Hello. As I said, I'm looking for someone to play Sweeney opposite my Mrs. Lovett. It would take place after the movie, but with both characters surviving. What you do as Sweeney is up to you. Do they run way, to restart their lives anew? Is Sweeney still angry, intent on punishing her? Can they work past what happened and trust each other again? Or are they just as doomed as they always were?
Basically, it can be romantic, dark and twisted, or somewhere in between.
A few offs to note, no bestiality, wattersports, powerplaying, gaping, breath control, extreme torture(I don't want Mrs. Lovett to lose a limb, for example) and snuff. Also please note that yes, the starter is rather long, but it does not reflect what I normally write. I average between one to three paragraphs, depending on the rp. I'm very flexible when it comes to my partners posts. Just don't give me an entire book to read on a regular basis, and please no one liners, and we'll get along well.
Please message me with your interest, and a short description of how you'd like to portray Sweeney, and I'll get the thread up.
It all just happened so fast....
Mrs. Lovett lay on her back on the ground, her body quivering and her mind just slightly numb. She felt a drop of sweat trickle from her face down into her messy hair, and distantly found herself in disbelief of that fact. She felt so cold, how could she possibly be sweating?
She just didn't understand how this could happen. One moment she'd been trying to dispose of the Beadle, the next, she fell through the trap door. Lucy. The irony, the pure, bitter irony wasn't lost on her, and she'd had half a mind to laugh if hadn't been so morbid. The man came from fifteen long years of prison, nearly drowned in the process, worked so hard to take revenge out on the lustful judge who'd taken away his family, only to kill the very person he'd mourned for so long. She supposed it was her fault for not letting him know the poison hadn't killed her, but how was she to know the old beggar would be at the wrong place at the most wrong of times?
The events of the last few moments flashed through her head, and the woman shivered just a little harder. She'd tried to dispose of her old friend, Lucy, in the oven. Anything to keep him from seeing. And then that blasted, bloody judge Turpin had fallen into the room, still alive. She hadn't known until he'd grabbed a hold of her, bringing fourth an involuntary shriek that called the one man she least wanted there to her. It all fell down hill from there. Of course he recognized his wife, once the insanity had melted from her features in death.
"You knew she lived." he'd said. Not a question, but an accusation. "You lied to me."
Despite her love for the man, Lovett wasn't a fool. He'd had no issue killing innocent people, people whom hadn't harmed anyone in their life. She knew that he wouldn't hesitate to kill her if he blamed her for Lucy's death.
"No, no not lied at all. No I never lied. Said she took the poison, she did. Never said that she died." she said, trying to explain herself in a way that wouldn't end with him slicing her throat. "Poor thing. She lived, but it left her weak in the head. All she did for months was just lie there in bead. Should have been in hospitable, wound up in bedlam, instead."
He wasn't even listening to her, was he? He was singing to the corpse, with his back to her, and she couldn't see his expression. It caused her to panic, so much so that she began to raise her voice, desperate to make him agree with her. "Poor thing, better you should think she was dead. Yes, I lied, 'cause I love you! I'd be twice the wife she was! I love you! Could that thing have cared for you like me?"
As soon as it was out she regretted it, and her entire being cried out for her to leave, to put as much space between then as she could. But he was between her and the door, there was no way she could get past him. He could easily overpower her. She had no chance, she didn't even have a weapon of any kind to defend herself.
All she could do was back away as he approached, "Do come here, my love. Not a thing to fear, my love. What's dead, is dead...."
She couldn't believe it, that he wasn't angry. He had to be, right?
But then he danced with her. He knew that was one of her weaknesses. His arms around her, twirling her through the air, her placing her trust in him that he wouldn't let her fall. He was so warm, and despite her doubts she let herself be lead by him.
And she was rewarded by being shoved toward the open oven. The burning air melting into her clothes, the bright, burning coals dazzling her eyes. He was going to lock her in and burn her to death.
And now she lay on the floor. Somehow, she'd managed to avoid that horrid fate, if only for a few moments. She didn't know what had happened? Had he pulled her away on purpose? Had he missed? Was he still going to kill her?
Please slit my throat. Stab me, if you must. Just please, please don't lock me in there. she begged him mentally, the numbness beginning to fade, replaced by sheer terror. She was afraid to move, afraid to speak, knowing that he was still there and not wanting to make him angrier than he already was. She swallowed thickly, her mouth so dry it felt like sandpaper. Would she get the chance to wet it again?
Slowly, she sat up, and scooted away from where she knew him to be, her head down. She couldn't even make eye contact with him. He'd tried to kill her. She bit her lower lip, chocking down a whimper. She didn't want to die.... "Please," she started, her voice cracking a little, "Not that, anything but that...." not the oven. Anything but the oven.