Miracle of Miracles

RATED: K+ for Gore


"Well, I was thinkin' fo' the walls, we could have this nice blue paper I saw at the market last Sunday..."


"Miss Dublair was selling it fo' six pence. Can you believe it, Mistah Todd? Only six?" Mrs. Lovett sighed inaudibly, watching as Sweeney wiped bits of blood from his hands. "D'you think I should be getting it, then?"

"No." The barber didn't look up from where he was rinsing scarlet fluid down the sink. "I think red would be much more practical. Something dark, perhaps?"

For a moment, Mrs. Lovett was certain that somebody else had entered the room and he was speaking to them. She even did a double take over her shoulders to be sure- and when that proved fruitless, the baffled baker was forced to assume that not only was he talking to his razors, they were talking back.

"Well, Mrs. Lovett, if you don't agree..."

"No! No, s'not that, Mistah T..." She blinked rapidly several times "I just..." He was talking to her! "It's very odd fo' you to be..." Nellie decided not to push it. This may not be the kind of affection she was hoping for from her secluded companion, but it was a start.

She pushed aside the thought that it was very, very sad to be seeing actual conversation beyond occasional grunts as 'a start' and smiled. Genuinely smiled.

"For me to be what?"

"Nothin', sir. Jus' talkin' to m'self is all." Mrs. Lovett replied brightly. "Wot was this you were sayin' abou' red paper?"

"Well," Sweeney cleared his throat and gestured to where a large splatter of gore adorned the white walls. Having yet to dry, small scarlet tendrils slithered down and soaked the carpet. "I suppose with red wallpaper, we could avoid incidents such as these."

She made a 'tsk' sound with her tongue and shook her head disapprovingly. "I swear, Mistah T, you get much to excited killin' these folk. Mo' work for me 's all it is." Nellie couldn't help but let her mind wander to how that great amount of blood could have splattered all the way to the wall. The person must've squirmed she supposed, or shouted. Or maybe Sweeney had just felt the need to slice particularly hard on the poor lad- yes. That must be it, judging by the fact that she was sure his shirt had been white this morning, not red.

More laundry to do tonight. She sighed once again.


"Well, wo'?"

"What do you think about red?"

"I think it's a fine colour. And if we get some o' tha' trim Ms. Bella was sellin'- the one with stripes- we could..." It was too late. He had already lost interest in that line of conversation. But Mrs. Lovett continued to smile, anyway.

In her book, it had been a very, very good day.