Esteemed Malevolence

The Quick-Fix Strategy

The next day a battalion of clouds rumbled over London, firing down their droplets of rain with no mercy. As a consequence of such heinous weather, the city was fairly deserted compared to its usual bustling, shoulder-to-shoulder cramped streets and smog filled skies. The obsidian clouds weren't going to disappear anytime soon, they made that perfectly clear with their restless rain. Business everywhere was certainly going to be slow today, especially for Mr Todd and Mrs Lovett - no one was going to venture out for a shave or a hot pie in such dreadful weather.

Due to the murder-couple's odd 'usual' customers that returned to their establishments almost religiously (they had to have their regulars, otherwise people would start to notice that no one came back out of the barber shop - living, at least), they had both kept their shops open even though they'd had next to no business. Having so much time now that their all habitual clients had been, the partners in crime had both intricately devised individual plans on how they were to tackle their mysterious council problem - and both of them had a feeling Beadle Bamford would have something to do with it, seeing as he was the so-called authority in their parts.

Mr Todd stood by his skylight, gaze empty as he looked down over Fleet Street. Wide puddles had cultivated over the cobbles, he could tell where the inconsistent road was when he spied the deeper looking ones. The rain had no empathy, beating down over the floor, and of course, onto any soul that happened to be travelling out in it. He held up an arm to the peeling wall for support, just so he could stand there scowling out of his window for a moment longer. The barber should have been shitting a brick by now - like Mrs Lovett was downstairs - but he didn't show any sort of bother, even if he was internally, unmistakably irked by what he'd heard from the apparent counsellor the night prior. His thoughts had tossed aside his revenge, and all he'd been focusing on that day was some sort of plan - he couldn't have his little slaughterhouse operation being compromised. He'd surely have to burn such a report, there was no way the review would be positive in any way - a man of council surely wouldn't approve of pies filled with the ex-customers of the barber upstairs. Mr Todd's eyebrows furrowed into a more concerned frown - he didn't recall the man mentioning Mrs Lovett's bake-house when he'd spoken, which must have been seen for a fully fledged inspection. At least, that's what he presumed.

'What if 'e'd snuck in there? Mrs Lovett wouldn't 'ave even noticed 'im skulkin' in - hell I wouldn't 'ave. 'E could be talkin to the law now for all I know... or just bidin' 'is unfortunate time... waitin' to tell all of 'is corrupt council pals as soon as 'e handed in 'is stinking account ...' he told himself, his eyes narrowing in distraction as they latched onto two twirling figures through the window - a man in a suit and top-hat, a woman in a rather expensive frilly dress - on the other side of the street, who were seemingly celebrating the fact it was raining. The two of them were absolutely soaked, yet almost looked like they were having the best time of their lives. Their silhouettes danced around, and Mr Todd could just imagine the sickening sounds of the two of them laughing or even singing as more bucket-loads of water poured onto them, their bodies drenched to their bones. They seemed happy. And suddenly, Sweeney Todd realised that he no longer missed how care-free he had been when he was Benjamin. He now found it truly disgusting, and indeed foolish.

He tore away from the sight in disgust and began to pace (more like stomp) over his floorboards, gaze ablaze like the couple's happiness had made his thirst for vengeance - sorry, murder - writhe under his skin. His thoughts were escalated, causing his blood to rush around him in a vicious rage.

'What if the so-called report is not a written one at all?!' he continued to ask himself, hands flying up to his scalp to grab fistfuls of his charcoal hair. 'Then that'd make 'im a verbal witness. Wouldn't it? And what do we have to do with witnesses?' He stopped dead over the floor, hands still firmly clawed into his locks. 'But I can't possibly kill 'im here. Mrs Lovett is completely unaware of the situation and she'd only get in the way, as usual. And killin' 'im 'ere would only confirm any suspicions anybody already 'as...' His jaw set as his eyelids dropped down to close his eyes, his arms falling calmly down by his sides. Finally he'd managed to gain some control, he'd found a suffice solution to his problem. 'I shall have to find 'im and 'is ridiculous council then, won't I? An' dispose of 'im then and there - but clearly it will not be in the conventional manner.'

A wicked smirk smeared across his lips, his dark eyes completing the look of a deranged madman. Anticipation flowed through him, like the idea of killing someone in a new style had been a drug that finally made him feel alive somehow. He decided he would follow the man that evening, he supposed that a prestigious council would hold gatherings in the first dark hours of night - he wasn't sure why, but he trusted his instincts. What with the quiet streets it would be a lot easier to locate and track the man, he would certainly have no trouble at all getting rid of the problem - as long as he himself, was on his toes.

'What about Mrs Lovett? She needs her meat supply this evening, doesn't she?' The smirk fell from his face at the thought of her, he hadn't forgotten her attempt at showing him her affection under the public's watch - naturally, he wasn't on good terms with her (he never was anyway). 'She won't even notice I'm gone. She'll 'ave enough bodies to last 'er the night, seein' as she let 'em bloody build up last night...'

The barber under-estimated the baker.

And it was going to be his downfall.

Mrs Lovett huffed and stared out at the torrential downpour occurring on the other side of her windows, her eyebrows furrowed up into a grimace as her teeth tugged her bottom lip. From her body language it would be obvious to anyone that she was deeply troubled - she would shift her boots over the floor every now and then to get in a more comfortable leaning position over the counter. One elbow rested on the worktop, her palm cupping her chin. Her other arm was reaching up to her neck, her fingers were furiously curling a lock of her hair - so much so that she was going to end up knotting it soon.

She wanted to run up to Mr Todd that instant, she had felt like that all night in fact. She hadn't slept. How could she have slept well? She couldn't knowing that their little scheme could be discovered at any time, or even worse, if the council had found a single thing wrong with her establishment (if they didn't realise the meat was human, of course) she could end up penniless, or worse still - barber-less.

Her heart sunk at the thought of the latter, eyes squeezing shut to stop any tears flowing out. She hadn't wanted to bother Mr Todd, that's why she hadn't ran up to him all in a blunder. She knew he was already annoyed with her for her mistakes the day prior, not to mention her breaking their agreement. The best thing - she'd decided - was to make it up to him by solving the council problem herself. Although she was letting the worry consume her, she was rather thankful for such an enormous burden to come along - perhaps her solving it would attract Mr Todd's attention for once.

Tonight she would shut up shop (even if it was Friday, one of her busiest nights), without a word to Mr Todd. He never came down to see her anyway, so there was no worries there. Luckily, she'd already cut up (or burnt) the bodies that had been left the night before, meaning Mr Todd wouldn't have the slightest notion she wasn't there once he'd send the carcasses down the chute. She'd planned everything so perfectly in her head. Unlike the barber, she hadn't been so rash to jump to the macabre solution (murder) and instead, rationally considered her options. The most practical thing to do was to sneak into the place where the reports were shelved - Nellie had already been there countless times, seeing as she'd accumulated rather a lot of complaints over the years (though she'd got next to none since she'd started using human meat). Less people would be there at night, and especially with the weather being so miserable she had a feeling no one would want to hang around for too long.

Even though she was stood in her shop, she swore she could a clock ticking loudly, all around her. The nearest clock was stood in the parlour so there was no way she could have heard that one from where she was. "Goin' bleedin' barmy I am," she whispered to herself, eyebrows raising up a little. "Either that, or I'm not used t'this place bein' so quiet."

She would wait until dusk.

Little did the two of them know that they would be getting themselves into a hell of a lot more than they had expected...