Laundry and Other Stories
Written by Miss Malfaisant
Edited by k00k

Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or Mrs. Lovett or a Togepi. I want all three.

Setting: Set during the regained success of Mrs. Lovett s pie shop and Sweeney s murders before he kills the judge. Late evening.

Inspiration: This was originally inspired by Morwynn's Sex and Chocolate. This chapter in particular was inspired by Oedipus, readapted by Steven Berkoff.

Notes: Besides the first chapter in this series, this is the only update of Laundry and Other Stories that I actually LIKE. Whoduthunk, right? Hope you like it too!

The day is finished, but the night is reluctant. Heaven is cut off, for the stars cannot pierce London's putrid air. The moon drags itself out of a filthy cloud, and as it stares down at the sick earth it brings gloom - not light.

Infernal.

The bakehouse is like a crypt.

It is made up of dark, damp stone. What little light there is is stifled under the strange fog, this hellish strange reek, that thickens and perpetually hangs about the room. A string of sparkling puddles of blood follow the paths where the dead are carried to the cleaning benches; workbenches that line two of the walls, made of plain wood and covered with big stains and scratches. In the third wall there is a door that leads to the staircase. Wicker baskets are stacked up next to it.

All night the bake oven is smoldering. The scent of scrumptious pastry does little to cover the stench of carcasses rotting.

The dark haired woman inhales deeply, her lungs filling up with the acrid stench of dried blood, rotting flesh, and smoke as she heaves a corpse onto one of the workbenches. She pulls a huge knife from table beside her. Running a finger along the blade, as if to test its sharpness, she cuts into the man's body, skillfully disjointing the limbs and laying them out on the second bench.

Taking up one of the gents arms she smoothly starts to peel away the skin, revealing the tender flesh underneath. The chunks of meat are sliced off the bones like steak filets and placed in a basket. Skin and bones she idly dumps on the floor; any soft tissue and the internal organs go straight into the mincer. Carefully, her forehead scrunched in concentration, she works her way through the stack of limbs.

She is elbow deep in the man's torso when the door behind her swung open, scraping against the stone floor. She jumps slightly, and she turns to face her companion with just enough time to see a man stalking towards her with a determined and desperate look on his face. "Mistah T, wot-"

And suddenly their faces are smeared together, her nails digging sharply into his shoulders, him gripping her hard by the waist. She responds immediately, fighting his mouth with her own, lurching against him and biting down on whatever she could get her teeth on. Their bodies are mashed up against each other, their shadows stretching ominously across the room and melting into one. Pressing his palms against her body he moves his hands up her stomach, over her chest, across her shoulders, framing her face in his hands. Her hands and forearms are completely red with warm blood as she runs her hands over his back, chest, arms, and through his hair, blood smearing across his crisply pressed clothes.

He pushes her away slightly, her arms still around his shoulders.

His hand lifts up from her hip, ghosting across her front and coming to rest on her stomach.

She lifts her eyes to his, her cheeks tightening as she smiles, and nods once.

He sweeps her up off of her feet and heads towards the staircase. She wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist while he carries up to her bedroom, lazily kissing his shoulders and playing with his hair, muttering trivial things like how they never get anything done.

Yummers?