Fic: Gratitude
Title: Gratitude
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada/Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007)
Pairing: Miranda/ Mrs. Lovett
Rating: PG
Summary: Mrs. Lovett receives a visitor that wants to talk with Mr. Todd
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
A/N: I've been watching way too much Sweeney Todd lately and my brains have melted from the exams, so I needed a break and this came out. I hope it makes any sense.
Gratitude
Out of boredom she started tapping her fingers on the half decayed wood of her table. It was the first time since she and Mr. T. had started working together that she had a moment to herself. Toby was out buying ingredients was the dough for the pies and Mr. T., well, he was just out, probably looking for new customers, or just walking around being his gloomy self.
She sighed. She had been by herself for so many years after her dear Albert had died and now she had barely been a week in the company of others and she immediately felt bored and alone when everybody was out. She let her head fall in her hand. Doing nothing, she hated it.
Just when she suspected that she might nod off for a few moments, there was a movement on the stairs that led to the barbershop. Even through the tainted window she saw a skirt made of the deepest blue she had ever seen. A woman, going to a barber? Strange.
Her curiosity got the better of her and she rushed outside to follow the woman, whoever she may be.
‘Excuse me, Ma’am, Mr. T. is out, I’m afraid,’ she called out to the woman before she could reach the top of the stairs. The woman paused and Mrs. Lovett briefly looked at the silver hair that was neatly pinned up at the base of her pale neck. She had never seen hair like that. People in London had a sort of dirtied grey hair, not silver. She even glanced at the exquisite fabric of the blue dress before the woman slowly turned and stared down at her.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said in a soft voice that nearly commanded the listener to pay attention, to listen closely to every word that might fall from her lips. Mrs. Lovett breathed in sharply. With the unusually beautiful face, the regal posture and the silver lock that almost teasingly fell over the woman’s left eyebrow, the lady demanded more respect than the Queen herself. What could a woman like her do in Fleet street?
‘Uhm, I said that Mr. Todd is out, Ma’am,’ Mrs. Lovett stammered. The woman pursed her lips in a way that made her look as if she had just smelled Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir. Mrs. Lovett figured she had to be extremely disappointed that Mr. T. wasn’t in his shop.
‘I see,’ she said and walked down the stairs as if she was descending stairs to enter some grand ball. She brushed past Mrs. Lovett as if she wasn’t even there. A bit offended Mrs. Lovett put her hand on her hip and turned to watch the retreating form of the woman.
‘You could always wait for him in my shop. Knowing Mr. T. he’ll be back in a tick.’ In a swirl of blue the woman turned on her heel and looked at Mrs. Lovett with her eyes narrowed before glancing at the shop with a look of discontent on her face as if she judging if the shop was worthy enough to be graced with her presence.
‘Fine.’ And with that the woman brushed by her again, this time to enter the shop. For a second Mrs. Lovett wanted to reach out and feel the fabric of the dress between. She was almost certain it was silk, real silk imported from China. But she resisted the urge. Shaking her head, wondering what she got herself into, Mrs. Lovett followed her. She found the woman standing in the middle of the room closely inspecting every inch. Where every woman of her standard would have screamed at the cockroaches, she merely looked disgusted. Mrs. Lovett barely managed to suppress a smirk.
‘Why don’t you sit down? I’m Mrs. Lovett, by the way, and this is my pie shop, but I don’t think I can interest you in some. Am I right?’ The imperiously raised eyebrow gave her all the answer she needed. Much to her surprise the woman extended a gloved hand. Mrs. Lovett took hold of it.
‘Miranda Priestly,’ the woman said and gave Mrs. Lovett’s hand a soft squeeze before letting go of it. She sat down, perched on the edge of the wooden bench, hands folded neatly in her lap. Everything about her breathed elegance and wealth. She stood out against everything in the shop, like a silver knife in a drawer full of rusty iron cutlery.
‘So, can I get you anything to drink, while you wait, Mrs. Priestly? I’ve got - -‘
‘Miranda. Call me, Miranda,’ the woman interrupted. Mrs. Lovett raised her eyebrows. Strange request, especially from a lady.
‘Whatever you wish, Ma’am. I’ve got ale, gin, uh, now let me see - -‘
‘I don’t suppose you have coffee?’ Miranda drawled. Coffee? If Mrs. Lovett could afford that, she wouldn’t have to sell pies filled with dead men’s meat.
‘Nah, sorry. Might have some tea lying around though. I could make you a cuppa, if you fancy one.’
‘I guess that will have to do for the moment.’ Despite the haughty behaviour of her visitor and her disinterested tone, Mrs. Lovett found there was actually something attractive to the woman. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on yet.
While she busied herself by putting the kettle on the fire, searching out her best cup and retrieving a few tealeaves from the pot, Miranda watched her every move. Perhaps she was just making sure that no insects ended up in her tea.
‘So, Miranda, what’s your business with Mr. T.?’
‘I merely wished to speak with him about a matter that has come up quite recently.’ What could she want to say to Mr. T. It wasn’t very likely that they knew each other. Of course there was always the possibility that Mr. T. had killed a relative of hers, so she decided to let the matter rest.
‘I see,’ she muttered.
‘No, I don’t think you. You see, my husband, perhaps you’ve heard of him, Stephen Tomlinson, he was a lawyer, a friend of Judge Turpin, told me yesterday that was going to get a shave on Fleet street. The Beadle had told him that there is no one better than Mr. Todd. He never returned.’ Mrs. Lovett tried not to react to what she had been told. She was sure that if she said too much she might betray herself and Mr. T.
‘Strange,’ she said. Miranda’s lips curled up in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘It is, isn’t it? Especially since I know that he is dead and has probably ended up in one of those pies that are now displayed in your window.’ Mrs. Lovett paled and hid her hands in the folds of her skirt to prevent from Miranda seeing that there were shaking.
‘How - - what - -‘ she started but was stopped when Miranda lifted her hand and gestured that she should keep quiet.
‘Yes, I know about the sort of business you and your Mr. T. have here.’ In the distance she heard a church bell ring thrice. ‘I should go. I won’t have time for tea, I’m afraid,’ Miranda announced and got up. Mrs. Lovett panicked. What should she do? If Mr. T. was here he would make the problem go away. He would very efficiently take care of it. It would be a shame though, to murder something this beautiful. But she couldn’t bring herself to harm this woman that seemed to hold some sort of power over her.
‘You shouldn’t worry,’ Miranda said just before she opened the door. ‘If Mr. Todd arrives, express my gratitude for me, Mrs. Lovett. It is very rare for me to do so, so make it a point to tell him.’
‘What?’
‘Without him, I’d still be stuck with my husband.’ Mrs. Lovett sighed in relief and laughed nervously. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to kiss Miranda. For a second she had been so afraid that she could lose everything, her pie shop, Toby and Mr. T. With a playful and real smile this time, Miranda closed the door behind her.
Fandom: The Devil Wears Prada/Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007)
Pairing: Miranda/ Mrs. Lovett
Rating: PG
Summary: Mrs. Lovett receives a visitor that wants to talk with Mr. Todd
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.
A/N: I've been watching way too much Sweeney Todd lately and my brains have melted from the exams, so I needed a break and this came out. I hope it makes any sense.
Gratitude
Out of boredom she started tapping her fingers on the half decayed wood of her table. It was the first time since she and Mr. T. had started working together that she had a moment to herself. Toby was out buying ingredients was the dough for the pies and Mr. T., well, he was just out, probably looking for new customers, or just walking around being his gloomy self.
She sighed. She had been by herself for so many years after her dear Albert had died and now she had barely been a week in the company of others and she immediately felt bored and alone when everybody was out. She let her head fall in her hand. Doing nothing, she hated it.
Just when she suspected that she might nod off for a few moments, there was a movement on the stairs that led to the barbershop. Even through the tainted window she saw a skirt made of the deepest blue she had ever seen. A woman, going to a barber? Strange.
Her curiosity got the better of her and she rushed outside to follow the woman, whoever she may be.
‘Excuse me, Ma’am, Mr. T. is out, I’m afraid,’ she called out to the woman before she could reach the top of the stairs. The woman paused and Mrs. Lovett briefly looked at the silver hair that was neatly pinned up at the base of her pale neck. She had never seen hair like that. People in London had a sort of dirtied grey hair, not silver. She even glanced at the exquisite fabric of the blue dress before the woman slowly turned and stared down at her.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said in a soft voice that nearly commanded the listener to pay attention, to listen closely to every word that might fall from her lips. Mrs. Lovett breathed in sharply. With the unusually beautiful face, the regal posture and the silver lock that almost teasingly fell over the woman’s left eyebrow, the lady demanded more respect than the Queen herself. What could a woman like her do in Fleet street?
‘Uhm, I said that Mr. Todd is out, Ma’am,’ Mrs. Lovett stammered. The woman pursed her lips in a way that made her look as if she had just smelled Pirelli’s Miracle Elixir. Mrs. Lovett figured she had to be extremely disappointed that Mr. T. wasn’t in his shop.
‘I see,’ she said and walked down the stairs as if she was descending stairs to enter some grand ball. She brushed past Mrs. Lovett as if she wasn’t even there. A bit offended Mrs. Lovett put her hand on her hip and turned to watch the retreating form of the woman.
‘You could always wait for him in my shop. Knowing Mr. T. he’ll be back in a tick.’ In a swirl of blue the woman turned on her heel and looked at Mrs. Lovett with her eyes narrowed before glancing at the shop with a look of discontent on her face as if she judging if the shop was worthy enough to be graced with her presence.
‘Fine.’ And with that the woman brushed by her again, this time to enter the shop. For a second Mrs. Lovett wanted to reach out and feel the fabric of the dress between. She was almost certain it was silk, real silk imported from China. But she resisted the urge. Shaking her head, wondering what she got herself into, Mrs. Lovett followed her. She found the woman standing in the middle of the room closely inspecting every inch. Where every woman of her standard would have screamed at the cockroaches, she merely looked disgusted. Mrs. Lovett barely managed to suppress a smirk.
‘Why don’t you sit down? I’m Mrs. Lovett, by the way, and this is my pie shop, but I don’t think I can interest you in some. Am I right?’ The imperiously raised eyebrow gave her all the answer she needed. Much to her surprise the woman extended a gloved hand. Mrs. Lovett took hold of it.
‘Miranda Priestly,’ the woman said and gave Mrs. Lovett’s hand a soft squeeze before letting go of it. She sat down, perched on the edge of the wooden bench, hands folded neatly in her lap. Everything about her breathed elegance and wealth. She stood out against everything in the shop, like a silver knife in a drawer full of rusty iron cutlery.
‘So, can I get you anything to drink, while you wait, Mrs. Priestly? I’ve got - -‘
‘Miranda. Call me, Miranda,’ the woman interrupted. Mrs. Lovett raised her eyebrows. Strange request, especially from a lady.
‘Whatever you wish, Ma’am. I’ve got ale, gin, uh, now let me see - -‘
‘I don’t suppose you have coffee?’ Miranda drawled. Coffee? If Mrs. Lovett could afford that, she wouldn’t have to sell pies filled with dead men’s meat.
‘Nah, sorry. Might have some tea lying around though. I could make you a cuppa, if you fancy one.’
‘I guess that will have to do for the moment.’ Despite the haughty behaviour of her visitor and her disinterested tone, Mrs. Lovett found there was actually something attractive to the woman. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on yet.
While she busied herself by putting the kettle on the fire, searching out her best cup and retrieving a few tealeaves from the pot, Miranda watched her every move. Perhaps she was just making sure that no insects ended up in her tea.
‘So, Miranda, what’s your business with Mr. T.?’
‘I merely wished to speak with him about a matter that has come up quite recently.’ What could she want to say to Mr. T. It wasn’t very likely that they knew each other. Of course there was always the possibility that Mr. T. had killed a relative of hers, so she decided to let the matter rest.
‘I see,’ she muttered.
‘No, I don’t think you. You see, my husband, perhaps you’ve heard of him, Stephen Tomlinson, he was a lawyer, a friend of Judge Turpin, told me yesterday that was going to get a shave on Fleet street. The Beadle had told him that there is no one better than Mr. Todd. He never returned.’ Mrs. Lovett tried not to react to what she had been told. She was sure that if she said too much she might betray herself and Mr. T.
‘Strange,’ she said. Miranda’s lips curled up in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘It is, isn’t it? Especially since I know that he is dead and has probably ended up in one of those pies that are now displayed in your window.’ Mrs. Lovett paled and hid her hands in the folds of her skirt to prevent from Miranda seeing that there were shaking.
‘How - - what - -‘ she started but was stopped when Miranda lifted her hand and gestured that she should keep quiet.
‘Yes, I know about the sort of business you and your Mr. T. have here.’ In the distance she heard a church bell ring thrice. ‘I should go. I won’t have time for tea, I’m afraid,’ Miranda announced and got up. Mrs. Lovett panicked. What should she do? If Mr. T. was here he would make the problem go away. He would very efficiently take care of it. It would be a shame though, to murder something this beautiful. But she couldn’t bring herself to harm this woman that seemed to hold some sort of power over her.
‘You shouldn’t worry,’ Miranda said just before she opened the door. ‘If Mr. Todd arrives, express my gratitude for me, Mrs. Lovett. It is very rare for me to do so, so make it a point to tell him.’
‘What?’
‘Without him, I’d still be stuck with my husband.’ Mrs. Lovett sighed in relief and laughed nervously. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to kiss Miranda. For a second she had been so afraid that she could lose everything, her pie shop, Toby and Mr. T. With a playful and real smile this time, Miranda closed the door behind her.