#closestshave

[cannotflyarc]

@closestshave's dolores eastman sent: everything you say will just be between you and me.

she is suspicious of her and all johanna can think is for how long? as much as she keeps her eye on the time, she supposes she might have slipped away to the library for a little too long. once or twice. or . . . goodness, it hasn't been that many times, has it? if mrs. eastman reports it to her guardian, there won't be any more visits to the library. no more secretly reading books her guardian doesn't like her to. but most importantly, no more anthony. they will still have school, but it's not as if she can kiss him in the hallway. it doesn't stop some students, but johanna wouldn't be able to recover from such mortification. and, as much as her face burns to admit it, she does, well, enjoy getting to kiss anthony.

❝ well, ❞ she begins and tries to find a lie on the tip of her tongue. a good lie. not too far-fetched that mrs. eastman will break that promise and won't leave it between the two of them, but not something as silly as eating a biscuit out of the jar before supper. do not think of anthony, do not think of anthony, do not think of anthony--- ( why is anthony all she can think about? ) mrs. eastman can't actually read her mind . . . as much as her eagle stare sometimes makes johanna wonder. she gives a small smile. a bit of mischief behind the eyes. or, she hopes. ❝ i read a chapter of a tale of two c.ities. ❞ lips twist back into a worried shape. ❝ just the first chapter! but then i realized it wasn't very good and i didn't enjoy it very much . . . but you won't tell him, right? i didn't read very much, i just got a little curious. it'll never happen again. ❞ promise, she would have lied to her guardian. lying to mrs. eastman is different, though. she's already lied enough. johanna loved the first chapter of a tale of t.wo cities and every chapter after that.

[betterto-die-thanto-crawl]

[ WAKEN ]: the sender touches the receiver's shoulder to waken them from a nap or sleep. / @closestshave's anthony to connor

Connor was frowning in his sleep, laying across his bed the wrong way, still in his clothes and with his arms crossed over his chest.

When Anthony shook his shoulder, he woke with a start and jerked an arm up to guard his face, as if he expected to be hit, his eyes wide with terror... before settling as he recognized the face. "Anthony..." He whispered, letting his head and hand fall back to the bed with a sigh before rubbing at his eyes. "Is it time to get up?" he asked, as if he hadn't just acted like he was going to be hit.

[watergave]

#watergave.  an independent and highly selective historical fiction multimuse ( featuring a few characters from the hunger games ). as written by darcy (she/her; 18+). very low activity. plot-heavy. meme tag below. personals and non-roleplay blogs, do not interact. main blog to @closestshave.

rules. muses. verses. interest checker. main blog.

[closestshave]

#closestshave.  an independent and friends-only sweeney todd multimuse. as shaved by darcy (she/her; 18+). very low activity. meme tag below. please fill out interest tracker before we interact! personals and non-roleplay blogs, do not interact. follows back from @watergave.

rules. muses. interest tracker. pinterest. johanna.

[eyeluv2laf]

Things got real at the pie shop today! #closestshave #worstpiesinlondon #piecommission (at The Pie Commission)

[cannotflyarc]

@closestshave's b.enjamin b.arker sent: you are going to break your promise. i understand.

she is always going to run away. a girl only nourished by the thought of escaping cannot simply go hungry when it is so close. when she was younger, she thought it was simply in her blood to escape. to disappear. to leave behind someone. that was why her father was in prison, wasn't it? why her mother swallowed poison? perhaps, she went insane on purpose: how else do you escape from your infant? but now johanna realizes that the need to find a window or door in every room was simply what she was brought up on while other children were fed with head pats and cheek kisses ( she's still trying to figure out what a normal childhood looks like ).

what does she owe to this man as his daughter? when her guardian---not her guardian anymore---was apprehended and she was given to her biological father, she felt no need to promise the convict anything. johanna understands now what happened, how the judge destroyed her mother, how he took her father away, yet she doesn't want to believe it. believing that her family didn't love her was easier. it's still easier. but on that second day of living with this stranger that somehow shares her blood, she said she would try. for her mother. that is what she would want. she is trying to get along with a stranger for a ghost. it makes her wish the foster house she was in until they deemed the other barker worthy to have her back.

johanna doesn't know where she wanted to go tonight. how foolish, she thought when he told her that her bedroom door wouldn't be locked, doesn't he know what she is made up of? choking back the need for fresher air is impossible and she's gotten quite good at picking locks. perhaps, she could visit anthony at this time of the night. they always talked about doing something like that back when she was with the judge. she could surprise him. or perhaps, she'll just wander around this city that isn't really hers and she doesn't really belong to either.

how unfortunate they've both turned out to be insomniacs. johanna folds her hands above her thighs, chin pointed downward like a thief just caught. ❝ it's a simple lock, ❞ she mumbles, ❝ all you have to do is turn it from the inside. ❞ the only problem would be getting back in once she returned to the flat. it doesn't feel like much of a problem. ❝ i don't like locks. ❞ careful not to divulge too much information about herself, she considers each word. johanna's prayers never involved getting her father back. the thought of him knowing what happened to her makes her feel more embarrassed than she likes to admit. he could guess, but she couldn't confirm anything. she doesn't want anyone to know how broken she is. ❝ i'm not trying to break any promises. i'm not. i just wanted some air. ❞ i wanted to walk every street of the city until i got dizzy.

[cannotflyarc]

she wishes she could snap at her, but snapping leads to scolding which leads to no library. ( and how could she snap at mrs. eastman?--- not a thought currently swimming about in her mind, just one that would inevitably come soon. ) it doesn't cool her glare as she reaches for another raspberry. why must she have a favorite food? why must she admit to having one? johanna curses herself---curses the eight-year-old girl that let that secret slip. it was the first of many secrets and it taught her to keep them close to her chest.

another raspberry. there is juice on her fingertip and nail. instead of licking it off, johanna rips off a paper towel. ❝ i'm especially not hungry now. ❞ she glances up at mrs. eastman. a hopeful, little youthful look in her eyes. ❝ now may i go? i have books to return. i don't want to forget them. i know one is on the waiting list. it would be quite rude of me to keep them for any longer. ❞

she barely says a word, yet dolores feels she can sense every emotion flooding through her hear right now. what brought her to it? a lack of self-confidence? stupidity? no, johanna isn't stupid. even as many times as mr. turpin implies that she is. poor bird, her brain must play tricks on her. dolores doesn't know where the line is between madness and normalcy, but she figures johanna is somewhere in there. she hasn't started hearing voices in her head.

at least, she's had one berry. a few years ago, that would have been an even greater triumph.

❝ you must be a tad hungry, duckie. you haven't eaten since your break at school. just have a few more. ❞ dolores isn't willing to wave her white flag. not now. possibly not ever. ( it's terrifying to know that she is the only one trying to keep johanna alive. ) ❝ a few more and you'll be off to the library. don't dawdle now. you want all the time you can get, don't you? ❞

[cannotflyarc]

it's not difficult to remember being young. reminiscing on her childhood with a smile on her face is the hardest part. some days, she feels much the same as when she was a child. trapped. lonely. other days, she feels about as old as mrs. eastman herself. exhausted. burdened. the way mrs. eastman throws the childhood memory at her causes a frown, nearly a scowl. goodness, can she not leave her alone with anything today? her stomach grows cold at the bowl of berries. today, she isn't easily getting away.

i've already been questioned today. could i not have a single moment of peace, god? ❝ i'm alright. ❞ slowly, johanna grabs a raspberry. it's held between two fingers, as if it is a balloon just waiting to pop. a bomb seconds away from exploding. it certainly feels like a bomb. a glance up at mrs. eastman. she isn't going to let her get away easily. she places the raspberry on her tongue.

she hates how sweet it tastes.

the sugar crunches between teeth. the spread of the juice circles around her mouth. she can feel the tang of raspberries in her lymph nodes. when she swallows, that tang doesn't quite leave.

it's not difficult to remember how much she loves raspberries, either.

❝ i don't want any tea. thank you, but no thank you. ❞ a sigh roots itself deep in her shoulder blades. she wishes she could let it out in front of mrs. eastman. johanna wonders how she can go from betraying her to her guardian to offering tea as if it was nothing. just another reminder that she cannot trust her. ❝ the librarians won't mind. i'm not hungry. ❞ leaning back, away from the berries and away from mrs. eastman, she adjusts herself into a position in which she can easily escape. ❝ i just want to go to the library. ❞

she has never seen someone grow so frail so quickly as did miss johanna. it still worries her---this whatever this is. the girl will be only skin and bones, even if she eats her supper. does mr. turpin really care? brows knit together. despite the answer, dolores opens the fridge and pulls out the little plastic carton of fruit. hopefully, it'll tempt her some. she turns to grab a spoonful of sugar from the pantry.

❝ you used to always have your tea at this time. you'd come home from school, do your homework, then tea. ❞ raspberries are spilled into a small bowl, then a dash of sugar. perhaps, that is tempting enough. she might even ask for some cream to go along with it as well. ❝ would you like that instead? or have some tea to go along with your snack? i wouldn't want your stomach to be all rumbly like winnie-the-poo at the library. who knows? maybe the librarians'll kick you out for being too noisy for it. ❞

with a single finger, she pushes the bowl towards johanna. ❝ i've got lemons, too. lemon and honey? as per usual? ❞

[cannotflyarc]

she wishes it was against the law. whatever word he had to twist in order for them to be here right now, she wishes he hadn't. just a year ago, she was wishing he was dead. believed he was dead. there wasn't room for debate in her head. believing that her father was dead was easier than knowing that he had given her up. believing her mother was dead was easier than knowing that she killed herself to get away from her. johanna has never been anyone's daughter. she doesn't think she would ever want to be. it would be easier if this was all illegal.

❝ it's two am. ❞ two, forty-three. ❝ isn't there a curfew or something? ❞ but then, he isn't on parole. she isn't either, as much as it feels like it sometimes. ( or is she putting herself on parole? is she making herself into the role of an escaped convict? johanna never thought she would get away from her guardian that easily. it felt more like a jailbreak than a custody arrangement. ❝ if not for you . . . i'm a minor, technically. ❞ it's a technicality only because she doesn't feel like she's as young as she is. within the past few months, she's lived at least two different lifetimes: one as a prisoner and the other as the escapee. ❝ there might be a curfew for me. ❞

shoulders stiffen, though his arm doesn't touch her. she's the same at school when a male teacher tries to explain a new concept to her. a girl whose been taught that all men older than her are trying to hurt her can't give in easily to trust.

johanna looks down. ❝ no. i don't like coats. ❞ she prefers the protection that all of her layers provide. they protect, but don't suffocate like a coat.

he is building himself another prison in this flat, yet it is freeing. he can leave whenever he wants to, even if he rarely does. part of him wishes that his daughter would view these walls the same way he does. it'll keep her safe. when he became a father, after all the hysteria of trying to keep a premature newborn alive, his own father told him that his new role is protector. his father told him the same thing when he married lucy. husbands protect. fathers protect. is building his family a prison protecting them? he has known no other way.

if this isn't the way to protect, then he can at least watch over her while she walks in the dark. does she not consider what dangers lurk in the dark? in this city?

❝ you're my daughter, ❞ he says and the words somehow don't seem real. if he were to look in the mirror right now, would he see his own face or a ghost looking back to him? when was the last time he got to say my daughter out loud? to her? she's never gotten to be his daughter before. when he was younger, he was giddy when he learned they were having a daughter and he kissed lucy as soon as the ultrasound technician told them the good news. saying it now, in front of her, doesn't send the same tingles through his fingertips, but he almost smiles. he doesn't, in case that scares his daughter away. ❝ there's nothing illegal about that. ❞ even if it was, he would disregard the law for her. what a joke the rules that men make up for each other are anyway.

he weaves an arm around her, fingers gripping for the side of the door to swing it open. ❝ it's cold, ❞ he whispers, ❝ don't you want a coat? i'll wait here. ❞

[cannotflyarc]

the first chapter and beyond. instead, johanna nods. ❝ like i told you, it wasn't my cup of tea. ❞ ( it is a far, far better thing that i do, than i have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that i go to than i have ever known--- ) it's not like mrs. eastman can read her mind, she reminds herself again. but it might look suspicious if she is quoting final words from the book she is distinctly trying to convince her that she hasn't read. is it more about the book or anthony at this point? johanna will have to take more drastic measures if mrs. eastman finds out about him. she'll have to go to her guardian in the case of a secret high school sweetheart.

her guardian shares with her the secrets of the courtroom. what the lawyer's pacing means. why the jury looks so tired. the reason the witness is sweating. it's the only thing he ever talks to her about that isn't a lecture on her schoolwork. or something worse. everyone has a certain tell, especially when they're lying. can mrs. eastman pick up on hers? can her guardian?

❝ i know. ❞ and her stomach turns cold at the offer of a snack. her first instinct storms through before she can think. johanna shakes her head. did that give her away? did it give more away about the book or the snack? ❝ no, thank you. ❞ a polite smile. ❝ i'm not hungry. ❞ for once in this conversation, she isn't lying. her stomach is swimming with fibs and passages from charles dickens. too full of stale words to consume anymore. but the thought of raspberries is tempting . . . no. johanna can't get away with shuffling her food around at supper anymore, but she does have a sense of control over snacks during the day. ❝ may i go to the library now? ❞

there is something so endearing about this age. perhaps, all stages of life have their moments. it is easy to love a giggling infant. toddlers, unstable on their small feet, are adorable. most parents, she knows, whine about how their teenager is turning their hair gray. miss johanna does the same to her, sometimes. but mostly, dolores has a laugh in the back of her throat. oh, rebellious girl, you are a horrible liar. she wonders how mr. turpin hasn't caught onto how easily the girl lies to him. then again, mr. turpin doesn't spent as much time with his ward as the housekeeper does.

❝ only to the first chapter? ❞ she knows johanna will only lie to her. she doesn't mind it so much. dolores caught onto the fact that she's been hiding something more than just a book a long time ago. ❝ you didn't read any more than that? ❞ again, she expects another lie. ❝ don't be lying to me, young miss. you know how your guardian feels about liars. ❞ hypocrite.

she hopes that someday johanna will be able to read all the charles dickens she wants and more. dolores pushes her body away from the island counter, but keeps her stare on johanna. ❝ a snack, then, miss? ❞ eyes flicker over the young girl. dolores would like to be able to forget the day she had to approach mr. turpin about his ward's eating habits. she didn't want to be the one to tell on the girl, not when she is so desperate to get her to trust her. but mr. turpin wasn't going to do anything about it, was he? for her part, dolores doesn't scold her. just ensures that she eats enough. ❝ there was a farmer's market in hyde park. i picked up some fresh cream. want it with some raspberries? ❞ johanna's favorite. ❝ hmm? doesn't that sound good? ❞

[cannotflyarc]

is this what he meant by he understood? she doesn't like it. by this moment---and really, she shouldn't have gotten this far at all---he should be screaming at her. he should hit her, even. if that his hand is all he can do to prove his point to her. ( the judge had yet to actually hit her . . . some nights, she could tell he was tempted. ) all her life she has known a few truths about fathers: one, they are selfish; two, they loose control of themselves; three, they are only a father until the child or they forget. a few years ago, she would have assumed all men were like this. anthony proved her wrong in every wonderful way. it is not all men, only the fathers.

why would her biological one be any different? he is selfish, she can tell, even if he has tried to suppress it under words of shared blood and comparisons between herself and her mother. that was his wife. is johanna some sort of replacement for that ghost woman? is she not herself, just a reincarnation in the form of a daughter? just the pain that her mother gave birth to and her father now gets to claim? ( or is it that she wants him to be selfish? she wants to be correct that she feels sick and makes up lies about this man to reassure herself that she is only going to get hurt from their interactions? ) no, he is close to losing control of himself. one day, he'll snap. throw her out on the street. lock her in the room despite her screams.

when will he forget that he is her father? she hopes it's soon. if he doesn't, she doesn't want to feel selfish for leaving him. that was always the escape plan. benjamin barker showing up is another obstacle. she doesn't want to break that promise. not fully.

why are fathers this complicated?

the jangle of keys makes her wince. is this it? he's locking her up sooner than she expected. ( birds with clipped wings are taught to fear flying. ) hands cover her face and her eyes, squeezed tight and she cannot breathe. but the keys go away. slowly, like a deer backing away from traffic, she looks at the man called her father. there are no keys, just his coat and his glance pointed to the door.

it's a trick, isn't it? johanna flips the lock. the door releases a sigh as it cracks open. she pauses. he doesn't scream at her. a glance back at him. his expression darts between herself and the door. ❝ do you really . . . ? ❞ or is this a trick? ❝ it's late. you won't get in trouble for this? ❞ she doesn't want him to be thrown back in prison, no matter how complicated her feelings are. no one---bird or person---should have to go through that. ( except for the judge. ) ❝ you're not tired? i didn't mean to wake you . . . i'm sorry. you can go back to bed. i'll go back to bed, too. ❞

she never was human until now. in his mind, his daughter was made out of marble: a statue of his virtuous, saintly wife holding their infant in her arms. a perfect parallel of the virgin mary. she was frozen in a photograph that he held at his chest, wishing he could dig it through his skin and let it rest in his heart for eternity. that way johanna wouldn't ever have to know the cruelties of men. she would never have to come to understand how ugly this world is. perhaps, that is why he preferred to think of her in a state of eternity, decorating a museum or a church. she would never be hurt that way. he would never have to confront her as he is.

johanna is everything he imagined and nothing like that yellow-haired girl he mused over for so long. those are lucy's cheekbones in her face, those are her fingers, those are her lips. but where does the flightiness come from? what is that panicked look in her eye every time he takes a step closer to her? that is not his wife. that isn't even from him. he wants to reach out and grip her by the shoulders and get to the end of all of it: who hurt her? where is he? how much will he bleed once he finds him?

part of him has accepted where that pain comes from. the rest of him refuses to admit to such defeat. ( as if somehow, he could have protected his girl from the wrong side of the bars. )

whether it was the flightiness or the mere agony of the thought of losing her again that lead him to making that promise between them, he doesn't care to theorize over. philosophers can think on that for the next thousand years to come, but the relief that came with her short nod is all that matters to him. ( he'd manipulated her by bringing up her saintly mother, but if that is what it takes to keep her under his wing for a little while longer, what can be the harm in it? he is the father, he is finally doing his duty to protect her. ) how else can he ensure her safety?

the pacing he hears from the other room isn't new---the walls are thin. he would pace, too, if it weren't for the fact that he wanted to be able to listen for when it stopped and he heard the bed creaking under her weight and he knew she was asleep. the door opening and closing isn't new either. he said she could go anywhere in the flat that she wanted. he watched her green eyes widen at that, as if it were a foreign concept. was it foreign to her? listening to her now, it seems like it was.

❝ that's how most locks are, ❞ he says. his knees creak as he bends closer to her level. it terrifies him to remember that his daughter never knew him as a young man. ❝ everywhere i've ever lived had locks that you can open from the inside. they only lock on the outside. ❞ except for one. he swallows those bitter words back. they are not for his daughter who could only hear pretty things and make promises that he knows will suit them both. and he promised himself that she wouldn't think like that anymore, yet all he can think of are cold metal bars and rows and rows of desperate men. why does it sound like she once saw the inside of a prison, too? he notices the layers and layers of clothing she's wearing. she's even making a jailbreak. he stares at her little determined features before ducking into the room called his and emerging with a coat thrown over his arm. ❝ fresh air? ❞ he slips the flat's keys into his pocket. ❝ open the door. ❞ how demanding. how unfatherly. he sucks in a breath, but doesn't begin with a please, ❝ fresh air . . . would be nice. ❞

[cannotflyarc]

well, a tale of two cities was a few years ago by now. it had taken an entire saturday session to read through it all. "sessions" are never as long as she would like them to be, but if johanna isn't already used to time getting cut short and freedoms restricted, she would simply suffocate. this has always been her life. she has never known simple freedoms like riding the train or going out with a group of friends on a friday evening. instead of making friends at the beginning of a new school term, she pried open a new, secret book. at least she could read about places she'll never get to go.

( words on a page aren't enough anymore. she needs to feel the rain on her cheeks and taste the snowflakes from norway. she needs to be blinded by the lights of the eiffel tower. she needs to be able to laugh freely with anthony's hand in her own. )

mrs. eastman's quotes have her brows furrowing. it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief--- but knowing the full quote doesn't do her any good. johanna doesn't know what exactly she's trying to get her for, but she bites her lips before speaking. as if that can keep her from admitting to anything foolish. while mrs. eastman said it would stay between them, that doesn't mean it's true. her teachers used to say things like that, too.

❝ is you have been the last dream of my soul from the end of the book? ❞ she can see mr. carton and miss manette and taste the intimacy of the scene. and she remembers how much she wished someone loved her like that when she read those words. an innocent smile. head tilts to the side. ❝ i didn't get that far. just to chapter one. ❞

when she accepted this job, she hadn't expected to be raising a young girl along with preparing meals and dusting the window panes. it wasn't in the description nor had she included any child-rearing experience in her resume. it became a solemn responsibility after she was put in charge of arranging the nursery. the floral backdrop was handpicked, after the rocking chair was dismissed as an idea, she found the comfortable sitting chair, the prettily-patterned rug was vacuumed twice daily. dolores will never admit to herself how much she played pretend in those infant days. the nannies took care of johanna, but occasionally, the middle-aged woman dissolved into a silly fantasy that she was the mother of such a beautiful baby.

she never played pretend for long. daydreams are for those who can afford it. but if she were that mother with that pretty infant, these are the rebellious teenaged years. dolores can recognize that spark in johanna's eyes. there is a spirit fighting underneath her porcelain skin, aching to break free and be human instead of the doll that mr. turpin is twisting her into. eventually, stuffing falls out of dolls. glass breaks. she could never fault the girl for that. but she would like to know what's going on in the pretty blonde head of hers.

❝ tale of two cities? ❞ while she is only the housekeeper and has every second sunday off, she knows a secret or two about the turpin house. a story about a man breaking out of prison and finding his daughter again is one she can understand mr. turpin wouldn't want her reading. ❝ it was the best of times, it was the worst of times and all things in between? " a close look at the girl's eyes. upon seeing the recognition in them, dolores breaks and smiles. ❝ that tale of two cities? or you have been the last dream of my soul? that tale of two cities? ❞

try as miss johanna barker may try to deny it, dolores has already caught on. she's never applauded anyone louder, even if those claps are in her head.