Mr. and Mrs. Todd, down by the sea.
Sweeney Todd leveled his gaze at his new wife, who was about to pour two cups of steaming hot tea, her back to him. She had put on a few pounds since she became Mrs. Todd, and he began to wonder if he preferred her new moniker above her former name, Mrs. Lovett. Would she have dared to get thicker, had he not finally agreed to a life down by the sea? Or would she have done her best to bait him, keeping fit and trim?
Down by the sea. This was all her idea. Sunshine. Swimmers. Seagulls. The sea.
Ghastly.
They had closed shop in the nick of time, before the bodies were found and before they could be apprehended. They took all of their profits and ran, leaving even poor Toby behind to listen to that crazy old beggar woman mewling about the desperation of her life
Pathetic.
Sweeney was at least glad to be free of that rubbish, but this new life was making him even more miserable. Gone were the days he knew and loved, when the gleam of steel meant the spilling of rubies. When the flick of his wrist, or the swoop of his arm meant his revenge had been exacted on those who wrongfully imprisoned him, and stole his life. And then there were the kills in between.
Delightful.
Sweeney reached into his deep trouser pocket, and slowly extracted the one of the straight razors, which he kept when they left. One never knows if the occasion may arise, when selling a close shave would be needed to pad their existence. He flicked it open, and fingered the length of the blade from the back, watching as it reflected his gaze.
"Here we are love, two for tea down by the sea!" She was always trying to make clever rhymes these days, in an annoying effort to reflect her joyous state of being since moving here. Sweeney winced as she turned and lifted the tray, tilting her head with a ridiculous little smile that made Sweeney feel nauseous. He lashed out, knocking the teapot and cups off the tray, and onto the floor.
"Now why on Earth did you go and do that for?" was what she meant to say, if the words were able to leave her mouth. They did leave her, but were more pronounced as a gurgling across her throat. Confusion crossed her face and she looked down at herself, a wave of red already flowing down the front of her frilly yellow dress.
Yellow, the color of piss with ink.
A large tear welled in her left eye, and spilled down her cheek as her eyes glazed into a deathly stare, her body falling to it's knees, and finally crumpling in a heap on the floor like an old sack.
Meat.
Sweeney casually strolled to a window that faced the water, watching as people frolicked on the sand and in the surf. He withdrew a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, and slowly wiped the traces of blood from the razor. With a smooth motion, he closed the razor with a soft click that was always melodious.
Music.
So many flavors so little time, he thought, as he watched the world stroll past. He could open a shop right here, and once again feel the slip of the steel through less honorable throats.
Perhaps down by the sea was not such a bad thing after all.