The streets of London were just as busy as always, and so was the pie shop. Mrs. Lovett was exhausted after the huge dinner rush. Toby was asleep in the living room opposite the boiling room, there ass an ungodly stench from the bodies that she had forgotten to grind up into pies the day prior. The sound of heavy rain hitting the windows was familiar, not comforting - the silence despite how busy the streets seemed to be was always unnerving, but familiar. Mrs Lovett had always tried to make the bakery more "homey" after she met Sweeney Todd and key him reopen his barber shop upstairs, but it never worked. No amount of little decorations could bring out the gloom and existential dread from Fleet Street. Her black corset had patches of flour on them from the busy day, she wiped sweat from her forehead. She set down her rolling pin when she heard the bell on the front door ring, she didn't look up from the batch of pies that she was getting from the oven, she was still somehow blissfully unaware of the bodies that she'd forgotten to grind in the boiler room.

"Mister T? That you, love?"

Mrs Lovett inquired, her tone sweet and caring; the complete and polar opposite of Sweeney Todd's demeanor.