There Are Many Way to Skin a Cat
For her Storyline in Tenebrae Nostro RP Community
If this was Victorian London, Big Ben would be ringing in midnight through the fog and smog that chokes the city. The only people that would be left trudging through the gas lit muddy streets would be wretched destitute women of the night who ensnare men of dubious natures between the silken folds of their...er, skirts, for a price. "How'd you like a little muff dear; how'd ya like a little bounce around the bush; how'd you like to push me parsley, looks to me dear, like you got plenty there to push," they accost roughly, with the voices of drunk rugged sailors as they led their gent's through dark and twisted alleyways of Whitechapel, some never to be seen alive again. If this was Victorian London, sweet sticky clouds of white smoke would curl around the ceiling of moldering Opium dens as desperate vacant-eyed men seeking to escape themselves chased the red dragon into oblivion. London's poor would take to gin houses in shabby work clothes and holes in their shoes. Foul water, filth-choked sewers and cholera would indiscriminately rob people of their lives. If this was Victorian London, one would have to watch out for the shadows that followed one home from crowded pubs. This wasn't Victorian London to Mrs. Lovett's dismay, but one still had to watch the shadows. And like in Victorian London, one really needed to pay some mind to the clouds of smoke that some bakeries belched out during the night as if they had ingested something most fowl.
"Here puss, puss, puss." Nellie Lovett leaned against the building and wiped her forehead with her black lace gloved hand. Breathing heavily, the rolling pin hung down in her limp hand. "Them pussycats is quick," she muttered breathlessly.
But this time, she couldn't let it get away. In a way, Mr. Todd's and her future depended on it. One silly pussy cat. "Bless me eyes, more supplies!" She whispered intently under her breath as a Tabby slinked across the alley. Hiding the rolling pin in the back of her skirt, she held out her hand with cat food laced with laudanum. Most difficult to find these days. Maybe it was just rat poison that she mistook for the opiate because of the skull on the package, like in the old days. "No ones gonna hurt you, not while I'm around," she sang lowly in a eerily innocent voice. "Here, pussss, yes, that's a good dear," she cooed, as it came closer to the food in the palm of her hand. She stretched her arm out further. This was sickening. Necessary, she insisted through the nausau churning her stomach like two week old pea soup.
If that vile Mrs. Moony could do it...just this once....just this once. Done worse. Oh, but in Mrs. Lovett's ever rational mind, the tabby has done nothing to deserve its fate.
The suspicious tabby crawled closer. "Yes, luv, take the nice food." The cat wasn't stupid. The stink of the poison was overwhelming. However, the poor orange stripped tabby with tufts on downy fur on his face has simply gotten too close. Its round hazel eyes nearly bulged out of the his head as the rolling pin descended upon it like a strike from a judges gavel.
"Ew." It reminded dear Mrs. Lovett of cracking an egg on the side of a pan. "No matter, wot's done is done."
Tabby cat
there's little fat
be beware
of the tufts of hair.
Picking up the puss by the tail, she walked back into the bakery. Placing the cat on the counter along with her rolling pin, whose edge was stained with blood and had a few orange hairs sticking from the side, she walked to the front of the shop while wiping her hands on her apron. Looking out of the window she gazed at Greg's Pastry and Bake House. A large sign loomed in front that screamed 'Grand Opening'. Tomorrow, to be exact. Mr. Todd and her desperately needed that space. Two floors and bigger, it was. They would be able to resume their very respectable business'. Somehow, she had to acquire it. Perhaps that would even help put her back in Mr. T's good graces. Just a tiff? The plan was already coming to a boil in her head. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lip. Well, luv, there are many ways to skin a cat.
If this was Victorian London, Big Ben would be ringing in midnight through the fog and smog that chokes the city. The only people that would be left trudging through the gas lit muddy streets would be wretched destitute women of the night who ensnare men of dubious natures between the silken folds of their...er, skirts, for a price. "How'd you like a little muff dear; how'd ya like a little bounce around the bush; how'd you like to push me parsley, looks to me dear, like you got plenty there to push," they accost roughly, with the voices of drunk rugged sailors as they led their gent's through dark and twisted alleyways of Whitechapel, some never to be seen alive again. If this was Victorian London, sweet sticky clouds of white smoke would curl around the ceiling of moldering Opium dens as desperate vacant-eyed men seeking to escape themselves chased the red dragon into oblivion. London's poor would take to gin houses in shabby work clothes and holes in their shoes. Foul water, filth-choked sewers and cholera would indiscriminately rob people of their lives. If this was Victorian London, one would have to watch out for the shadows that followed one home from crowded pubs. This wasn't Victorian London to Mrs. Lovett's dismay, but one still had to watch the shadows. And like in Victorian London, one really needed to pay some mind to the clouds of smoke that some bakeries belched out during the night as if they had ingested something most fowl.
"Here puss, puss, puss." Nellie Lovett leaned against the building and wiped her forehead with her black lace gloved hand. Breathing heavily, the rolling pin hung down in her limp hand. "Them pussycats is quick," she muttered breathlessly.
But this time, she couldn't let it get away. In a way, Mr. Todd's and her future depended on it. One silly pussy cat. "Bless me eyes, more supplies!" She whispered intently under her breath as a Tabby slinked across the alley. Hiding the rolling pin in the back of her skirt, she held out her hand with cat food laced with laudanum. Most difficult to find these days. Maybe it was just rat poison that she mistook for the opiate because of the skull on the package, like in the old days. "No ones gonna hurt you, not while I'm around," she sang lowly in a eerily innocent voice. "Here, pussss, yes, that's a good dear," she cooed, as it came closer to the food in the palm of her hand. She stretched her arm out further. This was sickening. Necessary, she insisted through the nausau churning her stomach like two week old pea soup.
If that vile Mrs. Moony could do it...just this once....just this once. Done worse. Oh, but in Mrs. Lovett's ever rational mind, the tabby has done nothing to deserve its fate.
The suspicious tabby crawled closer. "Yes, luv, take the nice food." The cat wasn't stupid. The stink of the poison was overwhelming. However, the poor orange stripped tabby with tufts on downy fur on his face has simply gotten too close. Its round hazel eyes nearly bulged out of the his head as the rolling pin descended upon it like a strike from a judges gavel.
"Ew." It reminded dear Mrs. Lovett of cracking an egg on the side of a pan. "No matter, wot's done is done."
Tabby cat
there's little fat
be beware
of the tufts of hair.
Picking up the puss by the tail, she walked back into the bakery. Placing the cat on the counter along with her rolling pin, whose edge was stained with blood and had a few orange hairs sticking from the side, she walked to the front of the shop while wiping her hands on her apron. Looking out of the window she gazed at Greg's Pastry and Bake House. A large sign loomed in front that screamed 'Grand Opening'. Tomorrow, to be exact. Mr. Todd and her desperately needed that space. Two floors and bigger, it was. They would be able to resume their very respectable business'. Somehow, she had to acquire it. Perhaps that would even help put her back in Mr. T's good graces. Just a tiff? The plan was already coming to a boil in her head. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lip. Well, luv, there are many ways to skin a cat.