Summary: Sequel-thing to "To Dampen Your Tears, My Love." Decided to make a series of short-ish stories detailing the love interests of Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett. This one? A cooking lesson described as "more ironic than the last", by one of my friends. Read and see, more innocent fluff.
Disclaimer: I repeat myself, just to uphold the law. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, is Sondheim's, and will mostlikely remain that way forever.
Carriages and carts clattered down the roughly-hewn cobblestones of Fleet Street as East London's pedestrians bustled to their jobs and destinations. The shops along the narrow passage were just beginning to awaken, all except two. The barber shop of none other than Sweeney Todd and his business partner Mrs. Lovett. The signs hanging on doors remained that way, although the inhabitants were surely awake.
Mrs. Lovett bustled out of the back apartment, testily adjusting the laces of her worn black corset. She sighed as she picked up her rolling pin, setting up for the tiresome task at hand. Pies. She heard Toby stir in the parlor, but let him sleep as she sprinkled flour on the counter. No roaches today, thought the baker as she searched about for yesterday's eggs. Things were looking up for everyone in the house lately.
Sweeney Todd had released his bloodlust in the countless killings, which benefitted Mrs. Lovett's Pies immensely. There had been an outpouring of customers every day except Thursday, which was today. The building was closed. And of course, Toby had grown accustomed to the disjointed little family he'd joined with the baker and the demonic barber from upstairs.
Then there was the blooming romance between Mr. T and Mrs. Lovett, starting about a month ago. Before Michaelmas, when the dear barber had been sick. Romance, was not exactly the word, perhaps. The phrase "some-time lovers" fit the bill properly, thought the pale woman as a cloud of flour rose into the air. She attacked the lump of tan-gray dough with a heartless fury she would normally reserve for insects and insipid male callers. The flustered baker continued to pummel the dough as Sweeney Todd swaggered down the stairs, dressed only in his collared shirt and pinstripes.
"Mrs. Lovett, darling? You seem tense."
His words, demure and wryly humorous, interrupted the beating his counterpart inflicted on the sad mound of dough. Her hair was dusted with a few specks of flour, and even more stuck to her long eyelashes. The woman grunted, then sighed in submission, leaning on the countertop amidst the flour and spices.
"Always a facet of sunlight to my gloomy morning," mused Sweeney, picking a rather dry leftover pie up off the cutting board. He sniffed it. "May I?"
Mrs Lovett blew a bang out of her face and stood straight, brushing the whitish stuff off her chest and clothes. "Not sure if you want it, my love. 'S writer, tastes fine goin' down, but it gives you horrid indigestion." She moved down the counter, straightening the neat rows of spice jars and piles of spoons and mallets.
The barber carefully opened his mouth and nibbled an end off the pie. He gagged quietly, sidling along to the wastebin and regurgitating the sticky stuff. Sweeney dropped the rest of the detestable pastry alongside it, and came along the backside of the counter, where Mrs. Lovett was shaping the bread. He came up behind her and breathed on her neck. The woman, feeling small but safe in his shadow, shivered. She turned. Their faces were close.
Mrs. Lovett blushed. "What are you needin', love?" She stuttered, hands banked into the surface behind her. An embarrassingly red blush crawled up the pallor of her delicate neck.
"I want-" he leaned forward, as if to kiss her, then he pulled back, smiling crookedly. "- a cooking lesson." He loosened the buttons on his shirt, and rolled up the sleeves.
Muscles, though the baker as she eased herself out of the reverie she'd lost herself in. "What kind of cooking, precisely? Surely not the pies..." She eyed the hand that drummed next to hers.
"On the contrary, I would like to learn how to make bread. You do it quite well," Sweeney murmured quietly in her ear. "I don't know how to cook anything but dastardly schemes."
She blushed. "You think I bake well? How... kind." Mrs. Lovett rubbed the rolling pin on her skirts. "Well, if it's bread you want, I've got a decent variety. Let me see..." She tapped her lip. "White, cracked wheat, though that's hard to do without the cracked wheat... er, Irish soda bread-"
Sweeney Todd cut her off. "White bread is quite what I was looking for, darling. Simple, but tasteful." He brushed a floppy strand of hair out of his eyes. Mrs. Lovett nodded, setting the pin on the counter. Her hand came to rest on the barber's as she casually outlined the ingredients. "...We'll need flour, no doubt, eggs, milk. Toby!" She cried, hand on her forehead.
The eleven-year-old tipped into the shop, buttoning his shirt. He yawned. "Yes, mum?" He looked a layabout, and he was; brown hair was tussled all over his eyes, and his plus-fours were slipping down his bottom.
"Darling, I'd adore it if you could go get some milk from Mrs. Mooney down the lane," said Mrs. Lovett in a fashion that could only be called motherly. She strode around the counter, coming to button her adoptive son's shirt properly. The woman brushed the mess of hair away from his eyes. Toby smiled.
"Thank ya, mum, soon as possible. I'm going out for today, if that's alright?" He grabbed his child-size waistcoast off a hook from the wall and hoisted it on. "Marty and Ike were going to meet me and some other fellows for a game of cricket in the square."
"Quite alright, Toby, dear," said Mrs. Lovett, passing him a pie. "Just don't get into trouble. I don't need the Beadle catching you at an opium den." She patted his hair and gave him a nudge toward the door, which swung open, letting in a frigid breeze. The boy waved goodbye to his beloved Mrs. Lovett, and gave a recognitive nod to Sweeney Todd. He still didn't like the looks of the man.
As soon as Toby had disappeared down the street, the baker turned. "Now. Where were we?" She rubbed her arms, the wintry gust still lingering on her body and clothes.
"Bread," said the man opposite, his eyes contentedly eating in Mrs. Lovett. "I'm looking forward to this." Todd picked up the rolling pin and eyed it with a confused expression. His face split into the crooked smile again, and he laughed hollowly.
Mrs. Lovett blinked with her large eyes. She smirked. "What are you laughin' at, Mr. T?" She walked over, hands on hips, and grabbed the other end of the rolling pin. The barber's other hand met hers.
"This thing is as much your weapon as are my razor blades." He rested his chin on the top of her head, sighed. "We're very alike, you see. I pulverize the people, you pulverize the bread." Sweeney's arm remained on Mrs. Lovett's shoulder as she guided him to the counter, scooping up a mound of flour.
His smell was interesting, whispered Mrs. Lovett's mind, as she guided Sweeney through the first steps of making dough. Not bloody at all, more warm. Spicy. She stopped to run her hand through her hair. Fantasy was not to be lived out in the presence of the fantasized, she told herself. She reached below the counter to retrieve the yeast jar only to find that the barber's dark eyes surveyed her intently, rimmed by dark circles.
"Now you knead this stuff into the bread. Wait until it grows under your fingertips. Use the rolling pin to beat it, shape it," instructed Mrs. Lovett, her eyes following his every articulation. The man, confused and slightly floury, began beating the dough mercilessly. "No, bloody hell, you're going to tenderize the poor dough. You've got to discipline it like a mother would a child, which does not mean you beat it. Mr. T," she said with mock severity. He looked abashed.
"Ohh, I'm sorry. I understand you're a bit behind, being gone for fifteen years and all- Confinement-"
"It's not that, my love." The barber sighed. His eyes were unreadable, as always. "You do it as an artist. Baking, that is. I kill like an artist- it's not the only thing I want to be known for." His hand rested passively on her shoulder. She almost gasped at the touch. Sweeney Todd moved to the side and began to beat the dough as he'd seen Mrs. Lovett do only a while ago. She gawped at the immediate reaction.
As soon as the bread became airy, the two stopped and sat against the comfortably warm stove, the scent of pies and bread permeating the air. It was quiet except for the muffled clomp of the hooves of horses, and the hawked voices of barkers. The sunlight filtered through the murky windows as Sweeney Todd rested his head upon the baker's. He inhaled. She smelled nice, like a woman should, with a tint of cinnamon and breadiness. As any baker should. The barber found it strangely comforting.
The time ticked by slowly, dreamlike, but soon it was past.
Mrs. Lovett raised her nose to the air. "I do believe your bread is done, Mr.T," she enunciated, grabbing a pair of careworn potholders to remove the loaf from the oven. It smelled heavenly, almost as good as her own. The baker placed the pan on the counter. Sweeney stared at it. She stared at it. The barber resisted the urge to grab a piece of the freshly-baked bread and devour it, but the wafting scent of bread made the time of waiting easier.
As soon as the steam died down, Mrs. Lovett turned her large eyes to Todd. "Would you like to do the honors, my love?" She glanced at the bread. "Cut it, I mean." She was about to add the word 'gently' to her sentence when the barber removed his razor from its holster, inspected it to make sure it wasn't bloody, and began to cut the bread. His wrist moved smoothly up and down the loaf, and more steam escaped. The smell was overpowering as Sweeney picked a piece and offered it to Mrs. Lovett. She accepted it, smiling as she popped it in her mouth.
Sweeney Todd surveyed her expression dutifully as she chewed, biting down on his own piece. It was good, almost as good as Mrs. Lovett's, but it lacked that extra... love? The baker's expression changed, though, to blunt surprise.
"Amazing! It's like... my own... only-" She was broken off as the barber stole her voice at the lips. His eyes were closed, hers fluttered slowly to a standstill. Mrs. Lovett didn't have the nerve to stop him, or ask, Why? Instead, time ticked by again as they held each other, tasting. Neither noticed as the back door opened and shut as Toby came home. The boy stopped to gawp as his adoptive mother and that demon kissed passionately. His gawp slowly turned to a glare.
The demon charmed Mrs. Lovett not with a smile, but a kiss.
WoOo for fluffiness! Hope you liked it, more should be on the way soon. 3