Unfortunately, I do not own Sweeney Todd.

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"And where might this evening find Mr. Todd, Mrs. Lovett??"

To Mrs. Lovett, the man who had only moments ago entered her modest meat pie shop was no more than one of the nameless, faceless victims that would eventually befall the brutal, swift blade of her dear Mr. Todd. Therefore, she tried her hardest not to direct her eyes to his own, hating to see the victim for a person, who had dreams like her. Instead, she kneaded the dough needed for her next batch of pies, pretending that it wasn't a man she was speaking to, but Toby or a nice man who sometimes came to speak with Mr. Todd. Anthony, his name was.

"Oh, I s'ppose 'e'll be upstairs. Pacin' and broodin' as 'e always does whenever 'e's wit'out company." She shook her head, gently formed the dough into a bowl like shape. Soon she'd be filling it with this poor, unlucky man's corpse. She swiped at her forehead with a flour coated wrist, leaving a little smudge of white against the skin, not that it really could be seen standing out against the pallid flesh. "You can go right on up, if you'd like."

The man turned to leave as a soft spot dropped from the ceiling and splayed itself on the dough bowl. The bright red melting slowly into her pie caught her attention long enough for her to realize that no man should be traversing up the staircase until the mess above had been cleaned up. A glance to the ceiling made her lips part slightly and she turned from the sight, quickly dusting her hands off onto her skirts and approaching the man. "On the other 'and, I do believe I saw someone goin' up there not too long ago. An' Mr. Todd won't appreciate any interruptions on my behalf, will 'e?"

The man seemed to be protesting, as he started to make some sort of noise. She wasn't sure, she was more concerned with the amount of water-blood damage the floor of Sweeney Todd's floor and her ceiling was receiving. He was quickly hushed up by Mrs. Lovett's waggling finger and shaking head, disapproving his course of action. "Now, Mr. T don't like anyone up there while 'e's 'ard at work. 'Ow 'bout a nice meat pie while you wait, sir?" A loud clanking of metal gears against each other and then the typical sound of a body smashing into the floor of her cellar with its usual deftness caused a little jump to the man. Sweeney would be half done clearing the damage, she supposed. Now that the body was disposed of, he would have to clean the blood from the floor and change his shirt. Oh but first, he would surely see that his friend was cleaned up nicely, of course. And finally, he would toss the bloodied clothing and sheets into the trunk to be taken down to her and washed.

"What was that?"

Mr. Todd never liked the men who asked too many questions. These men were dealt with swiftly and without any pause or heed in his mind. Men spreading rumors about the shop were unnecessary. She didn't mind them all that much, of course as long as they weren't persistent or demanding, of course. Sometimes they made her nostalgic, her dear late husband rising like a bubble to the top of her mind. God bless 'is soul, whenever 'e is. She no longer mourned his death, nor despised him for leaving her not a speck of money but only his book of recipes for meat pies. None of which included how to bake a human properly. But it didn't matter anymore, she had her dear Sweeney all to herself now and no thoughts of her or his former lover would stop her advancements onto him.

"Oh, nothin' to be worryin' 'bout, I s'ppose." She strode over to the counter strewn with cooking supplies, dough and, long ago, a rather colorful array of bugs that squished into many different flavors. "Now, 'ow 'bout one of those pies I offered, hm?"

The man wasn't looking at her anymore, but up at the ceiling. Her heart sped up a bit, knowing right well that he was staring at the red stains that had gathered over each new victim's death. His eyes widened and he took a step or two towards the door, no doubt his instincts telling him to run for help. But the common factor of curiousness stopped him from running through the streets, shouting for help. "What is that?" He sounded more aghast, more worried that he was not in the right place.

"Oh, that on the ceilin' there? Nothin' but water damage. There was a bit of a fire here a while back, dear. Nothin' to be frightened of." She crossed the counter, holding out a tray of her now famous pies. "Won't you try one, sir? Fresh out of the oven, they are." The sharp sound of Sweeney's trunk slamming down caused more fright onto the man and he drew back his hand just as he was about to select one of the treats. His eyes were directed at the ceiling once more, looking at the blood stains to the pies and then to the woman. His mouth opened, forming only the words:

"What was-"

A sweet smile crossed her face, the last drop of sweetness he would see before death embraced his bloody body. "Mr. Todd will see you now."

The man, distracted by her voice, dripping and coated in sweet, poisoned honey, turned from her, gathered his hat back upon his head and then started out the shop door. "Thank you for the offer, Mrs. Lovett, but I think I'll jus' go up for my shave."A tiny smile with no feeling behind it answered him and he turned, guiding his feet up to the long staircase. The barber's door opened and Mr. Todd stepped out open the little landing, his dark eyes falling upon his newest victim, hands caressing each other to dry up the water on his hands. Not like the smile Mrs. Lovett had given him, Mr. Sweeney Todd's smile was incredibly dark, foreboding. It had feeling behind it, but not the feeling that one would really enjoy behind the razor at their neck. He calmed himself. Sweeney had been given good reviews. Closest shave you'd ever get.

Before he closed the shop door behind he and his customer, Sweeney's gaze fell down onto the woman at her own shop door, partially opened as his was. He said nothing to her, but yet she slowly began to smile, a true smile with teeth and meaning. His lips remained static as he shut the door and turned to his customer, words of temporary kindness falling upon him. Downstairs, the baker gave a heavy sigh as she let her own door close behind her.

Only minutes later, while Mrs. Lovett was starting down the long staircase into darkness with a tray of molded pies to be stuffed and baked, the familiar sounds of her dear Sweeney's chair working its way backwards and the ceiling sliding open to drop its load into the basement caused a smile to lift onto her lips.

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