Tobias was set and ready to re-create the old legend of the demon barber; most of the elements had been written for him. Sweeney has to cuts throats, his victims have to be devoured in some form or another, Pirelli had to fit in somewhere, and there needed to be ugh, he could barely stomach the thought, romance. The population has gone soft on me, he thought to himself. He began to patter fervently on his typewriter sample sentences to make sure the antique still worked, and that his creative juices were still flowing. He was about to begin the story when he stopped dead still. The truth was, he had no story, or plot for that matter. Sweeney kills but, how and why? Killers aren't scary unless there's a method to their madness. He needs a motive. What has he to gain by murdering innocent victims?

You see, the most common misconception of the populous is that victims are innocent. That bullshit just drives me crazy.

Tobias turned his head around his minute apartment to find the speaker. He then saw he was alone, aside from his black and white little friend Noah, who, technically, wasn't allowed in the loft anyway, nor was Tobias aware she could speak. He then realized that, with most characters he wrote, had fiery and often blatant personalities waiting to burst open. He decided this was none other than dear Sweeney. He thought out loud, almost enough to validate the character's existence.

T: Alright Sweeney, tell me your story.

S: Um, let me think. No.

T: Can I at least get a description?

S: Use your imagination lad. What do you say I am?

T: Ah, I'm seeing red. Flaming red hair.

S: Ugh, disgusting. Go with it.

T: You also happen to be quite pale.

S: Anything else?

T: Razor sharp teeth and gaunt, baggy eyes.

S: What am I, a clown?

T: Fine, just really glinty teeth.

S: Is "glinty" a word?

T: Who's the writer here?

S: Hey, my appearance?

T: Ah, well, more on that later. I need an opening.

S: You already have it.

T: What on earth are you talking about?

S: Look at your typewriter.

That's when Sweeney went totally silent. Tobias looked to find nearly five pages of prologue typed out that he knew couldn't be just on appearance. He looked and read. It was brilliant, undeniably brilliant. It was the best thing he had written in ages. He stapled his pages together and stuffed them in an envelope. He addressed it to the Lovett Publishing House and frantically stuffed it in his mail slot below. Let's see how Verona likes that,he thought to himself with a blended air of pride and arrogance, dimming the fine line between the two.

He thought to himself how helpful Todd had been. He typed five pages without even realizing it. He thought Todd was just another part of his imagination, right? It was all under his total and complete control. "He was just a character, not even a real corporeal person." He said this to himself many times as he ascended the stairs back to the loft.

Later that night he woke up to the sound of laughter, cold harsh and spine tingling, nowhere near his dulcet tones.

Crazy thing was, his mouth was unconsciously curved into an insane smile, his throat unfailing sore from use.