A/N: Apologies for the late update! I was up to my arm pits in my final essays for uni this term and this is the first break I've had today! By the way, if you are offended by my fictional abuse of pussy cats, READ NO FURTHER. It pisses me off when people take the moral high ground with fiction. People, this is Sweeney Todd. If you get offended easily by the sight of blood, bones, murder and general human depravity, you shouldn't be reading Sweeneyverse.. Scarecrow: this is for you. =p
"An' welcome back to Mrs Lovett's Dating Game," Mrs Lovett said, curtseying before the crowd. "Greetin's all you viewas! Would ya look at me now, Mooney, you old 'ag!"
Back at their dingy apartment, Mrs Mooney was thoroughly annoyed. She opened a can of boiled cat eyes, and downed it three swift gulps. "I'll kill ya!" She screamed at the tiny TV screen Mrs Lovett. "Just you wait – when ya get 'ome, I'll kill ya!"
Back in TV land -
"It seems Pirelli's a bit tied up at the moment," Mrs Lovett continued, "so wot say we get down ta business?" She nodded at the camera crew and they zoomed into a close-up shot of her excited face. "Bachelor no 3," said Mrs Lovett, reading slowly from the cards, "where do ya wanna take me?"
There was silence and then that gravelly voice answered: 'To the grave."
Mrs Lovett cocked her head to the side, and after a moment's puzzlement, broke into a cheery smile. "'Ow continental! Wot a romantic treat, 'avin' a picnic in a graveyard. A true connasure of fine ideas, you is, bachela no. 3!"
"e' didn't say that!" Toby piped up from the host stand.
Signor Pirelli also came out form behind the host stand, eager to regain control of his show. "Bambino, quiet! Let the signora dream a what she wishes!" He swayed slightly to the right, winking at his audience.
"But that ain't fair!" Toby shot back. "She ought ter know th' truth!"
"Wot truth?" Mrs Lovett swivelled around in her throne-chair.
"How charmingly exquisite you are, signora!" Pirelli cried. "Perdon a me," he said, grabbing Toby by the ear and dragging him off stage. Once Toby had been gagged and tied up behind the curtain, Pirelli returned on stage. "Signora," he began, taking her by the elbow. "You must a take your seat! Here are the new a questions." He pressed a new set of cue cards in her hands.
Mrs Lovett rolled her eyes. "I dunno 'bout you lot," she said to the audience, "but I'm gettin' awful sick of Mr I-talian fancy-pants runnin' the show. Big ol' kill-joy, 'e is!" She tore up the cue-cards, and leapt off the throne.
The audience cheered, and began to chant: "LOVETT! LOVETT! LOVETT!"
"What is this?" Signor Pirelli stared.
"It appears," came the smooth, silky voice of Bachelor no 1. from behind the curtain, "that you sir, have been outvoted."
Signor Pirelli was momentarily speechless. "By this urchin-creature! Impossible! As you see the a sign it reads "Signor Pirelli's Dating Game Show" See? Si!"
Suddenly someone in the audience pelted Pirelli with rotten, mashed up bananas. "Eeeeeek!" Pirelli screeched. He ducked behind the throne as another assault of foul fruit catapulted on stage.
"Bet ya didn't see that one comin'!" Mrs Lovett smirked. "O'right, wot you say we shake things up a little?"
Cheers erupted from the audience. Pirelli was too traumatised to move from behind the throne.
"Excuse Madam," said Bachelor no 1 silkily, "but I think it prudent if we knew a little information in regards to yourself."
"I dun follow ya."
"If, perhaps, we might ask you some questions?"
"Well, s'not strictly in th' rules is it, but I s'pose, wot's good for the gander is good for the goose."
"Yes, indeed. May I begin?"
Mrs Lovett nodded, but she was really wondering why Bachelor 3 was as bleedin' silent as a chimney stuffed with soot.
"Madam," Bachelor no 1. coughed, "where do you live?"
Mrs Lovett reddened. "I, ah, I um, I live in a castle," she blurted out. She just die if a fine-soundin' bachelor like him caught a glimpse of her and Mrs Mooney sittin' by the telly in their rags, chewin' on bones.
"Very well," the voice continued sceptically, "what is your profession?"
"I….."
"Ha!" Mrs Mooney shrieked at the TV. "You're done for now, you soddin' cow!"
"I…..I'm a clothes designer. For the rich. See," Mrs Lovett said proudly, "I designed this beauty meself." She gave a twirl in her deep crimson dress.
"How unfortunate I am unable to see your splendid self," Bachelor no. 1 purred.
"It's me turn now," said Bachelor no 2. "Wot do ya like to eat?"
Eat. Eat. Wot do I like to eat? Come on Nellie think, think! "Cats," Mrs Lovett blurted out unthinkingly.
The whole audience dissolved into retching noises and general disgust.
"Wot- wot I mean is I eat pies in the shape of cats!" Mrs Lovett had meant to mention some rare, delicate dish but all she could think of was trying to hide the fact from her audience that her daily dinner consisted of skinned, crunched up pussy cat. Whoops.
"You Madam," came the voice of Bachelor no. 1 from behind the curtain, "disgust me. Of all the vile, cretin-like behaviours – to skin a helpless, defenceless creature and devour it for your own foul pleasure. You are beyond redemption. You will never be received by society again. And when you die, your soul will fly to the very pits of hell!"
"Here, here!" Mrs Mooney cheered, getting up on her couch and dancing a jig. Then she realised she had a half-gnawed on cat bone still in her hand, and threw it angrily at the TV. "Well if 'e saw me pretty face, tha' sexy bachelor no 1. wouldn't be too fussy about me meals, cats or none."
"I've 'ad enuf of this!" Mrs Lovett snapped. "Who are you ta lectcha me? Eatin' cats ain't no crime, not when it's all I can afford. 'Ow's about you bleedin' gentlemen come out from behind tha' curtain so's we can take a good look at youse?"
"A fine idea Madam," said Bachelor no 2 excitedly. There was a sound of clattering chairs and the curtain rustled.
"Wait!" Bachelor no 1 began: "How can this woman be trusted? She does, after all, consume cats."
Bachelor no 2 snivelled. "Huh? Wot? Are you mad?! She's a woman sir, who cares! None of 'em can be trusted!" They began to whisper together.
Mrs Lovett narrowed her eyebrows. Up the sound, she mouthed to the sound crew.
"I mean," continued bachelor no 2, his voice echoing loudly into the audience, "it's not as if you're plannin' ta marry 'er! Who wants ta waste money on cheap meat when we only 'afta say some sweet nothin's in 'er ear an' she'll follow ya inta some dark alleyway –"
Mrs Lovett stormed up to the curtain and yanked it aside. "Right! Which one of youse said that!"
"He did!" Bachelor no 1 and 2 both pointed at each other. But she wasn't watching them. Mrs Lovett was staring at bachelor no 3, sitting morbidly by himself in his chair. Never, she swore, never had she seen anything so beautiful in her life.
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