(no subject)
There was a sort of idleness that settled down on a person after some time spent on the island, Mrs. Lovett had noted. It wasn’t terrible, not really, but with the lack of real work to be done and the fact that there weren’t any taxes to pay or business related utilities to purchase, she was being left with an awful lot of free time on her hands. Sure, Mr. Todd could be a handful, but even with him lurking around she still was short on work to be done. Really, she even was starting to suspect (thoughts she kept entirely to herself, of course) that she wasn’t even necessarily needed by him. Not like she had been back on Fleet Street. He didn’t need someone to help him maintain his identity, to rent him someplace to live. He didn’t need someone to help him make the stiffs disappear, all quiet and subtle like. If she were honest with herself, she’d almost say that it was a bit of a disappointment. There was no pressing need, there wasn’t any excitement, and there certainly wasn’t anything giving her business a good healthy boost. Wasn’t that just the world worked, right there. Her shop finally starts making itself some business, good healthy business with customers that just couldn’t get enough of her pies, and then Sweeney just had to get worked up and push her into the fire. And instead of burning alive, she tumbles out into a place where he doesn’t even remember committing the bloomin’ act and there’s no economy to speak of. It was ironic, that’s what it was.
This was likely the reason, and the only reason, that she’d gotten herself a job cooking a public breakfast. No pie shop to work on and she just simply had too much time on her hands. It took her a bit, all those new appliances and a gadgets to learn about, but as soon as she’d gotten the idea it wasn’t that different than bustling around her very own bake house. Just less cockroaches and fewer human cadavers. And throwing together a breakfast wasn’t like it was that much effort anyway. She’d poked around early that morning and found that putting together a good old pan of toad-in-the-hole would be quick and simple, if not a little generous for a breakfast, and then she could sit and reap the rewards afterwards. It was rather nice, in a way. Weeks of sitting on her bum and admiring the pretty landscape forgotten as soon as she’d started mixing the batter.
Not more than an hour later, she was wiping flour on the front of her dress and surveying the spread thoughtfully. Two large pans of golden brown Yorkshire pudding and boar sausage, smelling sweetly of bread and meat. Coffee and tea on hand, juice and milk for the little urchins she saw running about from time to time. It felt like it’d been ages since she whipped up a proper breakfast. At the shop it was pies, pies and more pies, as that was what was to sell and what was on hand. But as she tested the consistency of her dish, she couldn’t help but lift her chin a bit higher. Had she been back on Fleet Street, this would have kept herself, Mr. T and Toby fed for a week.
"Well, that ought'ta do it." She said to herself, blowing a stray strand of frizzy hair from her eyes.
It was just a pity that boar meat didn’t have the same rich flavour as human.
[[Friday morning breakfast post. Tag Lovett, tag eachother. I promise there aren't any toes in the food. ...this time around. >.>]]
This was likely the reason, and the only reason, that she’d gotten herself a job cooking a public breakfast. No pie shop to work on and she just simply had too much time on her hands. It took her a bit, all those new appliances and a gadgets to learn about, but as soon as she’d gotten the idea it wasn’t that different than bustling around her very own bake house. Just less cockroaches and fewer human cadavers. And throwing together a breakfast wasn’t like it was that much effort anyway. She’d poked around early that morning and found that putting together a good old pan of toad-in-the-hole would be quick and simple, if not a little generous for a breakfast, and then she could sit and reap the rewards afterwards. It was rather nice, in a way. Weeks of sitting on her bum and admiring the pretty landscape forgotten as soon as she’d started mixing the batter.
Not more than an hour later, she was wiping flour on the front of her dress and surveying the spread thoughtfully. Two large pans of golden brown Yorkshire pudding and boar sausage, smelling sweetly of bread and meat. Coffee and tea on hand, juice and milk for the little urchins she saw running about from time to time. It felt like it’d been ages since she whipped up a proper breakfast. At the shop it was pies, pies and more pies, as that was what was to sell and what was on hand. But as she tested the consistency of her dish, she couldn’t help but lift her chin a bit higher. Had she been back on Fleet Street, this would have kept herself, Mr. T and Toby fed for a week.
"Well, that ought'ta do it." She said to herself, blowing a stray strand of frizzy hair from her eyes.
It was just a pity that boar meat didn’t have the same rich flavour as human.
[[Friday morning breakfast post. Tag Lovett, tag eachother. I promise there aren't any toes in the food. ...this time around. >.>]]