Disclaimer: Angelus belongs to Joss Whedon. Sweeney Todd belongs to Tim Burton.
Notes: FFA Angelus/Sweeney Todd. Angelus is so evil he ruins Sweeney’s first scene. 300 Word Drabble.
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE LONDON
Sweeney Todd gazed across the London skyline, the black waves of the Thames lapping against his mighty galleon, as it cut through them like a knife through flesh.
Darkness swelled. The mist descended. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, soon it would burst forth in a spectacular explosion of blood and horror.
His evil eyes narrowed, not even the night could mask the menace he intended. He took a deep breath.
“There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit,” he crooned. “And the vermin of the world inhabit it, and its morals aren’t worth what a pig can spit, and it goes by the name of...”
Sweeney allowed the last note to linger in the cold English air, and waited. And waited some more. Finally, he turned around.
“Angelus!” he snapped. “Put that whore down! You missed your cue!”
Angelus jumped out of his skin. He hastily shoved the dying prostitute behind a wooden barrel, hoping no one would notice the blood stain on his lips. He cleared his throat. He took a deep breath.
“Liiiiiiike a briiiiiidge over troubled wateeeeer!”
“My *god* man!” Sweeney interrupted. “What happened?”
“What?” Angelus pouted.
“When I allowed you passage aboard this galleon, you *specifically* stated you were good with your mouth! But you sound like a woman dying of the plague! I thought the Irish were supposed to be melodic! But you sound like a squealing pig being dragged to the slaughter! Explain yourself!”
Angelus looked at his feet. “I’m sorry Sweeney. I migh’ there a lied t’ya a wee bit...”
“You don’t even sound Irish!” Sweeney exploded in fury. “Get out of my sight!”
“Er, Sweeney...” Angelus began sheepishly.
“What now, you piece of shit fraud, you?” Sweeney snapped.
“Can a take ma there prostitute, like?”