Chapter Text
20 minutes before opening, Sweeney stood by the window to watch the comings-and-goings of Fleet Street. That was most of what he did when he had time to kill. If he wasn't giving people shaves then he was cleaning the parlour, and if the parlour was clean then he was at the window. Even this early in the morning it was quite packed down below, as children and adults alike rushed down the grimy cobblestone on their way to whatever miserable place they were scheduled for. The street performer danced, the beggars begged, shop owners flipped their signs to open, and Sweeney watched. Idly flicking his razor in and out of its handle, entranced.
It was like his own little ant farm. And, like an ant farm, they barely knew the power he held over them all.
Maybe he was wondering about their little lives, about which of them had families or friends that would notice them gone, whether they'd beg if given the chance, or maybe he was just guessing what shade of blood they'd spill.
Because they'd all have their time eventually, he thought. Every one of them walking and talking down there, they did so because he'd let them. Every one of them would get what they deserved in due time.
Each and every-
"Mr. T! Mr. T! Down here! Quick, quick!"
The sound of Lovett's frantic yelling snapped his attention away from the window and, with his razor drawn, he leapt across the room in just a few steps. His thoughts scrambled through possible dangers that could be at the door - Police? Health inspectors? Have the customers caught on? - as he swung on the banister of the staircase and stuck his head out in view of the bakery.
"What? What is it?" he asked.
Mrs. Lovett stood by the front of the room with an ear-to-ear grin, flapping her hands in barely contained excitement at something still out of view. Sweeney pulled his shoulders back, more than a little irritated that she'd startled him so much, and walked down the steps with the blunt edge of his razor trailing the wall. Lovett turned on her heels to look at him, still grinning, and pointed downwards.
"Oh, Mr. Todd, look!" she said in a high-pitched stage-whisper. Sweeney leaned forward with one hand on the till and his eyes followed her arm down to the floor.
Curled up beside the storage was a cat. A skinny little calico, grubby and threadbare from a life on the streets, tucked up into a neat oval and snoring loudly. Despite it's size though the thing looked tough, and through its fur you could see all its points and hard edges; it had clearly seen its fair share of fights and mostly won them. There were thick chunks of fur missing from its tail, tears in the skin of its ears, and a large pronounced scab running along the bridge of its nose, but despite all that it was undeniably cute.
Lovett looked back and forth between Sweeney and the cat, and Sweeney did the same in turn. He cocked his head into his shoulder and sighed, wondering if Lovett was about to say what he thought she might say, and how best to shut it down. As if she'd sensed him, Lovett dodged straight past the first few questions and popped the one she was already onto considering:
"What should we call it?"
"We're not keeping it." Mr. Todd said, quickly and bluntly. Her face fell at once.
"Of course we are, the poor thing! Just look at it!"
"I am looking at it, and it's filthy. It could have all manner of diseases." He turned and glared at her, but she was too enamoured by the little feline to notice. "Need I mention? If it gets a customer sick, then the authorities'll be asking to look around the bakery."
Lovett considered it for a second. "Well, they only ever send one or two. If push ever comes to shove with that, you can just sort them out in your parlour, can't you?"
The cat blinked open its bleary, gummed-up eyes, let out a big long yawn and looked up at the two of them curiously. One eye blue, the other green. That only made her more excited.
"Mrs Lovett?" He asked firmly over the sound of her squealing.
"Oh lord, isn't it precious?"
"Mrs Lovett." He pressed harder. He pushed her out of the way and picked the critter up by the scruff of it's neck, as it let out a small "mrrp" upon his touch.
"The shop opens in 15 minutes. Let's be through with this nonsense and throw it back out on the street."
She gasped incredulously. "Mr. T!" She scooped it into her arms and slapped his fingers away, gently scratching it on the head as she stepped back to the opposite side of the bakery. "Have you gone mad!? Out there it's no place for a sweet little thing like this! I mean, if it doesn't get slashed to bits by some other animal or starve to death, it'll just be whisked away by Mrs. Mooney over to her horrid little shop!" She turned slightly so that he could see it's (now very confused) face. "Can you imagine? This poor baby chopped up and poked and pulled and split between half a dozen pies? Oh, it'd be just awful! And what's more-"
"Fine." said Sweeney. "If you insist - but you'll be the one taking care of it. I have more important responsibilities to focus on-" He pointed a stern finger between the cat's eyes- "And don't let it into my parlour. I don't need any distractions."
With that, he turned around and Lovett watched him go for the stairs.
"Hold on!" she said when he had his hand on the banister, "Don't you want to help me give it a name?"
Sweeney paused, glanced behind him and let out a long, performative sigh, before turning back around.
"Isn't it a 'she'?" He said, "All calicos are female, from what I remember."
"Are they?" She gave it a close squint. "Shame. She rather looked like a 'Peter' to me."
Part of him wondered whether the cat would care if it were given a boy's name; surely if felines understood the concept of personal identity, they wouldn't put up with names like "Mittens" or "Pickle" or "Little Bastard".
Mrs Lovett put her hands under the cat's front legs and lifted it into the air, letting its body dangle awkwardly, looking too long and too thin. She tutted thoughtfully while staring up into its wide, bewildered eyes, then smiled and turned it around to Sweeney.
"How about Johanna?" she said, "Would save you a lotta trouble, wouldn't it, Mr T?"
Sweeney narrowed his eyes and growled under his breath, making her instinctively move the thing away from him.
"Gosh love, I'm only joking!" she said, pouting.
"Jane? Julia? Lydia? Charlotte? Sophie?" Sweeney began spouting whatever names he could remember off the top of his head (a lot of which he'd heard about in passing conversation with victims). "Charity? Tabitha? Sally? Samantha? Ma-"
"Come on now, you can't just pick one all willy-nilly. It has to fit her, doesn't it? Stop rushing. We're having a nice moment here."
Sighing, he let his hands drop to his sides. "Yes, yes, alright." He said, dragging a chair over and sitting down. He peered closer at the cat and tried to picture what kind of descriptor would "fit" it. To him it just looked like a cat. Cats are cats.
"Starlight, maybe?" Lovett suggested.
To him it looked like a cat that didn't look like a Starlight.
"No? Orchard, then."
Orchard was better, but still not quite. Alright, he thought, I understand how this works.
Sweeney tilted his head and scrunched his face up as he really tried to come up with something decent.
"...Apple? Looks like an Apple."
Lovett furrowed her brow. "Not much of a name though. Orchard's a name. Apple's a... an object."
An Orchard is just a lot of apples kept together, surely. He thought to bring that up, but there was no point. It was down to poetics, and he knew he was never particuarly great with that.
"Oh! I've got it!" Lovett chirped, "Merry!"
"Hmmm...."
"Pudding?"
"Mmmmmm...."
They both drifted into a silence broken only by the loud purring that rose from Lovett's arms.
"I mean..." Sweeney hesitated, "Why don't we just... call it Calico? Sounds nice enough."
Lovett raised her eyebrows again. She jutted her chin out and glanced around the room, as if a long list of pros and cons were written up the walls and ceiling.
"Ca-li-co..." She pronounced slowly, overexaggerating the shape of the syllables along her mouth. She grinned and lifted the kitty high. "Calico!"
Sweeney chuckled silently to himself, only to look back up and see Calico presented a few inches from his face. Instinctively he recoiled.
"Calico, Mr. Todd! Mr. Todd, Calico!" Lovett said cheerfully. From the way she held it, it's front legs awkwardly jutted towards him as if it wanted a hug. Unsure what else to do, he gingerly shook it by the paw, much to Lovett's amusement.
"Right!" she announced, wrapping Calico up into a more comfortable position, "If that's sorted, I'll take little Calico up to my room and then we can set up shop. You-" she nodded to Sweeney and pointed to an unfinished pie on the table, laying open in waiting for a top crust- "Be a dear and bring that in with me."
"...Why?"
"Well, what else is she gonna eat? Come on!" On that note, she sprang across the bakery and opened the door to their living quarters with her foot. Sweeney blinked, gave a narrow look to the pie, and went to go grab it.