Seymour sat in the chair, gun clenched in his hand. Orin, the nasty thing, had gone off to pump himself full of pure gaseous stupidity. "Now, do it now, while he's gassing himself to a palpable stupor, the timing's ideal and the moment is super to ready and fire and blow the sick bastard away." A distant laughing indicated less time. "Now, do it now, just a flicker of pressure right here on the trigger and Audrey won't have to put up with that pig for another day! Now, for the girl, now, for the plant, now, yes I will... but I can't!"
Orin, bearing a gas mask that would put WW1 veterans to shame, and laughing far more frequently than the Joker, strolled out of nowhere and pinned Seymour down. "Ah, Seymour, the things we'll do to your mouth now." His dental equipment, reminiscent of something out of 'Saw' glittered in the fluorescent light. "I've had just about enough of this, so I think I'll take this mask off." Several jerking movements later. "Guess what?"
"What?"
"The mask. It's stuck... Jesus Christ, I could asphyxiate in here. Could you give a guy a hand?" Several moments passed.
"Well."
"Well? He says 'well'? Seymour, I don't think you understand. Don't- be- fooled if I should giggle like a sappy happy dope-it's just the gas. It's got me high. But don't let that fact deceive you, any moment I could die. Though I giggle and I chortle bear in mind I'm not immortal- why this whole thing strikes me funny I don't know- cause it really is a rotten way to go."
Seymour was no monster. Orin was a horrific, awful, abusive creep, but did he really deserve to die, with no chance of redemption? The plant thought so, but the plant wasn't him. He took a while to mull it over. The plant didn't really need to be fed. Its corpse alone would sell for millions, and could no longer be sold when he figuratively had blood on his hands. "Mister Scrivello, I will help you so long as you accept the following Terms and Conditions!"
"Anything, anything, just save me!"
"Number one:Never touch Audrey again!"
"Why are you so protective of that plant of yours?"
"I mean the girl!"
"What?! Why?!"
"Number two:Leave the dentistry profession forever!"
"Never!"
"I'm afraid I can't help you, Mister Scrivello. I can't let you just torture the inhabitants of Skid Row as you have so long done."
"What's number three, anyway?"
"You never tell anyone about this incident."
"Isn't that blackmail?"
"Agree to it. I'm the only one who can save you."
Several minutes passed. "Fine... I ac- I ac- I ac...cep..." The color drained from his face, and the gas mask quit breathing. Once again, he looked like plant food to Seymour.