Inky chocolate eyes watched a woman flit to and fro from her cellar, each time emerging from the darkness bearing a hefty tray of steaming meat pies. Rough hands clenched engraved silver, one thumb playing up and down the symbols etched onto the hilt, their meanings long forgotten by their owner.
Everytime she moved out of his veiw from the window, his heart would linger in the pause between beats, each pump of blood through his veins threatening to be the last. But then she would glide back into view, her dress swishing lightly about her ankles, and all would be well again.
That is, if all could possibly ever be well in the demonic barber's mind. The eyes flicked quickly from his quarry to the clock mounted just below St. Dunstan's great bell. The face read a quater 'til five. No wonder Mrs. Lovett was so busy bustling in and out with pies that she didn't even look up to see if he was watching her.
He supposed that she just assumed it was so. After everything that had happened the day before, the night before, neither of them should've been suprised.
But he was. He was terribly surprised at how easily he had given up the image and thought of his dearly departed Lucy, and at how he had embraced the oppurtunity that had been given to him over the past few days. He was even more suprised at the thought that he could've had this all his life, but was too blind to see it.
The barber was so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't seen Mrs. Lovett set out for the last batch of pies. He had known that her journey was coming to a close, as he had counted each trayful that she had brought up from below.
The bake oven held three dozen at a time. Over the course of one day, she loaded the oven four times. It took her twelve trips to bring all the pies up, and the last one had been the eleventh.
He barely noticed the man that lingered in the shadows of the alleyway, creeping close to the wall as he followed the woman into the dimly lit lane.
Fortunately, his attention was not distracted enough not to see the familiar glint of light off metal. In a few hasty steps he made it out of the door and down the steps from his shop, peering around the corner to see if his suspesions had been correct, or if he was just being fussy.
Mrs. Lovett had been a bit out of it all day, thinking victoriously about all the success she had at gaining the affections of the barber. She was ripped out her not-so dream world as a hand rested on her shoulder. The woman spun around, a scornful remark at the tip of her tongue. The closeness of the stranger to her put her more off guard.
"What in all a' London do ya think you're doin'?" she asked him, taking a few steps back as he advanced on her. She bumped against the wall, a handful of choice words ringing through her mind.
"My, my, you're a pretty little thing, aren't you?" The man's voice was pleasent and cordial, complete irony compared to his actions. His fingertips brushed a strand of her wild hair away from her cheek.
Sweeney's heart began to race, red mist seeping into his vision as he longed for the man's blood to soak the ground.
"That's what I've been told," replied Mrs. Lovett, sounding just as uncaring. They smiled at each other, and the man didn't see her hand coming towards his face.
WHAP. She met her mark, as always. Blood graced the man's upperlip as he staggered a few paces back, clearly surprised at the sudden act of violence.
"Stay away from me," hissed the pie-maker threateningly, straighting her skirt.
Affection for her pulled at the lurking barber, his grip on the straight razor relaxing slightly. He kept one eye on Mrs. Lovett as she wrinkled her nose at the man, taking a few steps towards her bake house while not letting her eyes leave the injured man. But in a flurry of movement, he was pressed against her once more, drawing a pistol in the process.
"Feisty, are we?" whispered the man, his breath disgustingly warm on her face. The metallic smell of blood dawdled in the air between the two, bringing pleasant memories of a certain barber and his razor to the woman.
She struggled against him, but was quickly stopped as the gun was cocked in her ear. Her heart beat out a furious rhthym, not sure what it should do anymore. She didn't want to be killed, but she didn't want what this man was going to give her.
As she felt his hand clench the skirt of her dress to pull it up, she saw Sweeney prowling up behind the man, and hope flared in her essence. The man lowered the gun slightly, feeling the change in her body.
"Ah, decided to behave ourselves, 'ave we?" Amusement glinted in his curiously blue eyes.
Todd sprung, allowing fury to drown out any other emotion lurking in his depths. The blade slid against bare skin at the back of his opponets neck, red liquid spurting as the man crumpled. Mrs. Lovett pressed her hand to his mouth to muffle the screaming until it died away into a gurgle, the razor having quickly finished its job. She pulled her hand away quickly, ruby drops glittering on it. The pie-maker shook her hand, sending the droplets of blood flying, and heaved the living man to his feet.
"'urry up an' get 'im to the cellar, love," she said, her voice trembling slightly with the gratitude she felt towards him.
The razor blade was quickly wiped clean and replaced in its holder. The barber and the pie-maker sent the body tumbling down the stone steps, and they followed after it at a much slower pace. After taking the first half of the steps downward, Todd paused for a moment. Mrs. Lovett bumped into him in the dark, letting out a startled squeak.
"Are you alright, Mr. Todd?"
He felt her hands on his shoulders as she fought to keep her balance on the step above him.
After the few moments of silence that always acceded one of his answers, he mumbled, "Are you alright, Mrs. Lovett?"
"Yes, love, I'm fine. Gonna take more then that to work me inta a fright." The thought of him being worried about her made her grow warm, but if she had known the extent of his worry for her, she would've felt childish.
"Oh really?" mused the barber, turning nimbly on the small step so he was facing her. The lightness of his tone drove out the last remnants of fear she still held after her encounter.
On the shallow steps, she stood about an inch over him, and him looking up at her and her looking down at him was a new experience. He backed against the wall, pulling her down so they were crammed on to the same step. She was unsteady on her feet for a moment, but he kept her from following the body down the stairs. His lips carressed hers in the black stairway, sending her heart soaring back above ground.
"Mr. T," she breathed, her voice barely audible even though they were mere inches apart. "Thank you."
She heard him chuckle slightly, a sign that he thought nothing of it.
"I can't have some other man taking what's mine," he whispered back to her, letting his hands slide down her sides until the rested at her hips.
Her heart jumped, and she laughed lightly to mask the way his actions affected her. She pulled away from him, her heart yelling at her that anytime could be the right time and the right place, and descended the rest of the steps. She felt him following close behind her, giving her room enough as to not accidently tred on the hem of her dress. She stepped over the body laying at the foot of the stairs, not even glancing at it.
"Mind moving that out a' the way?" she asked the barber, grabbing the last tray of pies. Todd drug the body over to join those of his customers, then attempted to take the tray out of the baker's hands.
"Don't you 'ave your own shop ta be attendin' to?" she scolded, not allowing him to take the tray from her. "Now get up there before you end up like the las' blighter that tried ta 'assle me."