A/N: SORRY for this pathetically late update. But it's finally HERE. Thanks to the following reviewers: Nala 162024, Midna Hytwilian, Obscure Bird, 123ClapClap, , NelliethePieAngel, AngelofDarkness1605, Scarves, Ravencaller and Obssessive Freak. You guys have the craziest names! I lovett =D Oh, just in case you haven't guessed yet:

Bachelor No 1= Judge Turpin

Bachelor No 2= Beadle Bamford

Bachelor No 3=Sweeney Todd

Am I safe in saying you're all going to vote for Sweeney? =DD

~Signor Pirelli's Dating Game~

"Ain't 'e bootiful," Mrs Lovett said, completely transfixed by the brooding man in the chair. She pushed past Bachelors no.1 and 2. and went straight up to him.

"Just the picture perfect gentlemun," sighed Mrs Lovett.

But the man either didn't, or pretended not to hear. He took out a pair of shiny chase silver razors, and began to polish them lovingly.

Well, if he can do that with just a pair o' razors, thought Mrs Lovett. I'd better introduce meself quick smart, 'fore one 'em otha floozies snatches him up.

"Hallo," Mrs Lovett said, bounding up to Sweeney with a large smile on her face. "You is Bachela numba 3, isn't you? Wot's ya name, dearie?"

"Todd," said the man, smiling to himself viciously, "the name's Sweeney Todd."

"Well, Mr Todd," Mrs Lovett began.

At the sound of the feminine voice, Sweeney stopped polishing. "Lucy?" he whispered, looking through her.

Mrs Lovett had no idea what he was on about. She put her hands on her hips. "Does I look like a Lucy to you?"

The man stared at her for the first time. Red curls, red dress, red lips. The woman was mad, odd and slightly nymphomaniac, he thought. Altogether not displeasing. But not his Lucy. "Do you know…where Lucy is?"

"Sorry love," said Mrs Lovett, shaking her head. "But I'm Nellie Lovett, if you please Mr...can I call you Mr T?"

"I'm LUCY!" cried out a woman from the audience. She stumbled, half-drunk and brain addled, up the stage stairs.

"So that's where the fish smell wos comin' from," said Mrs Lovett. She wrinkled her nose as Lucy came to stand between them.

"Lucy?" Sweeney, staring down at the swaying woman.

"Who's Lucy?" She shrieked, doing star jumps across the stage.

Sweeney seized her, lifting her up by her throat. Her hair fell of her face, exposing a pale, aged face. "Those eyes….it is you! Lucy! It's me, Ben."

"Ben Ben Den Men Ten oop-dee-doop-doop!" Lucy sang, slapping her hands on her knees.

"Lucy," said Sweeney/Benjamin as calmly as possible, "don't you remember me? Who we were together?"

Lucy screwed up her face. "'Course sir. Bennie Ben Ben."

She remembered! Sweeney's face brightened.

Until Lucy began to sing: "We are the Earth Intruders! We are the Paratroopers! Some beat of sharp shooters! Come straight from VOO-DOO-OOOOOOO!"

"Get her off!" shrieked Sweeney, his eyes black with rage. This couldn't be Lucy. Lucy was DEAD. "Get her OFF THE STAGE!"

"Come on love, come now," Mrs Lovett said, putting her arms around Lucy. As soon as they were behind curtains, however, Mrs Lovett dropped her arm. "Don't come back you straggly mop!" With one firm shove, Mrs Lovett pushed her down the stairs. "SECURITY!" Mrs Lovett screeched. "Paramedics! We gotta a woman injured down 'ere!"

A short while later, after it was officially confirmed the random beggar woman was dead, Mrs Lovett reappeared on stage. "Well," said Mrs Lovett cheerfully, dusting her hands together. "Now that's ova an' done wif." She never really liked the name Lucy anyway.

"Is everything alright, madam?" said Bachelor no 1., appearing in front of her suddenly. "You are quite safe now that I've rid you of that slimy, unsavoury bachelor no 2."

"Who?" Mrs Lovett knitted her brows, staring past the man to see what Sweeney Todd was doing.

"The Beadle, his name was I believe," said bachelor No. 1, still staring at her. He didn't seem to need to blink, like other human beings. "I know we perhaps…got off to the wrong foot. Allow me to introduce myself. I am the one and only Judge Turpin, eminent arm of the Law."

Mrs Lovett curtsied, raising a brow. "And I's the Queen o' England."

He wasn't bad looking, Mrs Lovett evaluated. But there was something creepily intense in his expression…and the manner in which his eyes kept travelling to her chest had her on the defensive.

"Please," he said, getting down on one knee and kissing her hand seductively. "You must permit me to tell you how radiantly beautiful you are."

"I permit ya," Mrs Lovett said briefly. 'Now, is that all?" She hadn't forgotten him dressing her down about her cat-eating habits.

"I am afraid not, dear Lady," said the Judge, getting to his feet so that he towered over her. "Do not be alarmed….when I tell you that I am in love with you. Now, if you'll follow me tonight, you will never forget the name Judge Turpin," he finished, drawing her to his side and attempting to lead her down the stage stairs.

"Hold ya trousers," Mrs Lovett said, yanking her hand away. "I ain't ya personal property, for starters. And ya can take you an' that filth," she said, jerking her head at the beadle lingering by the exit sign, "an' find yourself someone else more accommodatin' to ya wishes."

"I think, Madam," said the Judge dangerously, stepping forward with an ominous face, "you have overstepped the mark. Come with me, and I will forget you were rude this moment."

"Too bad," Mrs Lovett pouted. "I've already chosen me 'eart's desire. Bachelor number Three!"

"You will sorely regret that decision, Madam," said the Judge, his face draining of all colour.

"Sir," said Sweeney Todd suddenly, stepping between them. "You will leave this show, and let the lady be in peace."

"I will not sir. You had better know your place – "

WHOMP!

Yes, WHOMP was the only fitting expression for what happened to Judge Turpin.

Sweeney Todd wasn't the best-tempered man alive, and something in the Judge's manner made him snap. He'd picked up one of the chairs on stage, carried it over and belted it across Judge Turpin's head.

It didn't kill him, of course. That wouldn't be right, at least, not on national television. But it was enough to knock Turpin senseless.

"SWEENEY! SWEENEY! SWEENEY!" came the roar from the crowd.

"What's that sound?" Sweeney said, looking about in confusion.

"It's your adoring public, Mr T," said Mrs Lovett, pointing at the audience. "They love ya."

"I've never been….adored before," said Sweeney strangely. "At least…not as Sweeney Todd."

"I adore ya Mr T," Mrs Lovett said, throwing her arms about his neck.

Sweeney Todd didn't say anything. He was contemplating the unconscious man on the ground and what he would do to him.

Mrs Lovett had other ideas. "If we is to be goin' steady," she said, looking up at him with adoring eyes, "I think it's me right to ask you a few questions, ya know, so's I can getta know you betta."

"Goin' steady?" Sweeney looked at her strangely.

"I mean – 'avin' a date togetha, wot's all," Mrs Lovett said rather quickly.

"Oh. What is it Mrs Lovett?"

"I need ya to be 'onest wif me." Mrs Lovett took a deep breath. "Wot do you….do in ya spare time, mmm?"

"I like to….cut things," Sweeney whispered, slightly embarrassed.

"Awww love, that's charmin' that is!"

"Are you lying, Mrs Lovett ?" Sweeney felt himself grow hot and bothered. If there was one thing he hated as much as Judges, it was liars!

"No love, not at all," Mrs Lovett soothed, stroking his hand like he was her pet snake. "I'm deadly serious, I is. I 'appen to agree wif you, wot's all. There's nofin' betta, I find, than wakin' up in the mornin' an' catchin' one of 'em bleedin' stupid pussies an' bashin' 'em ova the 'ead until they is dead!"

Mrs Lovett panted, quite out of breath. "Guess you know quite enuf about me, then," she laughed nervously."

"On the contrary," Sweeney said, finding himself warming up the baker now that they had a common subject of interest. "I think all cats deserve throttling, myself."

"An' wot gets you in a good mood, eh? Good food, nice music? A nice jazz band?" Mrs Lovett raised her skirt and crossed her legs like child, letting Sweeney as well as the rest of the audience get a view of her bright bloomers and striped stockings.

"Good mood?" Sweeney stared at her, thoroughly baffled. His eyes briefly darted down at her stockings.

Mrs Lovett sighed. "Come an' sit beside me love. Let me explain."

Sweeney obeyed.

"A good mood is like…" Mrs Lovett slapped her hand on his knee affectionately. 'It's like when ya blowin' bubbles in the park, an' the birdies is chirpin' an' then you see a rainbow and think to yerself…oooooh I wonder if there's a leprocorn an' a pot o' gold at the end."

Sweeney was now staring at the woman as if she'd put too much laudanum in her porridge. He knew Lucy used to, and sometimes she'd start going on about rainbows too. "I don't think I follow you Mrs Lovett."

"Neve mind love," she said, pushing herself up with her hands. Sweeney copied. "I think I've figured out wot gets you in the mood."

"Wait mum," said Toby, dashing out from behind the curtains.

Somehow, he'd managed to untie himself from Signor Pirelli's ropes. "You best take a step back! I dun think it's safe. I checked out 'is history. He's a dirty rotten apple, that Mr Todd."

"Hush now love," said Mrs Lovett sweetly but dangerously. "You'll end up in Bedlam tellin' nasty stories 'bout people – "

But Toby, being Toby, just didn't know when to quit while he was ahead. "Ain't you hear wot I says? He's no good mum. He's one of 'em convicts transported for life – "

"Oopsy daises!" Mrs Lovett happened to have a left over cat bone sitting in the pocket of her fancy outfit, and just as Toby was coming up the rear our beloved baker tossed it straight in his path.

"Yahhh!" That was the sound Toby made as he hit the deck.

"Securrrrrrity!" Mrs Lovett screeched, clutching Sweeney by the arm as if she really was concerned. "We got a broken boy stage left! Call the parademics!"

"Right you are ma'am," said the parademics, who dashed on and off stage in under sixty seconds, bearing the beat-up Toby away on a stretcher.

"I tells you mum, he's armed with RAZORS!" was the last thing Toby wailed before he went off air.

"Well of course 'e 'as razors," Mrs Lovett said crossly. "He's a barba, ain't 'e?"

Mrs Lovett didn't waste anymore time. She ran, or rather skipped, back to Sweeney, who was now pacing up and down the stage.

"You I think you is 'andsome, ya know, Mr Todd," Mrs Lovett said, bravely snatching a kiss on his cheek.

To her surprise, Sweeney stopped pacing, and looked at her. "What should do we do with the Judge?"

"Oh, 'im. We got all episode love. Worry 'bout 'im afta. Audience loves good suspense, memba?"

"We could cut him up into sixty-two pieces," Sweeney continued. "Sixty two is my favourite number." He held his razors up to the light. "No, I believe he'd enjoy that too much. What say, Mrs Lovett, you run a bath of hot oil, and we let him sizzle there until his skin peels off?" Sweeney fixed his new accomplice with a warm smile. Either that, or he was smiling at his razors.

"Now Mr T," Mrs Lovett said calmly, "no need ta be gettin' all excited. After all, this is Signor Pirelli's Dating Game Show, not Sweeney Todd's Torture Program. We got plenty time for devious actions later."

The sort of devious actions Mrs Lovett was thinking of, however, were quite different to Sweeney Todd's.

"Sweeney Todd's Torture Program. What an ingenious idea, Mrs Lovett. How I've lived without you all these years….I'm sure I'll never know."

"Well Mr T," said Mrs Lovett, blushing from head to foot, "when a girl spends a lot of nights by the TV, skinning cat meals for one, she 'as plenty time to think."

"TRAITOR!" Mrs Mooney shrieked from her dingy apartment. "They wos MEALS FOR TWO, you skulkin' female - "

Not another word came from Mrs Mooney. All the excitement had caused her pass out in a dead faint, right in the middle of her living room.

But back in TV land -

Sweeney took Mrs Lovett by the hand, and spun her round the stage. "Let's waste no more time. I think we should propose it to the producers immediately."

"Wot?" Mrs Lovett was beginning to feel giddy from all the attention. "You really think all these people'll come to watch you torture poor 'elpless souls extremely painful ways?"

"Certainly," said Sweeney, twirling her and bending her in a low dip. "The Romans had the gladiators, my pet."

Neither of them seemed particularly bothered by all the audience members watching them. They were transfixed by each other.

"Mr T?"

"Yes?"

"I reckon it's a bloomin' smashin' idea. 'Oweva, I have one condition 'fore I agree."

"Which is?" He led her to the throne, and she sat down, her hand resting on top of his.

"I get ta be ya loyal assistant on the show."

"I wouldn't dream of anything else," said Sweeney.

After fifteen years, Sweeney had never thought he'd discover someone as sick and twisted as himself. Now that he had, there was no chance he was ever going to let her escape.

* * *

I'm not sure whether to make this the final chap. Let me know what you want in your reviews!

Kudos to Midna Hytwilian for the latest add:

WE INTERRUPT THIS HEART-PUMPING PROGRAM TO BRING YOU THE LATEST IN THRILLING ADVERTISEMENTS:

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