You have no idea how good it feels to have time for writing again after final exams, christmas celebrations and whatnot.

I think "Waltz" will be a collection of one-shots that might or might not be connected. I'll just type up what comes to my mind when I think of Sweenett and dancing and voilá a new chapters will be born. I actually have a couple of ideas already, I just need to turn them into presentable one-shots.

What I can tell you now is that this will be my place for Sweenett fluff, because I just love it and I've freaking missed it in my life. There, I've admitted it. Can we now go on? Perfect.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd or its characters. I merely play with them and then put them back unharmed.

Ballet

Ever since she had been a little girl Eleanor Lovett had been fascinated by people dancing. It took her to a world far from the dull streets she'd always called her home and into a wonderland of music, pirouettes and emotions. One time and one time only her mother had taken her to a small ballet and Eleanor had stood in awe in the crowd and stared at the graceful dancers on stage with her mouth slightly agape. Although she knew it was all rehearsed into the tiniest detail, it seemed to her that their movement was spontaneous and natural. For weeks after the show Eleanor had attempted to do everything as swiftly as the dancers had, tears of frustration filling her eyes when it just wouldn't work as she wished for it to. It wasn't that she lacked discipline or practice, being the stubborn little lass she was she would continuously try and stand on her tippy toes like the dancers had until her feet hurt and her father had to carry her to her bed. Her determination just wouldn't fade but she couldn't find a rhythm or a pace that suited her and slowly but surely she came to despise the ballet and everything that came with it.

Her mother hadn't known what to do with little Eleanor. The girl who had previously adored classical music so much and always hummed one tune or the other while joyously spinning around the room was suddenly repelled by all that as if it were possessed by the devil. Whenever her motives for the sudden hatred were questioned in the following years Eleanor would just wave it off as a phase but her eyes gave away the inner diappointment she felt even while saying so.

Even now, decades later, Mrs. Lovett still told herself that she didn't like the ballet and never really had. Sometimes she almost believed her own lie but she didn't have that much time to think of pirouettes and whatnot, constantly busy with serving one customer and chopping up the other. Her emporium was doing splendidly and no one had yet grown suspicious of the numerous disappearances around Fleet Street. Mr. Todd was mostly careful when it came to choosing his victims, even when he was blind with rage and bloodlust. She was unsure of how long it had been since Pirelli's passing but Toby kept asking about him so it probably just felt like months to her when, in fact, much less time had passed. One couldn't blame her though, with all that work she had Mrs. Lovett was busy from early dawn till late at night and once she shooed out the last drunkards and turned the sign at her door around it took all her remaining strength to drag herself to bed before the cycle started all over again merely hours later. The only day she had mostly to herself was Sunday.

After church, to which she forced both Mr. Todd and Toby to go with her, she went into her bedroom and prepared some hot water by the small oven in the corner for a nice footbath. Once comfortably settled in her chair she would then slowly slide her blistered feet into the hot water and continue reading her romance novel from where she had left off the week before. Her peace seldom lasted long with either Toby or Mr. Todd interrupting her sooner or later. Judging by the footsteps she heard Mrs. Lovett guessed that this week it was the latter.

She was right.

"Mrs. Lovett?" His voice was smooth and velvety which surprised her, considering it was the one day he couldn't kill. "May I come in?" That, too, surprised her. Usually he didn't bother asking for permission and burst in even without knocking. More than once he had caught her with little to no clothing on… which in retrospect she didn't mind, as it had lead to a very interesting change in their relationship.

"Sure, love," she called out, lowering her book. The door opened to reveal her barber, still in his Sunday suit from their visit to St. Dunstan's. In his hands he carried a steaming mug.

"I thought you might like some tea," he stated and crossed the room until he was standing only a few steps away from her. The next sound was the splashing of water as Mrs. Lovett dropped her book.

"Shoot," she cursed and fished the novel out of the iron tub but it was too late, the ink was already running down the pages even as she waved it around. She gave up saving the dripping abomination in her hands and eyed it with pity instead. "I enjoyed that one."
The barber didn't even attempt to hide his amusement, chuckling softly while pulling the now useless mass of wet paper and smeared ink from her hands and replacing it with the mug. Mrs. Lovett sniffed the liquid suspiciously before cautiously taking a sip. Her eyes widened as she recognized the flavor of her favorite tea mixture.

"Don't act so surprised, pet," Mr. Todd said as he sat down on the bed, carefully examining what used to be his landlady's favorite novel.

"I've a bloody right to be surprised, though. After all you never even come down 'ere on a Sunday, 'cept for when… y'know." The last part was mumbled into her mug but still caused his lips to curl into an almost undetectable smirk while he ignored her comment otherwise, changing the subject.

"So tell me, Mrs. Lovett… what was this little novel about that had you so fascinated?" He held up the soaked book. The bloody man was exceptionally chatty that particular Sunday. Oddly enough Mrs. Lovett blushed, which of course didn't go unnoticed by the barber whose smirk grew more noticeable. "Filthy story, was it? Now I really am curious." He got up and walked over to the chair she currently occupied, then lowered himself onto the left armrest while his right arm came around her so he could support some of his weight on the back of the chair. He began tracing the index finger of his free hand along her neck and collarbone, raising goose flesh but drawing no other reaction from the baker who was staring at the mug in her hands.
"It can't be that bad, pet," he said, still amused, before he lowered his head so he could whisper into her ear, "I bet it was nothing the two of us haven't done already."

Now that caught her attention and Mrs. Lovett blushed again but still didn't turn her head to look at the barber who was still torturously close to her face. "'T was nothing sexual. The book, I mean. …It was about a ballet dancer." As she said those words she finally turned her head to meet the barber's confused but curious gaze. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Care to explain why that of all things made you blush?" She couldn't think clearly whenever he was that close and the fact that he showed actual interest in her feelings made her heart beat even more erratically than it did from his close proximity alone. Nevertheless she couldn't bring herself to share the story of her childhood dream with him.

"That's a story for another Sunday, love," she said with a sigh, eyes involuntarily darting to his lips.

"If you say so." He whispered back before closing the gap between them, effectively ending their conversation.

Review because the Sweeney Todd anniversary wasn't that long ago?