A/N: Sorry I haven't posted in a while peoples! I just got back from Wisconsin and my brother wouldn't get off of the computer. So I now give to you my longest chapter so far! Please review and tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Sweeney and Pirates, you wish you owned Sweeney and Pirates, he, she, it wishes they owned Sweeney and Pirates.

Puke Pies and Memories

For the next few years Jack and I went our separate ways. Jack went off to raid, pillage, and plunder his weasely black guts out. I floated up to the little cloud I kept in the sky and played dollhouse with the world. For those of you who live in Wisconsin, Lake Delton was an accident, I swear! I tripped and spilled my water bottle!

I went to Jack for Part 2 the same way I went to him for Part 1; by jumping into the middle of the Caribbean and having him pick me up on his ship.

"It's been 15 years already?" he asked once I got aboard. I smiled and nodded.

"Time flies when you're immortal."

"It sure does." The rest of the crew seemed to agree, but looked confused on the significance of 15 years.

"Let's talk." I said to Jack, and steered him towards the captain's cabin. There I explained to him Part 2, which is the part you all know (or think you know)

"So I'm going to have to kill a bunch of random people?" he asked me.

"Well, sort of," I said, "but what's funny about it is that they wake up in their beds in the morning with a bad dream and a pain in the neck." Jack smiled and laughed.

"I guess that is pretty funny."

"Great, now we've got to get you ready."

"But my hair just grew back!" He clutched on to his hair. I sighed.

"I'll do some instant grow back spell this time, OK?" I said to him.

"OK." He said and I got to work.

When I was finished, Sweeney Todd stood before me.

"Great! Now you've got to smile less and/or not at all, and remember the story. I'll stick with you the whole time. Got it?" He confirmed that he did.

We snuck off the ship while most of the crew where asleep. Jack left specific instructions for them to sail the ship to Plymouth under the name of The Bountiful, pick up some crew members, and then sail to London. Then there was the side note of "pretend to be respectable sailors until I get back".

We waited it out in various places. I'm not going to tell you where because there's a ginormous list. When they were almost to London, Jack got into the middle of the ocean and acted like someone who was just in a shipwreck. A boy named Anthony spotted him and got the rest of the crew to pull him aboard. Luckily, they didn't recognize their captain.

I became invisible to everybody but Jack and told him things to do. One of them was to get to know Anthony.

"I hope you can sing." I whispered to him and patted him on the shoulder when we finally came to London.

"What?!" He whispered back, but then Anthony started to sing.

"I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders
From the Dardanelles

To the Mountains of Peru,
But there's No Place Like London-!"

I nudged Jack forward.

"No, there's no place like London."

Jack seemed a bit surprised that he was singing.

"Mr. Todd...?" Anthony asked. I made the little "go on" motion to Jack, and he kept singing.

"You are young.
Life has been kind to you.
You will learn."

Jack walked to the front of his ship. He was starting to get into it now.

"There's a hole in the world

Like a great black pit

And the vermin of the world

Inhabit it

And its morals aren't worth

What a pig could spit

And it goes by the name of London.

At the top of the hole

Sit the privileged few,

Making mock of the vermin

In the lower zoo,

Turning beauty into filth and greed.

I too

Have sailed the world and seen its wonders,

For the cruelty of men

Is as wondrous as Peru,

But there's no place like London!"

I was impressed. That was a pretty good description, and I didn't know he could sing. When they were getting off, I went up to Jack.

"Story time!" I said. But Jack waited for Anthony to talk to him.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Todd?" he asked. Jack was starting to get dramatic with this thing, which is exactly what I wanted.

"I beg your indulgence, Anthony. My mind is far from easy. In these once familiar streets I feel shadows, everywhere."

"Shadows?"

"Bit thick, huh?" I said to Jack. He laughed inwardly.

"Ghosts." He said, and then started to sing the story.

"There was a barber and his wife,
and she was beautiful."

"Aw, that's sweet, Jack." I joked with him.

"A foolish barber and his wife.
She was his reason and his life,
And she was beautiful.
And she was virtuous.
And he was—
Naive.
There was another man who saw
That she was beautiful,
A pious vulture of the law,
Who with a gesture of his claw
Removed the barber from his plate.
Th en there was nothing but to wait
And she would fall,
So soft ,
So young,
So lost,
And oh, so beautiful!"

"Nicely done." I said, patting him on the shoulder. Anthony wasn't satisfied.

"And the lady, sir, did she succumb?" he asked. Jack just played along with it.

"Oh, that was many years ago...
I doubt if anyone would know."

"Now thank him." I said to Jack. I was determined to make him say thank you. He sighed but in his head called me a "bloody wench".

"I'd like to thank you, Anthony. If you hadn't spotted me, I would be lost on the ocean still." He said, trying not to make eye contact with the kid.

"Will I see you again?" he asked.

"Yes, he will." I said to Jack. Meaning that he was a key part in our little joke.

"You might find me, if you like, around Fleet Street, I wouldn't wonder."

"Untill then, my friend." Anthony held out his hand. Jack didn't take it, and I couldn't blame him. See, the last time he shook someone's hand he was arrested for piracy. We just walked away.

"Sing something dark." I told him.

"There's a hole in the world
Like a great black pit
And it's filled with people
Who are filled with shit
And the vermin of the world
Inhabit it…"

"And… he's out of earshot!"

"Finally! By the way, what did happen to you after I left?"

"I'll let Mrs. Lovett tell you that."

"She's still alive?"

"Hey, it hasn't been that long, Jack."

We walked and saw the beautiful sights that 18th century London had to offer. Finally, we got to Fleet Street and the pie shop. Jack walked into the shop, looked around, saw Mrs. Lovett chopping up God-knows-what, and tried to back out. Luckily, she spotted him.

"A customer!" she gasped and walked toward him.

"Wait! What's yer rush?
What's yer hurry?
You gave me such a—
Fright. I thought you was a ghost.
Half a minute, can'tcher?
Sit!
Sit ye down!
Sit!
All I meant is that I
Haven't seen a customer for weeks."

She grabbed him, pulled him in, and sat him down. I laughed and sat down next to him. She couldn't see me, of course.

"Did you come in for a pie, sir?
Do forgive me if me head's a little vague—
What is that?
But you'd think we had the plague—
From the way that people—
Keep avoiding–
No you don't!
Heaven knows I try, sir!
But there's no one comes in even to inhale—
Right you are you are, sir. Would you like
a drop of ale?
Mind you, I can't hardly blame them—
Th ese are probably the worst pies in London."

I noticed that she had acquired quite the infestation while we were away and that her pies seemed more disgusting than before. Jack seemed to notice this as well, as he was fingering the pie she had put in front of him warily.

"I know why nobody cares to take them—
I
should know,
I make them.
But good? No,
Th e worst pies in London—
Even that's polite.
Th e worst pies in London—
If you doubt it, take a bite."

Poor sucker had followed his usual routine: look at it, sniff it, taste it. I laughed and he spit a chunk of it in my face.

"Is that just disgusting?
You have to concede it.
It's nothing but crusting—
Here, drink this, you'll need it—
Th e worst pies in London.
And no wonder with the price of
Meat what it is—
When you get it.
Never
Th ough I'd live to see the day men'd
think it was a treat
Finding poor
Animals
Wot are dying in the street.
Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop,
Does a business, but I notice something weird—
Lately all her neighbors' cats have disappeared.
Have to hand it to her—
Wot I calls
Enterprise,
Popping pussies into pies."

Jack put a finger up to ask if she had rum instead of ale, but I wacked him in the arm and he decided against it.

"Wouldn't do in my shop—
Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick.
And I'm telling you them pussy cats is quick.
No denying times is hard, sir—
Even harder than
Th e worst pies in London.
Only lard and nothing more—
Is that just revolting?
All greasy and gritty,
It looks like it's molting,
And tastes like—
Well, pity
A woman alone
With limited wind
And the worst pies in London!
Ah sir,
Times is hard. Times is hard."

"Trust me, deary, it's gonna take a lot more than ale to wash that taste down." She said. In his head, I could tell that Jack was hoping she give him some rum.

"Come with me, I'll give you a nice tumbler of gin, eh?" Alas! Still no rum.

Jack followed her into the next room. I saw the stairs that went up to the barbershop, and walked up them. Jack watched me and I pointed up.

"Isn't this homey now. The cheery wallpaper was a real bargain. It was only partly singed when the chapel burnt down." She said while pouring him a glass of gin. She gave him the glass and told him to go sit down.

"You got a room over the shop, haven't you? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?" He sat down. I was already up in the barbershop; looking around and listening to their conversation.

"What, up there? No one won't go near it. People think it's haunted."

"Haunted?"

"Yeah. And who's to say they're wrong? You see, years ago somethin' 'appened up there. Somethin' not very nice." Now it was singing story time! I made a mental note to tell Jack what really happened when he got up here. He worries about me sometimes.

"There was a barber and his wife,
And he was beautiful,
A proper artist with a knife,
But they transported him for life.
And he was beautiful..."

"Barker, 'is name was. Benjamin Barker."

"What was his crime?"

"Foolishness."

"And kidnapping, and raiding, and pilfering, and sailing under false colors, and…" I added the whole list. Mrs. Lovett just kept on telling her story.

"He had this wife, you see,
Pretty little thing.
Silly little nit"

"Hey! Bitch!" I swore at her from the room upstairs

"Had 'er chance for the moon on a string-
Poor thing. Poor thing.
There was this Judge, you see.
Wanted 'er like mad.
Every day he'd send her a flower,
But did she come down from her tower?
Sat up there and sobbed by the hour,
Poor fool."

"Again with the insults! I thought we were friends!" I said. Then I put my ear to the floor and kept listening.

"Ah, but there was worse yet to come—
Poor thing.
The Beadle calls on her, all polite,
Poor thing, poor thing.
Th e Judge, he tells her, is all contrite,
He blames himself for her dreadful plight,
She must come straight to his house tonight!
Poor thing, poor thing.

Of course, when she goes there,
Poor thing, poor thing,
Th ey're having this ball all in masks.
Th ere's no one she knows there,
Poor dear, poor thing.
She wanders tormented, and drinks,
Poor thing.
Th e Judge has repented, she thinks,
Poor thing.
"Oh, where is Judge Turpin?" she asks.
He was there, all right—
Only not so contrite!
She wasn't no match for such craft , you see,
And everyone thought it so droll.
Th ey fi gured she had to be daft , you see,
So all of 'em stood there and laughed, you see.
Poor soul!
Poor thing!"

"NO!" Jack yelled. I had to pull my head back and try to get the hearing back in my ear.

"Would no one have mercy on her?" I told you, he worries about me sometimes.

"So it is you. Benjamin Barker." Mrs. Lovett whispered.

"Well you finally caught on." I said.

"Where is Lucy? Where is my wife?" I inwardly thanked Jack for remembering the joke.

"She poisoned 'erself. Arsenic, from the apothecary round the corner. I tried to stop 'er, but she wouldn' listen to me. And 'e's got your daughter." She explained. Jack seemed to get a bit more worried.

"He? Judge Turpin?!" He said, probably for dramatic effect.

"Adopted 'er, like 'is own." I could tell she regretted not being able to keep Johanna out of Turpin's claws.

"Fifteen years, sweating in a living 'ell, on a false charge. Fifteen years spent dreaming I might come home to a wife and child."

"Or dreaming about rum and salty wenches." I said from upstairs.

"Well I can't say the years 'ave been particularly kind to you Mr. Barker."

"No! Not Barker. That man is dead. It's Todd now- Sweeney Todd- and he will have his revenge."

I had underestimated Jack's skill at what he called "bluffing", that last line even gave me the chills.