Revenge
- - - - - - - --,-- - - - - - -
Mrs. Lovett was not a particularly intelligent woman. Rather, she was the victim of a shoddy education system. London's youth, as a rule, were taught until the age of ten and then pushed out onto the black-and-white streets into menial jobs; factory work and the like.
Some weren't even taught at all.
Despite her limited intelligence – it wasn't like it was her fault - she still retained a sense of cunning. It had been she, after all, who had suggested making priest pies and the like. Inspired by the eccentric Mrs. Mooney and her cats, of course ("that's what I call enterprise!")
She was also rather good at getting her own way; when divorce was not an option, she had merely gorged her husband to death. As you do, as you do.
Similarly, when Lu… When 'that girl' (the name left a bitter aftertaste – that foolish little thing in lace and ruffles with the yellow hair) had stolen her beloved, she merely sat in her shop – worst pies in London, as she so proudly stated, for being referred to in the superlative was an honour indeed – and contemplated. Plotted. Planned.
Revenge.
And here she was now, carefully setting a plate (carefully washed, mind) down in front of Mr. Todd, a smile fixed to her pretty face.
"Hope you like it, Mr. T – new recipe, you know," she beamed, sunny tones enough to penetrate the darkness of her shop.
And, as the man inspected her food carefully – doubtlessly, he could still remember when his mouth had been assaulted by cockroaches first time he bit into one of her pastries – the smile grew wider still. Twirling her apron strings, she bounced back and forth on the balls of her feet; "Well, love? Do you think it'll sell?"
"Sell?" the man asked, biting into a corner quite delicately. And then he turned, not quite smiling (for his dark mutterings – "there's a hole in the world like a great black pit" – seemed to allude to the fact that there was nothing to smile about) but in better spirits than he usually was. "It's quite fine, my pet. A charming notion to dispose of the waste, at any rate."
Mrs. Lovett's smile grew tenfold, if such a thing were possible, his arms finding her lily-white shoulders as a dance of sorts was instigated about the dusty pie shop. The pie shop that would, quite soon, become vibrant with noise and colour – Mrs. Lovett's dream, that was.
And her other dream…
The bake house down below, vibrant with noise and colour in its own special way (there lay her body – Lucy's – dripping rubies on the floor, the walls, the meat grinder, the oven, and in the pies… All the pies.)
Revenge really was a dish best served warm.)
- - - - - - --fin;,-- - - - - - - -
a.n: damnit, mrs. lovett is crazeh here xD if you didn't geddit, she killed lucy, made her into a pie & then served her to mr. todd. she made him eat his wife DX