Alright, this is a very silly one-shot about Sweeney's shattered dream. No real plot, just silliness. But in the end, isn't that what life's all about?
Disclaimer: No, clearly I do not own the characters from Sweeney Todd. If I did, Sweeney would never have died and he would have taken his shirt off quite a bit. But that's just me. Lol.
Sweeney Todd was sitting in his barbershop, fuming silently. He sat in the chair that sat in the middle of his room, his hands draped over the armrests, ignoring the rain that trickled down the window beside him. Droplets fell from the sky and hit the glass, making a dull splat, before slowly sliding down the smooth glass.
Normally, Sweeney was intrigued with the motion of rain, the way it moved and made patterns, much like his beloved rubies. However, today he was in a mood that allowed nothing other than sitting and brooding.
Of course, the obvious solution to his mood would have been the slitting of a few throats, but when the weather was nasty in London (so, most of the time) people preferred not to walk to their nearest slaughter house for an innocent shave that would lead to the eventual dumping of their body through a trapdoor into a bakehouse below. No, on rainy days, potential victims chose to avoid their nearest Tonsorial Parlour of Death.
And so, Sweeney sat in his room and brooded, his eyebrows knitted.
A sudden tinkle indicated the arrival of none other than his personal burden, Mrs Lovett. He sighed inaudibly as she tottered over to him, bearing a tray.
"Mornin', Mr T," she chimed cheerfully. He grunted, not moving from his position in the chair.
"What's wrong, love?" she asked, noticing at once that his mood was, if possible, more sullen than usual. He ignored her and she instantly walked over to him, beginning to fuss. He huffed, annoyed, as she began muttering about him catching some sort of illness from the chilling cold in his room. He felt himself visibly shudder as she felt his forehead for a fever.
"I'm fine, Mrs Lovett," he finally growled, shrugging away from her grasping fingers. He noticed with a slight quirk of his eyebrows that she looked rather disappointed when he shifted.
"No, Mr T, I know when something other than the Judge is bothering you, now what's up?" She placed her hands on her hips and Todd knew at once that he was stuffed. Once those hands moved to her hips, they would not move until she received an answer.
"Nothing," he grumbled, trying to think of an excuse which would make her leave without requiring an explanation. "Just PMS."
Mrs Lovett stared at him, completely shocked, her mouth hanging open. He frowned at her. Her hand fluttered to her mouth to stifle a few giggles, but with no success.
She burst into a torrential fit of giggles and doubled over, her fit of laughter leaving her breathless. Sweeney looked at her quizzically.
"What?" he asked her, cocking his head. She looked at him, her eyes shining with mirth.
"PMS, Mr T?" she giggled. "Are you serious?"
"Well, why not?" he burst out, standing up huffily. "Women say it all the time, and I think men need an excuse to be grumpy as well."
"Mr T, do you know what PMS is?" Mrs Lovett asked.
"Of course I do!" he grunted angrily. "But I hardly think it fair that women should be able to say it and then be able to be grumpy all day without anyone fussing over them! Why can't men have an excuse like that?"
"But, Mr T," Mrs Lovett chortled, "men don't get PMS!"
"I know they don't!" he said, stomping around. "But I feel some of the symptoms today, so I'm using it."
"Oh, you poor dear," she said sweetly, patting him on the back. "I could help with that, you know…" Sweeney turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised.
"How?" he asked suspiciously. She smiled wickedly and pulled a little bottle out of the folds of her dress.
"What is that?" he asked doubtfully. She shook the bottle.
"A little pill that will make all your grumpiness disappear!" she chirped, smiling broadly. He was apprehensive, but hell, grumpiness was no way to live. He wanted to have some fun once in his life.
"Fine," he growled, and she happily gave him a few pills, which he swallowed in a single gulp.
"Enjoy," she whispered evilly, closing the door behind her as she left the room. She chortled all the way down the stairs, pausing only at the bottom to read the label of the bottle again.
Oestrogen Hormone Supplement Tablets read the label. For hormone imbalance.
"Well, this should prove to be a fun little experiment," Mrs Lovett mused slyly.
--
Sweeney had no idea what the hell was wrong with him. It seemed that no matter what he did, he was over-sensitive today, and every little thing was making him burst into tears.
To distract himself, he thought of the way the judge's blood would make him feel, but the thought of the judge only made him think of his past.
"It's not fair!" he wailed, throwing his strop across the room. "Why me? Why did I marry the sexiest woman on earth? Why did a dirty pervert also happen to have the power to send me to a hellhole?" The tears spilled over their barrier, splashing down his face onto his shirt as he screwed up his eyes, trying to prevent the shame of crying. In doing so, he caught sight of his beautiful wife's face.
"Oh, Lucy," he moaned, pulling her picture closer to his face. "They were so mean to me in that place! They were big meanies who bullied Benny so much it hurt! It still hurts now. They hurt my feelings and you weren't here to make it better!" He pouted as more tears spilled over his now shattered emotional barrier.
"And why the hell am I so sensitive today?" he howled, kicking the wall. "And now my toe hurts!"
He looked once more at Lucy's picture.
"Today's the anniversary!" he howled at her frozen face. "The anniversary of my shattered dreams!"
"Mr T!" said Mrs Lovett, bursting into the room. "What is going on here?"
He turned to look at her and stumbled across the room, his eyes red and puffy. He grabbed the front of her dress and fell to his knees, burying his head in her stomach and bawling his eyes out.
"I didn't want to be a barber!" he gasped, as she felt the tears beginning to soak her dress. "I didn't want to shave men's faces! Sure, it's fun and all to cut their throats and see them die, but it was never my dream!" The tears began to fall heavier and faster.
"There, there, dear," said Mrs Lovett, awkwardly patting his head. He howled, pounding the air with his fists. He pulled his head away and stared up at her, his deep brown eyes overflowing with tears.
"I wanted to be…a lumberjack!" he said, and his face lit up at the words. "Leaping from tree to tree as I float down the river Thames on a raft fashioned from the mighty redwood, which I cut using my favourite razor! With my best girl at my side, we'd sing, sing, sing!" He was about to burst into song when Mrs Lovett intervened.
"Now, now," she said quickly, "I think you do enough singing about those razors of yours. Let's not hear any stupid ballads about lumberjacks." Sweeney looked a bit put out.
"So, about this dream of yours," Mrs Lovett prompted.
"My dreams were smashed," Sweeney continued, looking forlorn. "I tried to become a lumberjack, but me pa said no, and when I auditioned to become one anyway, the Lumberjacks of the World Committee turned me down! So, I was stuck being a damn barber." He began to howl again. "You don't know what it's like! It's so achingly dull, stuffy, boring and tedious to shave beards that sometimes I want to slit my own throat!"
"OK, love," said Mrs Lovett, hoisting him to his feet, "I think that's enough now." She was starting to regret giving him the Oestrogen supplements now; her idea had been to make him more willing to tell her what was wrong, but that had backfired, hadn't it?
"Love, why do you bring this up today?" Todd looked at her, his lower lip trembling.
"Because today's the anniversary of the day that I was refused of my dream to become a lumberjack!" he said, sniffling.
"Oh, well, love, maybe I could help you with that dream," said Mrs Lovett shiftily. Anything to get him to shut up. He looked at her, his eyes sparkling with hope.
"You mean it?" he gasped happily. "You really mean it?" She nodded and he threw his arms around her neck. She patted him awkwardly on the back.
"Alright, then, Mr T, I'm just gonna be downstairs if you need me…" He nodded, and she slowly left the room, leaving him humming happily to himself.
She would have to wait about two days before the hormones were filtered out of his system. Until then, she would have to put up with his odd behaviour.
As she descended the stairs, Mrs Lovett caught a snippet of the song that Mr T was singing.
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK
I sleep all night and I work all day!
I cut down trees, I eat my lunch, I go to the lavatory,
On Wednesday I'll go shoppin' and have buttered scones for tea!
I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK
I sleep all night and I work all day!
I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wildflowers…
At this point, Mrs Lovett shook her head in bewilderment and continued to walk down the stairs.
"That man," she thought to herself, "is one odd barber."
THE END
Yeah, I know, this was very silly. And the song isn't mine; it's from Monty Python's Lumberjack Song, which was the inspiration for this fic. Anyways, just another random one-shot. I would love it if you could R&R. XD