Cryptic Aims.

Ever wondered what was going through Sweeney Todd's head when he was with his razors? Well, here's my take on it. Haha.
Rated T to be safe.

Yep. This is the demon barber's thought process.

...Which sounds a tad morbid. Bleh.
But I sorta liked it; it shows his intelligent side. Or thoughtful...philosophical...whichever you prefer.

Like, his view on his surroundings, his razors...From how I figured he'd think, anyway.

Note: This story doesn't really have a designated period of time, but it's supposed to have happened between about the times that Judge Turpin came in for a shave (the first time), and the re-opening of Mrs. Lovett's pie shop. Somewhere in there.

POV: Sweeney Todd! 8DDD

This is really a short little thing, I apologize. I just needed to put something up, and this is what came to mind- even if it is a drabble about nothing particularly important. Hahah.

And I'm terribly sorry if Sweeney seems OOC. Mrs. Lovett too, for that matter x.x
I tried to make her accent sound convincing. And as for Sweeney...well, he's an introvert, so he's gotta keep those feelings bottled up SOMEWHARR.
Read carefully, so you don't miss something, also. And no, I don't know what there really is to miss...but yeah. I'll totally love you forever if you actually like this. ...Yay!

So anyway, I'll stop ranting like an old person. Enjoy the story, and please, please, PLEASE review. Thank you! 8DD

She didn't get it.

"Mr. T, are you in there?"

Mrs. Lovett was looking at me with a fretful gaze. "Come on, love, a' least eat somethin'." I glanced over to my desk; apparently she had put a tray of steaming food there earlier. Perhaps 5 minutes ago, perhaps just now. I wasn't paying notice. All I was thinking about was-

"Mr. T, what are you thinkin' about that's got ye in such a haze?"

-the Judge.

He deserves to die.

Well, all of humanity isn't worthy of life, but he the most.

"Nothing." I muttered. She sighed and sat in my chair. "I know that look, you're thinking o' that Judge again." I twisted my razor around in my hand, not being attentive at all. Seeing the glow from the lantern I had hanging behind me shimmering off the blade made me realize something I had neglected to see earlier.

I was in love.

I loved them more than anything else. It was beyond doubt beautiful the way their edges caught the light and shone a reflection across the room, the way their elegant forms seemed to connect with my waiting hand. And yet, how could I just have noticed now? Well…other than the descant I had sung to them several days ago when I returned to London, that is. The day I discerned the ghastly fate of my dearest Lucy…the day I vowed revenge against the oh-so-honored Judge Turpin.

Never really thought about how well red and silver go together until now. What a day.

"Mr. T!"

I started, and my dear razor fell from my hand.

Time could've stopped.

I snapped back to reality when I heard the resonance of the blade making contact with the wooden floor. I retrieved the razor hurriedly, and sent a malicious glare in Mrs. Lovett's direction. "What?" I said, rather vehemently at that. She immediately adapted a concerned look. "I said, 'Why are you so concerned about something tha' happened whoever knows 'ow many years ago anyway, dearie?' Forgive and forget, that's what I always say. Can't be healthy; broodin' about like you do, tha' is."

How could she be so irrational as to not know the answer to such an obvious question?

I was angry. I was more than angry, I was just short of infuriated. You'd think a woman who spent so much time around someone like me would've figured it out by now.

I slowly got up and began to walk toward her, razor in hand. "I don't think you understand my situation, Mrs. Lovett. This is the man who desecrated my wife, the one I loved," I growled. I took a step closer to her. "The man who sent me off to prison on a forced charge for a crime that was non-existent." Another step. "The man who took in my daughter as his own." Another. "The reason I couldn't come back to having a perfect life." I was directly in front of her at this point. I abruptly flicked my razor open and held the blade to her throat, and sneered as fear emerged in her eyes. "No, please, Mr. Todd, I didn't mean to upset you...I was only…" She managed to gasp out, over her obviously frightened trembling.

I couldn't do it.

Damn it, I couldn't kill her. Not her; not that God-forsaken baker Mrs. Lovett.
Oh, I wanted to more than anything in the world right then. She snapped the line holding my sanity together clear in half, to put it quite frankly. And why didn't she deserve to die?

But we were co-workers, colleagues…perhaps even friends, if you will. We worked together; she baked the pies and I supplied the meat. I was the sinner, she my cover-up. It was as simple as that. I couldn't just dispose of her…Her "frequent" customers would no doubt miss her pies, and I can't bake. I was quite sure that Toby would have his suspicions as well, but that's a problem that can easily be taken care of regardless.

I released her neck; much to her relief, apparently, as result of her eased sigh.

People like her just didn't deserve my razors to free them from life.

But my razors deserved the blood of the sinners, the blood of the transgressors. The blood of people that go straight to the depths of hell- like Beadle Bamford and Judge Turpin- and what an appropriate image to compliment their demise, their blood upon my hands.

I turned and collapsed on my bed, head in hands. I could be impatient at times, this being one of them.

I took a quick glance at Mrs. Lovett, but I wasn't expecting anything short of what she was doing- tidying up the shop, evident Lovett behavior to all who knew her. Dusting, moving a couple objects, little things. Acting as if nothing had happened...except for the occasional mutter of "just 'ow damn edgy some can be".

She doesn't understand.

But then again, I doubt much anyone would.

fin.