Alright, so I'm continuing with my oh-so-brilliant plan of semi-connected one-shots… mainly because whenever I try to do a multi-chaptered thing, it tends to go to hell in a hand basket. So I'm trying to trick my brain into thinking that there's no plot, when really, there might be… Just a tiny one, though.
The dough made a satisfying smack as she whacked it with her rolling pin. An almost unconscious smile quirked Mrs Lovett's mouth as she leaned her weight on the cold lump of flour and water, flattening it into a circle. It had been a good morning so far. She had sold half a dozen pies (not without an envious glance) t p a family going on a picnic, and Mr Todd had sent two more men crashing onto the bake house floor, and though she Mrs Lovett hated the messy process of peeling their bloody flesh from their bones, she well appreciated the fresh supply of meat. Best of all, however, was that after she washed the flowerlike splashes of still-warm blood from his shirt, she had been able to convince the barber to come downstairs for a while, at least to have a glass of gin.
So now there he sat, frowning at his pale fingers as they gripped the glass, so very like that first grey London day when he had returned to her, just like that, no longer Benjamin Barker, but Sweeney Todd. Looking at him now, Mrs Lovett could still see traces of the young, naïve man he used to be; something in the tilt of his jaw, the soft shape of his mouth, spoke of a distant happiness, years ago, now all but forgotten. But Mrs Lovett thought that she almost preferred him twisted, darkened, as she had been by those long 15 years. He was stronger now, and dangerous. The way he looked at her as they danced around the kitchen, his hand cold on the back of her neck, or as he took her by the throat and pinned her against the wall… Benjamin Barker had made her want to melt, but Sweeney Todd made her want to burst into flames.
She gazed absently at Mr Todd, very glad at that moment that he couldn't read her thoughts, until she suddenly realized that he was gazing back at her, expression blank as a sheet of paper. Mrs Lovett looked quickly away, staring instead at the pale rain outside the bay window.
Todd didn't lower his eyes, however. He continued studying her face, though even he couldn't say why it fascinated him so. Her skin was the colour of milk, the delicate cheekbones, pointed chin, and large, darkened eyes making her face look almost fragile. Her mouth was also dark, almost bruised looking. Why was it like that? He wondered. The colour was smudged at the corner of her mouth, and h realized it must be lipstick. Todd had forgotten that women used such things. Her lips were moving, and it took the barber a moment to realize that she was speaking to him.
"Mr T? You listening?"
"What?" he said listlessly.
She rolled her eyes, though a teasing smile remained on her face. "Why were you staring at me?"
He was shaken slightly and his gaze flicked away from her painted mouth to meet her eyes, which were full of self-satisfaction and barely suppressed glee. That irritated him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs Lovett," he said through clenched teeth, offering up a forced grin as proof of his innocence.
Her smirk didn't budge. "Have it your way, love."
He frowned, but at least she was quiet now, and so he let his mind wander again. Her hair, he noticed, was slightly better kempt than when he had first returned her, (however long ago that might be.) The curls that fell around her face where smoother, and dyed so rich a red as to be almost black. It reminded him of dried blood. He smiled at that.
"Mr T?"
He started, suddenly aware of himself again. What was he doing, staring like a fool at that woman's face? At least she had one, he reminded himself darkly. But that was no excuse, and he still cursed his damned, twisted mind for wandering again to Mrs Lovett.
"What?" He spoke in the same flat monotone as before, contrasting sharply with her slyly innocent tone when she next opened her annoyingly entrancing mouth.
"Would you try this for me, love?" She held up a spoonful of something, sauce or gravy probably. "I can't tell if it's right or not."
He could have dismissed her, of course, could have knocked the spoon out of her hand, or simply told her to leave him alone and she would have done it, but, without really knowing why, Mr Todd decided to humour Mrs Lovett. "Of course, my pet," he mumbled, pushing himself out of the chair and crossing the room to where she stood. He made to take the spoon from her, but the baker pulled it away, smirking.
"Open," she said, and hardly believing what he was doing, or why for that matter, Mr Todd parted his lips. She pushed the spoon between them, and as his mouth was flooded with the rich, slightly smoky flavour of the sauce, he met her eyes, dancing with delight at her own cleverness, and at being able to make him do her bidding like he was. Why must they be so lovely, those eyes?
"Good?" Mrs Lovett asked, pulling the spoon back out of his mouth.
"Yes," Sweeney admitted, still gazing at her eyes. "It's very good."