Chapter 2: The Worst Pies in Wherever We Are

The barber walked through a lovely little side archway. It fit his purposes greatly. The rats and slime wonderfully illustrated his little song of hate.

It was still a way to his destination, so he spent the time looking at people who were unknowingly helping his theory. Of course, there were happier, nicer people, but he carefully avoided them.

At last, the shop came into view. And just in time. All that anger made him hungry. The sign momentarily startled him. Mrs. Lovett's...Then he remembered. She had gone and gotten married. It didn't really concern him. Still in his wonderful mood of doom, he entered.

She was standing behind the counter, subduing a piece of something with a knife. Her long hair had been put up in an odd frantic style. He wouldn't be surprised if London had run out of hairclips because of her. Now she wore lace handwarmers, and crimson at the top of her quite suddenly immodest dress. He couldn't help it, he stared. When she was finally sure the thing had been beaten into submission, she looked up boredly. And gasped. He jumped.

"What, what?" Was there something behind him? He turned to look, and the door slammed shut of it's own accord.

"A customer!" She grinned, and thankfully shoved the rather pointy kife into the counter before advancing upon him. "Wait! Wot's your rush, wot's your hurry!"

Well, he didn't really have one, actually.

Still too shocked to protest, he let her lead him to a chair. She continued singing at him. He stared, fascinated.

"Sit, sit you down, Sit!"

THUD.

She didn't seem to notice she had pushed him onto the floor instead of the chair. She just kept singing at him.

"Did you come in for a pie, sir? Do forgive me if me 'ead's a little vague.."

And quite suddnely, she paused and stared at something far away, and probably nonexistant.

He recognized that look. It was odd to see someone else with it.

He opened his mouth to say something, and she jolted back into life as if nothing had happened.

"Wot is that?" An unlucky bug crawled across the counter. she grabbed it, inspected it, and stuck it in her mouth. "But you'd shink we 'ad the plague.." She swallowed, and turned back to him, smiling. "From the way that people keep avoiding.." Without even looking, she slammed her hand down on another bug, and licked it off her palm. "Heaven knows I try, sir."

He stared suspiciously at the pie she was bringing him. "But there's no one comes in even to inhale, right you are sir would you like a drop of ale?"

She set the pie thing down in front of him. "Mind you I can 'hardly blame them, these are probably the worst pies in coughcough... I should know, I make them but good? No. The worst pies in muttermumble Even that's polite the worst pies in humhmm... If you dare to take a bite!"

After that little speech he wasn't hungry any more. But she swept around the table once again, and shoved it up to his mouth, forcing him to eat it.

Oh, god. Prison was nothing compared to this. The woman could make a fortune if she became the jail cook.

As he twitched and turned pale, she continued rambling proudly about how bad her pies were.

"Here drink this, you'll need it." She had come back again, delivered a cup of ale, and still refused to shut up.

"And I wonder with the price of meat what it is, when you get it," She was attacking a lump of flour.

He was completely trapped. People thought he was crazy..this woman was certified.

"Finding poor animals, wot are dyin' in the street.." She smiled hungrily.

"Ms. Mooney had a pie shop..did her business but I noticed somethin' weird. Seemed that all her neighbors cats 'ad dissapeared."

He attempted to say something, but she seemed to sing even louder.

He momentarily gave up.

"Poppin' pussies into pies..wouldn't do in my shop! Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick...and they're so cute.."

A predatory gleam flickered through her eyes as she leaned over the poor flattened dough.

Suddenly something occured to him. Mrs. Mooney 'had'a pie shop?

He looked down to consider this away from the distraction of her predatory face and intriguing chest. A roach promptly ran out from his pie. She was there in an instant, picking it up and dangling it in the air. "No denyin' times is hard, sir. Even harder than the worst pies in-crunch"

He leaned back in his seat, trying to look like he wasn't about to be sick.

"Ish that just revoltin', all greashy an' gritty, it looksh like it's moltin', and tashtes like.." She thought for a moment, and swallowed. "Well, pity a woman alone.." This statement was accompanied by a demure look and batting of her eyelashes. Somehow that was the scariest thing yet. Thankfully it was over again, as she swept back to hit something behind the counter. He took the opportunity to sip the ale. And almost died for the second time that hour. At this rate, he wouldn't last through her song.

"And the worst pies around here!" She seemed pleased she had found a way around the small problem in her song. "Ah, sir. Times is hard.." She leaned over the counter, giving the best view of her cleavage. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop herself from squashing another roach as it wandered by. "Times is hard..."

It could be as hard as rock, and her bizarre bug eating would still be hard to accept. Was that chest really worth it?

She finally stopped singing, and gazed at him as he attempted to cover the first deathly taste with the second.

"Trust me dearie, it's gonna take a lo' more than ale to wash tha' taste out. Come wi' me. We'll get you a nice tumbler o' gin. Eh?"

He stood up and followed her into the other room. As she busied herself with chatting aimlessly and pouring the gin, he finally decided it was safe to say something.

"Why do you have an accent?"
"Wot?"
"You have this ridiculous accent."

"It's native, innit?"
"No."

"'Ow would you know?"

"I've been here.."

She sighed. "Tourists expect it. I don't know why. I can't even tell what I'm saying half of the time myself."

An awkward silence threatened to loom. Any moment now she would start singing to cover it up. He couldn't chance it. So the first thing that came to mind-"You have a room available. If it's so hard why don't you rent it out?"
She turned to him. "No one will take it. People think it's haunted."

The eye contact was unnerving.

"Haunted?" He was tempted to ask if people assumed she'd eaten the tenants.

She studied his face, and started telling him his own story.

"There was this really hot barber that lived up there. With his wife. He was an artist with a knife. But they took him away. He was so hot." She sighed happily. "Bagge, his name was. Fred Bagge."

"What was his crime?" The barber asked, as evenly as he could considering that bizarre and short retelling.

"Idiocy." She deadpanned. "His wife was pretty, and had everything. Poor thing. There was this judge, and he had the hots for her. He'd give her flowers every day, and for some reason her husband never noticed. She sat up there and taunted him by the hour. And there was worse yet, too!" She grinned. "So, this guy, he calls on her politely.."
"Wait, what? Who did?"
"The guy. You know, the judge's lackey."

"Oh, that guy! Yeah, him, his name is, er..."

"I knew it until I started telling this story."

"Yeah, me too. It's right on the tip of my tongue, it's..."

"Alan? No, no."
"Owen? Not even close."

"Zalost?"
The barber stared at her.

"What? Anyway, where was I? Okay, the guy calls on her, and he tells her the judge wants to apologize, okay?"
"Yes, yes, and?"
"And when she gets there, they're holding this masked ball, and she can't see him, so she goes to the refreshment table, and has a drink and waits."
"Uh-huh."
"And she asks everyone where Judge Katz is, but they don't know, so she starts to get nervous. She's had a bit to drink by this time, and she sits down in a chair, and, and.."

"Yes, yes?"

"And he comes up and he rapes her!"

Stunned silence.

The barber screams. "Oh my god! You made my life into a bad joke!"

The baker stands up, gloating. "I knew it was you!"
"Damn you woman!" He clutched his head.

"Fred Bagge!"

"Where's Shirley?"

"...She took arsenic. Right after you left. I told her it was a bad idea, but she didn't listen to me. Oh no, no one ever listens to me. I totally told her, I said no, that's not the best idea, but she said I know what I'm doing, and I was like I still don't think so, and she says I'm doing it anyway and-"

"Alright, alright! Where's my son?"
"Oh. Judge Katz has him."

Fred collapsed.

--

"...Mr. Bagge?"

Fred opened his eyes. Aquarella Lovett was standing over him, a glass of water at the ready to soak him if he didn't come back to this torturous world.

He groaned. "No. Not Bagge. He's dead."

"Which one?"
Fred paused. "I mean me."
"Oh. You smell alive."
"Will you just listen! My name is Todd now. Fred Todd."
This statement wasn't as dramatic as he had thought it would be.

Aquarella Lovett looked as if she was attempting to keep from laughing.

"You changed your name? But only your last one?"
"Yes. I don't see what's so funny."

"It's just...it.." She burst into laughter.

"I will have my revenge!" He stood up, and almost fell over again.

She caught him just in time. "Of course you will. Sit here, love. I'll go find the key to your old room."

She left him brooding, and walked away, muffling her laughter behind her hand.

"Fred Todd...hahaha..."

--

Z/N: And now we have a plot!