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Here is Le Second Chapter!

WARNING- THERE IS SINGING.

Life is for the alive, and personally I'd prefer to keep it that way, so please don't kill me.

Sweeney was now talking to Mrs Lovett through the window's modest reflection of her.

A ghost.

She had haunted him long enough, that was for sure. And she never went away.
What was she thinking? Why was she so eager to suddenly do the cursed job itself? Sweeney was stumped. But at the moment, it wasn't her motives he was contemplating, but his own.

That window was solving a lot of solutions.

Pale, see-through. Rather lifeless looki-

Wait. Wait a minute.
Sweeney's revenge driven mind began to translate Mrs Lovett's fantasies into plans to rid her.
This... This is the way I can get her into the chair... And then she'll be dead, and I'll throw the rest of the bodies into the oven, kill the kid, throw him in too, then...

Then I can finally leave...

He knew, by teaching her how to shave, the would come a moment where she was completely vulnerable, and this would be the very best way to do it. Her unknowing. He could make it much easier for himself and just ask her to sit in that doomed chair. She would obey without much hesitation. But this was they way he could play with his prey before the kill. Taunting her, teasing her, and then...
He watched her fiddle with the tearing ruffles on that old dress, so obliviously. Her dedication would be her undoing.

"Fine. Tomorrow. Exactly half an hour after breakfast. If you are late, you will be dead. If you are early, you will be dead. Now leave."

For a moment, Mrs Lovett just stood staring at him. Then a wide grin made its way around her face, sparking her eyes, and awakening laugh lines that had been idol for a long time.

"Oh, Mr. T, thank you! I- "

"Well? I said go!"

Unable to process what had just occurred, she nodded her head quickly, as if stunned, and then hitched her skirts up, and bolted out the door, carrying her ridiculously large smile with her. Sweeney rolled his eyes as he heard childish giggling all the way down the stairs. The amount of moods that had left that room escalated by one, and Sweeney was left to contemplate, once again, why it was happiness.

He wandered over to the small dresser occupying the far wall. He glanced down at his precious artifacts- a picture of Lucy, his razors, other barbering tools, and Johanna's never-used jewelry box. Which had lately been covered in a thick layer of dust. He scolded himself. He needed to keep these clean. These were some of the only left memories he had of his family. He started to turn away when he did a double take-
something was scrawled in the dust.

A message for him.

-...-

The next morning, Mrs Lovett tore out of her bed at the usual hour. The only thing different was that the usual thing pulling her out of bed- the barber, of course- wasn't just a pull anymore. It was a tug, a call. And Mrs Lovett was more than ready to answer. That morning, she made breakfast with an energy Toby had never seen on her before.

"Ma'am, I never knew you could do that thing where they flip the eggs onto the plate!"
Mrs Lovett beamed at the child, still driven by that answer given to her by Sweeney the day before.
"Well, Toby, today is a... A big day. New things are about to happen. I need to be ready." She breathed for a moment, resting the frying pan on the counter for a moment. Her eyes settled on the stale water sitting flat in the washing basin, which was placed clumsily on the edge of the counter, reflecting a wardrobe and more general objects occupying that section of the building.

Hmm, that wardrobe door needs ta be closed...

She looked a little closer...

What the...

She studied the reflection for a while, checking behind her...

A dress?
She whipped around, looking past the alcove in the kitchen and into the wardrobe kept usually shut.

She hiked her skirts up, not caring about her greasy hands. The look on her face defined puzzlement perfectly- frowned eyebrows, her mouth gaping, head tilted, as if all the questions inside were weighing it down.

"Toby, did you see this... Oh!"

She couldn't really comprehend what was being placed before her eyes. A blood-red bustle dress, ruffles and completely unessecary bows galore, fluffed up as big as possible, was hung in a closet, full of clothes much humbler in comparison. Of course, they had the money by now to buy clothing like that, but the gesture was still enormous. She couldn't believe that anyone within the building would commit such a gesture.

"Oh, Toby, love! You got this for-"

But she halted her speech immediately when she read the scribbly writing on the tag.
She searched for air and sucked in a shaky breath.
"No... It's.. He wouldn't..."
With that she bounded up the stairs to Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor.

Toby could only smile.

-...-

She didn't even knock. Mrs Lovett burst through the door, halting up as soon as she saw the figure pacing.
He only paced when he was waiting for something. She gasped.

"Oh- I'm not late, am I?" she bit her lip- that dress was from him, yet it made her late.

"Yes. You are."

Her insides chilled, realizing there was no sort of warmth to his voice. She tried her best to sound "warm"- why did he have to make everything so difficult?- and began to speak. "I saw the dr-"

"What did you write in my room? And when?"

"Write? In your room? Again, I really dunno what you're bumblin' on about. Now, as I was gonna say, why did ya buy tha-"

"Well, why don't you come see then, pet?"

Sweeney growled and spat the last word, and then broke suddenly out of his pacing and led Mrs Lovett, grasping his tough, calloused hands around her thin pale neck, to the dresser. He then jerked her head down. "What is this, my dear?"
She gasped. Written in the dust...
May 26, jamais oublier!

"That was... The wedding. Of Bejamin Barker. How did you know?"

Words failed her, so she said the first thing that her mouth would accept.

"I don't even know what this is, Mr Todd, I swear! I dunno what or how- I don't know how this got 'ere any a bit more than you! And don't go harpin' off on me when there's a whole bloomin' dress down there!"
There weren't a lot of words, yet Mrs Lovett was looking for breath by the end. "It's true, I swear!"

His expression twisted, and he seemed to forget the dusty message, as if it had blown away. "A dress? A dress from Toby. I 'aven't bought you any dress." again, the last word was spat like poison.
Mrs Lovett's heart sank. And then she remembered the tiny bit of weight in her corset. She pulled it out.

"Then how could he have given me this with it? You must have!"

Sweeney felt a jolt run trough his still body. His mouth turned a frown. It wasn't possible- he looked down at his finger- his ring! He snapped his head back up, seeing the ring clutched between the baker's thumb and pointer. He snatched it out of her hand and slipped it back on with a growl.

"Explain. Now."

Mrs Lovett felt angry at him now- why could he so easily blame her?

"Oh, so now I have somethin' ta do wiv it? Well, ta MOST people, Sweeney Todd, when ya get a signed card and a ring from one, it means it's from THEM. I dunno how this happened, so do NOT turn on me!"

He didn't bother with a reply.

Remember, if you wait, you'll get her slowly and painfully at the end of these lessons... It was the only thought that kept the barber from silencing her right then and there.

"Well I didn't do it. Now let's just start this... Lesson."

Nellie nodded. But one thought kept circling back-
The demon barber had bought her a dress.
And there was no other explanation for it. That's why he seemed so affronted! Obviously his experience and lack of communication with a female being over the past 15 years had worn down. He was going to be uncomfortable at first, of course.
And Mrs Lovett would wait, the knowledge that the barber had bought her something keeping her going until the next act of acknowledgement.

This thought, of course, easily translated into a smile that she couldn't contain. When he began to sharpen a razor, she decided it was a good time to sit down and listen.

"Alright, Mr T, I'm ready!"

Mrs Lovett sat on the small trunk, it would seem, literally bubbling with happiness.

Sweeney couldn't tell why- she had been yelling at him in defiance not 10 minutes ago. He -of course- was mad, but he bottled it up and reminded himself of his prize.

"Ok. You are here to learn things. You will do what I ask, nothing more, nothing less. If you do something wrong, there will not be another lesson. Understood?"

Like a child eagerly awaiting instructions, she mustered a weakly-forged serious face and nodded.

"Good. Now listen up. I doubt you have any experience, so I'll give you an obvious one- hold the razor in your dominant hand."

Sweeney was finding instructing this woman the greatest difficulty of all, never mind staying sane in her presence. He already noticed her fingers gravitating towards the buckles on the trunk, itching to fidget with something. He growled.

"Stay focused."

Her fingers dropped sullenly, but her face didn't change a bit.
Ok, I've got her fingers down, so now how do I get the rest of this woman to listen as well?!

And with that, he very reluctantly handed her a small, silver razor from a drawer in the corner of the room. The baker began to protest.

"What about your razors? Why can't I-"

"Because those are off limits to anyone but me, and you are not to go near them."

Sweeney felt irritated with himself for the tone of his own voice. He couldn't place his finger on it, but he didn't like the way he addressed her, as if she was under his control. He wanted nothing to do with her except have the satisfaction of ridding her from his presence- for good.

The barber gave a great, dramatic heave of a sigh, and sat slowly, with the utmost reluctance, in the cursed chair itself. Suddenly everything had a new perspective- he, the prey, the landlady, the predator? He hoped bitterly he wouldn't have to get used to it. But he knew he probably would have to- for patience travels closely with revenge.

Nellie Lovett was thrilled. She didn't even care that she was being treated like a small child in a museum- it was worth it. She reached out a slender hand to lather the shaving cream, but was stopped by Sweeney swatting it away like a fly. Trust would have to be built.

The barber felt like a fool, smudging the white solution all over his face. He didn't know why he was letting the baker see him in such a state, but he figured by now, she would believe trust was being built.

The mouse trusted the cat when he said with lifted paws, "Come and play, underneath my waiting claws..."

It was all a game.

So he played right along, from the very beginnin, when the cold metal hit his face.

"Don't you see, you have to glide..."

"What, how do ya do that? I've already tried!"

"You have to lighten your grip!"

"But if I do, it's gonna slip!"

"You're the worst I've ever seen."

"Well at least this shave is clean!"

"That's it! Your awful work has -HEY! Don't cut me!"

"Then, Mr T, do not insult me!"

Mrs Lovett, tired of being criticized, knicked his skin a bit. She finally felt dominant, in control of this madman, and she quite liked the feeling too. It was much more satisfying then babying him, without a given response. Although there was still part of her that wanted this not only to be her effort, but an effort made by two. Then with that, she resumed the attempt to give the demon barber a shave.

"I'm trying my best!"

"Well it seems like your worst."

"Can I take a rest?"

"Finish this first!"

"But LOOK, my hand is-"

They both paused. Sweeney slowly looked at her hand.

"I thought you were right handed."

"I am! See- oh..."

Mrs Lovett realized she was holding the razor... In her left hand.

"Well that explains a lot..."

"You really can't be taught..."

"Oh, don't be so absurd!"

"You don't listen to a single word!"

Sweeney stood up and pushed her off of him, and stormed off by the window.

"I should've kicked her out, when I heard her on the stairs... I should've made her leave, ridded of her then and there... But if I were to do that, I can't get her in the chair.."

Sweeney knew that Mrs Lovett would do anything he asked. He could've made it 100 times easier and just told her to have a seat. But this way, he could take his time... She wouldn't know that sitting in that doomed chair was out of place. It would all be part of the lesson...

"Patience", he muttered to himself, then forced himself to go back and have a seat in the chair.

"Now, let's try this... Again." he said the word with much difficulty. "RIGHT hand".
"Right hand", she repeated, obviously trying to pick up knowledge or information from the words. She held it in her right hand this time, and sang quietly, "Well, Mr T, now should I go?"

"Yes. Er- please. But this is too slow."

"You old grouch- how would you know?
I bet you've never even gotten this far."

"As you already know, fool you are,
I- he once had a life, a love, a..."

"A wife, Mr T. I know, it's a scar..."

"No, you don't know. You can't. Not even by far..."

"She was pale, and petite, with long yellow hair..."

"Sweeney! Admit defeat, because she isn't ever there!"

Mrs Lovett realized with a start that Sweeney was now clean shaven. Careful not to clue him in on this fact, for she didn't want the lesson to end, she began gently wiping the shaving cream off with a towel, jumping when he began singing again-

"But what if she is there, just around the bend-"
"Just forget about 'er, please, just please, Mr Todd.."
"Sitting picking daisies, in a warm, glowing glend..."
"Please, give it up, shes DEAD, you old sod!"

She sighed with frustration, but cut the last bit, realizing this could end their conversation. So she quickly added, "I could be Lucy, if you give me a chance"...
"Every night, you and me, doing ballroom dance,
In a new bustle dress-
After that, we'll play chess,
And when I win, I'll laugh!
But then clean up the mess.
For you,
Just for you..."
She stopped, wondering if it was too much. And then silence. Did he realize she was done?
"Mrs Lovett, I believe,
You are dreaming yet again.
I'm a demon
And you're Decieved
That more than razors are my friends."
Mrs Lovett was about to continue when his motor fired up again, starting with a growl.
Don't speak of my wife,
don't utter her name
You are just YOU.
And she puts you to shame."
She frowned, getting irritated that this Lucy always had to be in the way.
"But it's just a name, my love, surely that you can forget! Lucy's happy up above, so really, you don't have to fret!"

"I'm here now instead, so don't you lose your head. Realize she's gone... Realize she's dead..."

Sweeney retreated quickly once he realized where this was going.

And he was determined NOT to go there.
"No- I- we're done. The lesson, I mean. Done. Out." he snarled, contentment snapping like a twig inside him. No, not even- he could never be content with this constant punishment in his presence.
She gasped. She realized with a pang that her time with him was up. "No, just let me st-"
"NO! GET OUT!"
Mrs Lovett bit her lip, injecting an acidic mixture of anger, frustration, and disappointment.
She'd come so close...
She tossed the towel aside and made her way quickly out the door, with not a single glance back.

Well how was that? Hopefully you could tell who was singing what. Or else I'll die. Ok maybe not. If you would be so kind to tell me what you thought, that would be lovely!

PS. No, I don't own Sweeney Todd.