"But it was pleasant, wasn't it?" A smirk formed on his ghostly face. Mrs. Lovett swallowed, not sure if she was exactly ready for what was coming for her.
"I would have to aggree." She couldn't pry her eyes away from him, even as his hand played up and down her leg teasingly. He studied her carefully, enjoying the look that crossed her face every time he touched her. His gentle, almost nonexistent breathing fell on her face. She hadn't realized how close he was, and her lips parted slightly in anticipation. Her arms ached from supporting her weight for so long, but she was terribly afraid that if she shifed she would break the moment and he would become the silent, angry Sweeney once more. She didn't have to worry about it long, for soon her back was pressed to the floor and his lips were moving rapidly with hers. Their hands met and he carefully weaved his fingers in between her own.
He was in control, and he liked it that way. He had the feeling that Mrs. Lovett felt the same, but he never felt the need to ask her. Neither of them heard the bell on the pie shop door jingle, because neither of them expected someone to disregard the notice on the door that read 'Closed'. He was hastily pulling up the front of the pie-maker's dress when part of his mind registered his name being called.
"Mr. Todd?"
Someone was in the kitchen looking for him, but he was so wrapped up in the moment that he didn't care. The demon that spurred him to kill was let loose in a different manner, and his actions became aggressive. Mrs. Lovett screamed, breaking their kiss, as he made his way inside her, and gasped for breath.
Anthony had been looking frantically around the small pie shop when he heard the woman scream. Being the noble and heoric youth that he was, he clopped quickly into the parlor to investigate, and soon wished that he hadn't.
"ACK!" he shrieked, his hand flying up to his mouth in shock and disgust. He lurched his eyes away, only to find them flicker back a few minutes later. He really needed to go. Now.
Mrs. Lovett spotted the sailor and squeaked, ripping herself away from the barber, and leaped to her feet. Sweeney, snarling, spun around to see what had torn him from his prey.
Dark eyes landed on Anthony's face, but recognization failed to dawn in the barber's mind. All he wanted to do now was kill the thing that had interupted him.
He always kept two razors at his side. This was unlucky for Anthony, for if he hadn't, there wouldn't have been one waiting patiently for its owner's grasp. The blade clicked open and the man leaped over the couch and landed on the other, face contorting with a passionate fury. The razor found itself handle deep in its opponent's throat, ruby liquid erupting from the newly formed wound. Blood spattered the barber's face, but this was a normal occurence. Mrs. Lovett observed the scenerio, wrinkling her nose as the back of her floral printed couch soaked in the liquid. When the warmth finally seeped from the sailor's body, Sweeney stood, blood dripping from the end of his blade. Mrs. Lovett didn't dare move for fear of joining the young man. Sweeney remained in his spot for a few moments, furious breaths wracking his body as he fought for control. The bloody razor clattered to the ground, and he stumbled a few paces away, back into the parlor, before falling to his knees as if his legs didn't want to work anymore. It was then that Mrs. Lovett found the courage to approach him.
"Mr. T?" Her hand gently touched his shoulder.
No response. This had happened before. She tried again.
"Hallo in there! Mr. T!" She nudged him with the toe of her shoe, and he let out a muffled grunt. "What was that?"
"Yes?" he whispered, still not looking at her.
She sighed and pulled him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her. She eased him onto the couch, knowing that if she was going to have to clean part of it, she midswell clean the entire thing. Her hazel eyes flicked about the room as she searched for where she had hidden the bottle of gin. Ah, there it was, hidden behind the cookie jar shaped like a dog. She fetched the bottle and pressed it into his bloodied hand, pulling out the cork so he wouldn't have to.
"Drink up, love. I'll get you some clean clothes."
As she flitted deeper into her house to retrieve the clothing, she thought about the untimely death she had witnessed just mimutes ago.
Eh, she thought carelessly, anyone who interupted her private life deserved such a fate.