Author's Note: I didn't have enough time to update my other story, so here's a little something I made on the quick. This takes place once Sweeney Todd has begun killing everyone, but before everyone gets suspicious about the chimney.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd or An American in Paris. However, I did bring them together. Thanks to me, they can breed and make musical mutant babies.
Mr. Sweeney Todd collapsed into his barber chair and sighed. It had been a long day. The last of his customers, a medical student by the looks of him, had put up quite a fight. Sweeney had a long scratch on his face from the struggle. He didn't mind, only he knew that Mrs. Lovett would fuss over him later. That woman…He grimaced and clutched his razor.
She had her good points, of course. Absolutely brilliant, for one thing. And kind. Benjamin Barker would have thought her kind, anyway. Well, except for the pies. He smiled faintly and looked down at the razor. It needed cleaning.
The bell rang, and the door flew open.
Sweeney whirled around in his chair. Anthony Hope stood in the doorway, grinning like a fool. Of course, he hadn't bothered to knock. Sweeney remembered how the boy had ruined his plans, and wondered if death were too severe a punishment. Better not, he decided. He could still be useful.
"This time it's really love," Anthony sang. "Tra-la-la-la!"
Sweeney reconsidered his decision.
"I'm in that blue above," Anthony continued. "Tra-la-la-la! She fills me full of joy. Tell me, papa. Am I not a lucky boy? La-la-la-la-la!"
With alarm, Sweeney noted that the boy had begun to tap dance.
"Just listen to my heart go pitter-pat! It started from the start. I fell like that!"
Anthony snapped his fingers to punctuate the last word.
"Hum it, strum it, sing it, drum it! What a thrill I'm getting from it! Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la!"
Sweeney watched, bewildered, as Anthony skipped around the chair.
"This time it's really love," he repeated. "Tra-la-la-la!"
"To me, you're full of blah, blah, blah," Sweeney snapped. Anthony pouted, but went on dancing. Just then, the bell rang again. Sweeney motioned for Anthony to hide in the trunk. He had barely closed the lid on the boy when Judge Turpin walked inside.
"I've got the grand amour," Turpin announced, sitting in the chair. "Dit moi, papa!"
Sweeney wondered when Turpin had learned to speak French.
"Cherchez la femme toujours," he replied, deciding to play along. "Ooh-la-la-la-la!"
"She's got but everything," Turpin sighed, as Sweeney lathered his face.
"Is there a dowry?" Sweeney inquired sarcastically.
"She's like a breath of spring," Turpin gushed. Sweeney assumed that he meant Johanna.
"Boy, you'll be sorry," he warned, slashing the judge's throat from side to side. Anthony fought his way out of the trunk, and gaped at the bloody sight.
"Hum it, strum it, sing it, drum it," Sweeney sang joyously.
"Nothing good can happen from it," murmured Anthony, backing towards the door.
"Tra-la-la-la! La-la-la!" Sweeney shouted, chasing him down the steps. Anthony tripped halfway down and fell the rest of the way. Seconds later, Sweeney stood over him.
"Look, one hand!" he cried, cutting Anthony's throat. Then he raced down the street, killing all he met.
"What a thrill I'm getting from it!" he declared. "Tra-la-la-la! La-la-la-la-la!"
Meanwhile, Anthony staggered into Mrs. Lovett's pie shop. She took one look at him and sighed.
"Again?" she asked. "Dearie, I think it's about time you made some friends your own age."