.  Crazy world we live in."

He actually rather liked it. At least that part. He stood, grabbing up his suitcase and offering his arm once more. "Should take that magical shortcut you showed me, easier, that way." He also felt the need to at least attempt to fit in, and get into one of the suits he'd collected from the house before going off to see the play.

There was another smile as she took the offered arm, "Probably a good idea, otherwise we'll be late to the show."  It was easy enough to just step into the backstage going around the corner, stepping out again not too far from the shop, making sure he was steady before walking again.

He was perfectly fine, in fact.  Well, he did have to orient himself afterwards, but made his way to the shop moments later, not talking, just humming. Again, not exactly Epiphany, but close. He'd be surprised about that later. Once to the building, he opened the front door to the downstairs rather than going upstairs. It was also in disarray and far too crowded. There was twice as much furniture than there should have been, but it was navigable. "Have a seat, I'll be out in a moment. Change of costume, what have you." He said, wandering through a hallway and to a room, where he closed the door behind him to get redressed.

"Alright, take your time, won't take that long to get there by way of the Backstage."  Petit just went about swapping her usual bag out for an evening bag, making sure she still had armaments, just in case, tucking away the tickets and a couple other little pieces, as well as Toto, her usual bag being left in the backstage, she'd pick it up later, and if not Toto would bring it back, like always.

"The damn pants are too loose, and the shirt's too tight! At least the vest's right on." He complained through the closed door, tying the necktie on with a furrowed brow, looking rather unhappy as he looked at himself in the mirror. "And whoever's life I've walked into, they had horrible taste in cufflinks. What're these, rocking horses?" He shook his head as he continued to fiddle with one on his way back down the hall, jacket on his arm. His hair was still a flyaway mess, but that couldn't be helped.

"Now I know most antique collectors are crazy, but that's just weird."  She scoffed, "Rocking horses."  And really the flyaway was fine, given as how Petit's hair continued to shift style here and there, usually when nobody was looking.  It was part of why she kept it short these days, made it harder for people to notice the movement.

He had, but only in passing. And after all, he was a barber. "Nobody gives a damn about cufflinks, save for the man who wears them. Rather prefer plain ones, myself." He looked at her, really more serious looking than a man in a suit not tailored specifically for himself should look. "Cloth's lighter now, feels like it'd tear easily." He stated.

"Some of it does, but some of it doesn't."  She shrugged, "A lot of it just stretches now, which can be good and bad, depending on who's wearing it and who has to see them wearing it in public."

"Rather'd like not to know that." He muttered. He looked ready as ever to leave, and very uncomfortable wearing the current style. He probably wouldn't be seen in it again. At least the pants were pinstriped. He could handle that. Pinstripes were nice.

She smiled, knotting the strap of her bag across her hip, "Ready to go?  Going to be in the Backstage a litte longer this time, takes longer to walk oversea than it does to walk across town."

"Naturally." He muttered, holding his arm out just enough to have her drag him wherever was best to get elsewhere, closing his eyes before he was dragged backstage again. He figured even if it was about him, it could be rather boring and he could get some sleep, or if it was particularly interesting, at least he'd be entertained. Win win, as far as he was concerned.

Toto, being just as sneaky as Petit was half the time, had somehow managed to get out of her bag during the crossover, bounding ahead and waving a claw for them to follow.  She just smiled, shaking her head, "Thanks, never would have found the place without you."

He watched the Shadow with something like suspicion, yet again. He didn't say a word, though, and just followed along. It was a strange world, and with it were strange people and customs and creatures. He knew he could adjust, but he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. He finally spoke. "You said I look like a pirate captain last night. Jack something."

She nodded, "Sparrow.  Yeah.  Could be twins if it weren't for the hair, he's got things all braided into his, beads and charms and lord knows what else."
curiouslygaian: "Like an islander off the coast of South America?" He asked, brow furrowed. "I'd never do that to mine. Though the thought's occured to cut it short, but it'd remind me too much of my time in Australia." He quieted then, and murmured, "Is that music I hear?"

A smile then, "Yes and no.  That's the best thing to call it because it isn't really anything else, but it's also nothing deliberate, it's just natural here."

He was perplexed to say the least. "Natural music, like songbirds or the wind in the branches, only more harmonious." Sweeney could understand the concept just fine, but it wasn't parsing well with his own knowledge of reality. He shrugged that off as well. "And this Sparrow fellow, he's also a vampire? How odd. Thought those never left the thick of Europe."

She nodded, smiling, "Exactly like that isn't, actually."  She shook her head then, "Don't think about it too hard, you'll just get a headache.  Does the same to me and I know what it is."
  Another nod, stooping to scoop Toto back into her bag before stepping them both back out onto a side street, getting her bearings before heading out towards the main thoroughfare, "And from what I understand, most of them didn't."

He also caught his own bearings while she did and kept in step with her easily. "Would rather like to meet the man. Has my face, consumes blood, sails. What's not to like?" He paused, "Might strike up a bargain with him, we wind up dumping most of the blood, anyway. Could make a good business partner, if he's up for negotiation."

She nodded, "I'll talk to him, he seemed pretty intent on avoiding you, apparently he knew a different version of you from his own timeline, things didn't go well from what I understand."

He didn't seem entirely too ruffled by the news. It was polite suggestion, and if the pirate that had his face didn't want to do business, he didn't care. "Never thought that there'd be more than one of me to go around."

She smiled at that, shrugging, "I just recently learned how I could have turned out if things had gone differently.  Probably means that in someone else's timeline they did, and I'm kind of worried about anybody another me comes in contact with.  All the same training, a fraction of the control."

He nodded once. Not that he particularly understood or cared at that point, but it was good to have knowledge on such things. He looked around them, "Where's this theatre, anyway? Couldn't have missed the mark too badly, could you have?"

She nodded to the small crowd already forming outside what appeared to be a converted warehouse, since they were bordering on the industrial sector, "Right there.  Not usually too far off the mark."

His pace quickened and soon they were in line. He looked over the hairstyles and clothes and facial hair of the others that stood in front of them and tried to get a feel for what the population was wearing this day and age. He stopped short and nearly forgot to breathe when he saw a man wearing a mohawk with a three-inch, braided beard. That was revolting and his expression showed it.

Petit blinked, followed his line of sight and tried not to snicker, shaking her head, "Crazy world we live in."  She beamed at the little old woman taking tickets and handing out xeroxed programs, once inside it was fairly obvious that even the orchestra was made up of locals.  Petit smiled, "Perfect."

"S'got to be, no right-minded fellow'd wear his hair like that." Said Sweeney, before they entered the building. He took a seat somewhere near the center of the rows of folding chairs and looked over the flyer. "Demon Barber." He murmured under his breath. He liked it. Had a wonderful ring to it, and it was just as nice as Jack the Ripper. Catchy. He also murmured the name of the man who played him, and committed it to memory.

 She shrugged as she settled, "Girls do it too.  Used to be for standing out, now it's for fitting in, same as anything else."  She shook her head, scanning over the program herself, just nodding, as far as she could tell they'd left everything in, which swayed her opinion towards it being a good production

He also was rather amused that all the names that were on the flyer as characters were names that he knew. It wouldn't occur to him that he was ever fictional, just that it was damn impressive that the one thing that got it most right was a musical. He looked over at Petit, "Toby's real name was Tobias, though. Th'little git's going to have to watch his throat should he come here." He said with a furrowed brow.

Her brow creased slightly at that, blinking, "Oh?"  This was apparently part of the story she didn't know

"Slit my throat." He said. "'Pparently, he'd made an oath to protect dear Mrs. Lovett, and when I did away with her, he did away with me while I had my back turned. With my own razor, no less. Which is why I'm sayin' it'd be an outright miracle if you could find all three of the missing ones." He shrugged and turned his attention to the crowd, just looking them over, watching them mingle quietly.

She just nodded at that, "Actually might make it easier, you'd probably be surprised at just how well the black market keeps records."  A shrug, "Unless someone's decided to make family heirlooms out of them this could work in our favor."

He got a quirky little smile at that, "In that case, if you want more information on them, you'll have it. Maker's name, year they were cast, purity of the handles..." He hushed once the lights went down and the spotlight shone on the dusty curtain.

"That'll help."  She said before falling silent herself, head tilted, she barely managed to surpress a snort of laughter when the 'ship' that Sweeney and Antony were sailing in on was actually someone's rowboat with a fence-post mast and a slightly-tailored bedsheet sail.

He huffed as well, though his expression never changed from its grim scowl. In fact, it fairly much stayed the same expression the entire time, even through the parts with Johanna and Lucy. He liked the music, it was very suiting for him, and even gave him deja-vu in some parts. The whole play did, in fact, but for what it was worth, he looked utterly unphased.
 Deep inside, he was boiling over, angered. How could a man know so much about his life, his feelings, his personal emotions that he kept hidden so well? How did one man, one pen, divulge so many secrets? And furthermore, the man playing him looked NOTHING like him, his voice was off-key, and the wig to make the actress who played Johanna blond was outright disasterous. Frankly, this just wound up bad for everyone.

Sometime early on Toto had wriggled out of Petit's bag again, clinging to her hip and just leaning towards Sweeney, apparently this was just awesome.
  "Well..."  Petit said when it was over, "I've seen worse, but only barely."  That was about all she had to say on the matter, really.

"Wait for me, I'll be right back." Muttered the barber under his breath, standing and wandering off towards the back stage of the place, or what could be considered as such.
 He returned, wearing the jacket he'd left off the entire time and took her arm, shuffling her through the waning crowd, "S'go." He hissed.

She knew a PR disaster in the making when she saw one, and she facepalmed, sighing and shaking her head, weaving them through the crowd and off around the corner before dragging him through into the Backstage, "Please tell me you at least got the set designer too.  I mean seriously, I could have done better and I don't know the first thing about effective set design."

He scowled at her, "Home." He said. "Just the one." Which was to answer her question. Luckily the set designer and the actor were the same. "Unless you know where this Sondheim fellow lives." He was apparently in no mood to discuss the particulars.

There was a browarch at that, but she shook her head, "No idea, actually."  She shrugged, heading back towards London, it was easier now that she knew the way, Toto was still perched on her hip, atop her bag, looking like some strange clawed spider with eyes on stalks.

He followed quietly after, taking off the jacket during the process of walking and yes, blood was on his shirt, which didn't bother him near as much as it should have. "Is there any way to buy the music itself?" He finally asked after cooling down just a bit.

She nodded, "Yeah, that's the easy part, actually.  Don't even have to go anywhere, I've got it."  That was one of the few things she'd actually kept in the move from England to the bayou, because it was one of the first things she'd gone out and bought again.  She detached Toto from her hip, stooping to set him down, giving him a shoo, "Go on, you know where to find it."
 
  She rolled her eyes then, shaking her head, "Right, we're here, he'll be back with it in a few minutes."

He nodded. "He was really just the worst actor I've ever seen. Nevermind the fact that it was me he was playing." He got a glimmer of a dark smile then, "Always arrives overdone. I like that bit."

She grinned again, stepping them back out, not far from the door, actually, she was getting better at aim, "Well that's because it's true."

"Very. You know, I will have to share this with Mrs. Lovett. She'll be thrilled." He said, "And we did have a conversation like that, once. Well, snippets of conversation like that. Generally after closing. She's got quite a quick wit on her, that lady. S'why I kept her around." He unlocked the door and stepped in. "You're not too bad on that, yourself. Intelligent for a lady, very strong-willed. But you still maintain your feminine charm. Would work well for you in my time."

She smiled, very nearly glowing, "I'll keep that in mind if time goes all wonky again."  She shook her head, "Got catapulted to a different era every day for a week just recently, it was crazy."

"Glad I missed that, then. Have enough issue as it is with skipping time just once." He said, laying his jacket on the back of a chair before wandering back down the hall to go fetch another shirt. "Is there anything about this world that is sane?" He called down the hall as he tossed the cufflinks aside and pulled the shirt over his head.

She paused to think about that for a few long moments, finally shaking her head, "No, don't think there is.  It's just varying digrees of crazy."

That was a pity. Oh well, all the more reason to stick to what he knew. He hummed as he tugged on a more comfortable, more true-to-him shirt, a black shirt with loose sleeves, tugging on his leather vest before stepping out once more. He wondered, out loud and under his breath, "could be that the oven's still downstairs." He looked up to Petit then, "Fair enough question. Care to join me in a bit of an adventure, before you go back to your ship?"

She smiled again at that, "Sure, duties are done for the day."  OF course she still had to talk to Bill and Jack, see if they wanted to owrk out some sort of business deal.

There was an overly sharp grin from the man as he wandered over to the far wall, sliding past the couch he'd brought down from the loft to go to a door that was hidden behind a shelf. The shelf was shoved aside and he brought out his keys once more to unlock the door. He pulled it open and wandered down the stairs, humming to himself once more. The basement itself was bare, the cobblestone floor was in need of a fix, and the place still faintly smelled like death. "They bricked up the tunnels." He said, his tone faintly giving away that he had an inner pout. The only light that was there was from the doorway they'd stepped through, so he was squinting. The grinder was gone, but large, cast iron oven was still there, cold and unused and covered in dust and grime and cobwebs.