ARCHER and SABBAT lean over the back of their chairs and smile at the audience. (Well, ARCHER does. SABBAT kinda grimaces at them.)
ARCHER: Welcome to our first ever... PMT.
SABBAT: (whispers) Wrong word, mate.
ARCHER: I'm sorry, our first ever MSG.
SABBAT: I think what my friend is trying to say is: Welcome to our first ever MST. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. If not, well, there's not really anything you can do about it.
Author's Note: Enjoy! I'm working on a couple of stories now so I'm going to need a lot of reviews if you'd like me to update quickly!
ARCHER: And if we don't?
I don't own anything but Tiffany.
ARCHER: What the hell is that supposed to be?
SABBAT: The air hissing out of someone's windpipe when you slit their throat, of course.
ARCHER: (moving a couple of seats over) ... Yes... of course.
"You!" My 'master' screamed.
SABBAT: 'Master'? Is it just me, or did that sound rather—
ARCHER: We're not going to go there. If she likes that sort of thing, it's her decision.
"Yes sir?" He yanked me up by my hair
ARCHER: —'ripping it out by the roots and leaving me bald.'
SABBAT: If only.
and made me face a man that was standing in the doorway of the cell I was in. I shared this cell with many other young women who were called 'mad'
ARCHER: 'As opposed to "Maddy" or "Madeleine", those being the longer forms of their names.'
; this was a mad house after all
SABBAT: Let me get this straight. The house was insane? What did it do, insist that it was a small lemon?
ARCHER: That... would make more sense than basically anything else in this story.
, also known as an asylum. In fact, they would put women in this house for just about anything, my crime was refusing to become the wife of a rather rich foreign traveler who had punished me by putting me in this crazy place.
SABBAT: Because all men throw their prospective brides into asylums when they won't marry them.
ARCHER: Of course. The asylums of London are full of women who refused to get married.
SABBAT: Also, why is this asylum only populated by women?
ARCHER: It's simple. You see (whispering) they're all Sues.
SABBAT: Just waiting for nice serial killers to rescue them and ravish them to within an inch of their worthless lives.
SABBAT: Do you reckon I could—?
ARCHER: Not a chance.
SABBAT: Oh well. I was only asking....
"This kind man has offered to take you filthy vermin off my hands!" He released my curly black locks from his grip.
ARCHER: 'They fell to the ground, landing in the pool of blood from my torn scalp.'
I breathed in with clenched teeth when he hit me on my butt
SABBAT: 'Butt'? She head-butted him? He hit the butt of her pistol? He hit her water-butt?
ARCHER: It means 'arse', 'behind', 'rear-end'. It's slang.
SABBAT: Ah-hah. Not in use in Victorian London, I would imagine, though.
I had created a hissing sound.
ARCHER: Yes, she 'had created a hissing sound'.
SABBAT: A euphemism if ever there was one.
ARCHER: Well, she's a 'lady'. She wouldn't want to actually admit it.
The man in the doorway cleared his throat, he looked rather awkward.
ARCHER: He knew something wasn't right.
SABBAT: Come on, mate! Fight it!
ARCHER: It's no use. He can't hear us.
He had wild black hair with one white 'stress streak' on the left side of his head. He was wearing a black pinstriped pair of pants, off white long sleeved shirt, with a black vest covering that, and to finish that off he was wearing a black coat over that with an off-white strip of cloth hanging from his neck.
SABBAT: Then he noticed her staring at him in a distinctly worrying fashion, and decided he wanted a sane assistant after all. The End.
ARCHER: Unfortunately not. Also, why do we need a description of Todd's clothing? Doesn't everyone already know what he looks like?
SABBAT: Yep, but the Suethor wants a chance to describe him. I'm just wondering why he isn't wearing any trousers. I mean, pinstriped underwear?
ARCHER: American author, remember?
He smirked a grim smile that sent shivers up my spine.
ARCHER: Sabbat, you're a master of the 'grim smile', aren't you?
SABBAT: You know me too well. (smiles grimly)
ARCHER: Thanks. Now, would you call what you just did a smirk?
SABBAT: Of course not. A smirk would imply I was pleased with myself, something which I hardly ever am. (smirks)
ARCHER: Right.... And a smirk isn't really something I can see Sweeney Todd ever doing.
SABBAT: If he tries to do both at once, his face is going to end up more twisted than mine.
"She looks old and strong enough for the job?" My 'master' asked holding onto my shoulder and cutting his unkempt nails into me so hard that it drew blood on my dirty dress that was a dirty brown.
SABBAT: You know, I'm not quite sure why, but I'm getting the impression her dress might be a bit dirty.
ARCHER: You think?
"Aye, she'll do." He beckoned to me and my master threw me at him.
ARCHER: 'Unfortunately, he couldn't catch me in time. I slammed into the wall, my skull fracturing against the stone. I was dead before I hit the ground.'
The man grabbed me around my waist and placed me back up on my feet. I only came up to his nose so I actually had to turn my head upwards to see him fully in the face.
ARCHER: 'or rather, fully up the nose. There were several—'
SABBAT: Please don't continue that sentence.
He pulled me along a long hallway and remained quiet. I realized I had been staring at him
SABBAT: And about time, too. Personally, I would have broken her neck if she'd been eyeing me up for that long.
and when he turned to look at me I avoided his gaze.
"Beg my pardon sir." I said quietly and he nodded appreciatively.
SABBAT: He appreciates being ordered about and told to apologise for nothing by a seventeen-year-old madwoman? If that's in character, then I'm a Dutchman.
ARCHER: What's a Dutchman?
SABBAT: Forget it.
He led me to a carriage and opened the door motioning for me to climb in.
ARCHER: Does she mean a cab? I can't see Sweeney Todd being the 'carriage' sort of person.
SABBAT: Probably. But to a Suethor, anything that's pulled by a horse and moves on wheels is a carriage. They could be sitting in a dung cart for all we know.
"Thank you sir."
"You're scared to death aren't you?" He asked about a half hour into the ride where I had been focused fully on my hands that sat in my lap.
ARCHER: 'instead of hiding under the seats like they normally did.'
"Yes sir." He nodded understandingly and yet he continued to look at the window.
"What's your name?" He asked me apparently trying to bestow a conversation.
SABBAT: He's trying to give her a conversation as a gift? What's he done, written it down on paper and handed it to her?
ARCHER: Well, she obviously doesn't think much of it, seeing as he's only 'trying' to bestow it.
SABBAT: Ungrateful little hussy! He rescued her from the 'mad house' – the least she could do is accept his attempt at a present.
"Tiffany." My answer was short and curt and I saw a bit of anger flash before his eyes
ARCHER: 'narrowed, and he pulled out a razor, slashing my throat open in one quick movement.'
SABBAT: That's what I would have done with her.
ARCHER: And that's why you've never had a fiancée.
"Tiffany, that's very…German, is it?"
SABBAT: No. It's not.
SABBAT: It's Greek.
"Oh! I see and does it have a meaning?" I looked at him with obvious wonder and hopefully it showed him how annoyed I was.
ARCHER: He's supposed to deduce that she's annoyed because she's in awe of him? Truly, the mind of a Suethor is a strange and wondrous thing.
SABBAT: Please tell me you're being sarcastic.
"It means bright valley...and strong."
SABBAT: No, it means 'manifestation of god'. Actually, that's even worse. Let's stick with what she said.
I said biting my tongue so as not to let a sailor's word slip.
ARCHER: What, like 'starboard'? 'Rigging'? 'Forecastle'? 'Brig'?
SABBAT: I think she's meaning a swearword. For some reason, everyone thinks sailors swear all the time. Can't think why....
ARCHER: Have you ever heard yourself when you're annoyed?
SABBAT: Can't say I pay much attention, no.
ARCHER: My point exactly. A pity she didn't bite her tongue right out – then we'd be spared what she does to the songs later on.
"Well that's nice. My name's Sweeney. Sweeney Todd." His voice was gruff but showed he had cared what he was speaking for and about.
SABBAT: You really don't need to put that much emotion into telling someone your name. And I really hope that the 'Well that's nice' was sarcastic.
"Well that's a lovely name what is it?" I said just messing with him.
ARCHER: You don't 'just mess' with Sweeney Todd.
SABBAT: Not unless you want a razor in your throat. And it wouldn't just be his. If we do this fic, the bitch had better watch her back, because she might find a knife in it.
ARCHER: You're enjoying this, aren't you?
SABBAT: Who, me? Never.
I saw his hand fling to his belt and his hand twitched over something shiny in a holder on his belt.
SABBAT: Go on, slit her 'perfect' little throat. You know you want to!
He caught my eye and looked guilty for even thinking the thought he had thought.
SABBAT: As opposed to the thought he hadn't thought? And Sweeney Todd doesn't do guilty. Ever.
My eyebrows crunched in confusion over my deep blue almost purple eyes.
ARCHER: Purple eyes? Have you ever seen anyone with purple eyes?
SABBAT: Only after two pipes of good Smoke. And even then, it's hard to tell if they're actually eyes.
ARCHER: 'Irish eyes are smiling'. Oh, sorry, wrong reference.
SABBAT: Well, at least she got that right, although technically it's Gaelic.
"Oh, and does it have a meaning by any chance?"
ARCHER: It's a Suefic. Everything has a meaning.
"Actually, it does. It means small hero."
SABBAT: No, it means 'well-doing' fox – whatever 'well-doing' means. But the fox part is singularly appropriate.
I looked at him shocked he actually gave an appropriate answer not a sarcastic or hurtful one.
ARCHER: So are we all, lass, so are we all.
I nodded again lost in my thought of pure terror until the carriage came to a stop.
SABBAT: So she goes from 'just messing' with him to being utterly terrified in what, ten seconds? Strange woman.
SABBAT: Yes, that would explain it.
"Out ye go lass." He said holding out his hand for me as I climbed from the carriage.
ARCHER: 'Unluckily, I failed to notice what he had in his other hand. With a quick flick, he sliced my throat from ear to ear.'
SABBAT: No matter how many times you say that, it's not going to happen.
ARCHER: A man can dream, can't he?
He gave the driver a tip and took me by the hand.
ARCHER: Oh, so it was a cab. Nice of her to finally point that out.
"Come." He said in an almost violent way as he held fast to my wrist and practically dragged me down the street.
SABBAT: That's more like it! Now, get rid of the 'almost', and we're in business.
I stepped quickly my brown dress with dark red outer corset dragged on the wet ground and I heard my matching red heels click loudly
SABBAT: And why do I care about her clothing?
ARCHER: Because she does. But I'm wondering where she got high heels in an asylum – after all, it's not as if she would have needed them.
; I was walking quite fast for a young women in a corseted dress.
ARCHER: She's multiplying? Hell, I'm not sure I can stomach more than one of her.
"Mr. Todd!" I breathed in deeply and he pulled me faster if to just slightly annoy me more.
ARCHER: Could he be... in character?
SABBAT: Don't get your hopes up. Anyway, it's only to 'slightly' annoy her.
"Fleet Street." I breathed the name out loud
SABBAT: She's doing an awful lot of 'breathing'. Do you think she stops if she doesn't remind herself she's doing it?
ARCHER: I wish.
as I read it off of the swinging side on the street's corner.
ARCHER: Side: half of the body of an animal or person; half of a meat carcass; any one of two or more opposing teams or factions.
SABBAT: So there's half a dead animal with 'Fleet Street' carved on it hanging on 'the street's corner'? Nice.
ARCHER: Or half a dead person.
SABBAT: Good point. Human flesh is easier to carve, after all.
ARCHER: I'm stopping this conversation right there.
He pulled me not much farther down the thin street and to the front of a two story shop
ARCHER: Yes, and neither of the stories was this one.
that read "Mrs. Lovett's" across the middle of it, which must have been the name of the lower store.
"Come on Teresa." He said nonchalantly.
SABBAT: Sweeney Todd is a god? I thought he served a god.
ARCHER: It's 'a dark and vengeful god', and it's a metaphor.
SABBAT: Oh. But at least he got her name wrong. There's hope for him yet.
ARCHER: "We don't care!"
"That's what I said isn't it?" He asked
SABBAT: This is getting slightly better... even if he is still a god.
crossing the street and stepping in the sewer line, well what had been a sewer line.
SABBAT: And now it gets drastically worse. What the hell is a 'sewer line' when it's at home?
ARCHER: Apparently it's a buried drain.
SABBAT: Which would be damn near impossible to step 'in'. I'm taking a wild guess that our clueless heroine is trying to talk about a gutter.
ARCHER: That would make sense.
Apparently this was the Thames River
ARCHER: —Whereas that doesn't. He just stepped in the Thames? On Fleet Street? Gods above, she needs to sort out her geography.
, even I knew that.
SABBAT: No. You don't know anything. At all.
The Thames River is perhaps the dirtiest river in Europe, raw sewage and industrial waste is dumped into the streets without second consideration.
ARCHER: The streets are not the river, for the last time. Where does she think she is, Venice?
SABBAT: You know about Venice, but don't know who the Dutch are?
ARCHER: I've got a selective memory.
Many of the girls who had been put in the mad house were there because they had been beggars on the streets who had eaten out of the Thames River
SABBAT: Well, that makes sense. Ever caught a sane person trying to eat a river? Or eat out of a river, for that matter?
and caught a disease such as smallpox, the plague, and fever.
SABBAT: All at the same time? Ouch.
ARCHER: Not to mention the fact that the plague isn't around any more at the time. With dirty water, you'd be looking at typhoid and cholera – and I'm pretty sure smallpox isn't waterborne.
"Oh, Mr. Todd! Dear dear.
ARCHER: He is not your dear, and he won't ever be, however many times you say it.
What a lovely pants suit that was too."
SABBAT: Even counting that as an Americanism, what other kind of suit would he be wearing?
ARCHER: A kilt?
SABBAT: That is a very bad mental image.
I shook my head shamefully
ARCHER: 'realising how badly I was warping his character.'
SABBAT: How likely do you think that is?
after he stepped in the dirty water puddle line.
ARCHER and SABBAT: The gutter!
"Really lass? I hadn't noticed!" He said shaking his leg and letting the sewage water drip off of him.
ARCHER: Better... although he's still a god.
SABBAT: And what is 'off of'? It's 'off'.
I gagged at the raw stench that filled my nose as I bent over to see the 'water'
ARCHER: 'It looked so inviting... I ripped off my clothes and dived in, forgetting that I couldn't swim. The End.'
SABBAT: She drowned in a gutter?
ARCHER: Well, she thought it was the Thames. I'm not going to argue with her.
that was more like running gunk.
SABBAT: Where was it running to? Apart from away from her, of course.
He pulled me by my wrist again and into the building. There were many tables lined up and their
ARCHER: 'tops were covered with the brutally dismembered remains of other Mary Sues – their intestines ripped out and piled on the floor beside their rotting corpses.'
SABBAT: All right... I don't think even I can top that one.
wasn't a person in the shop (called Mrs. Lovett's) except, for one woman.
SABBAT: Now, I wonder who that could be?
The woman must have been Mrs. Lovett;
ARCHER: Really? You surprise me.
she was standing behind the counter holding a rolling pin. She was wearing an all brown dress similar to mine except with a black outer corset.
ARCHER: I believe it would be called a bodice... unless she really is wearing her underwear over her dress.
Her hair was a little less curly than mine and was pinned up in a huge mess all over her head. She looked at us and breathed in deeply.
SABBAT: Now she has to remember to breathe as well? What's happening to everyone?
"Huh! Customers! Wait! What's your rush? What's your hurry? You gave me such a fright I thought you were two ghosts!
ARCHER: Oh. Dear. Gods. She's changing the songs.
SABBAT: And badly.
Wait don't you have a minute? Have a seat! Sit!" She said dropping the rolling pin and wiping her hands before pushing us into seats. Sweeney looked at her unfazed by this reaction.
SABBAT: And now Mrs Lovett is a goddess. That's... a little odd.
ARCHER: At least someone's 'unfazed' by the mangling of lyrics that's going on around here.
"I haven't seen a customer in weeks! Did you two come in for pies sir? What is that?" She crushed a large bug with the rolling pin. Sweeny cringed and I gagged.
ARCHER: The actions are all right, but the words are painful.
SABBAT: Cover your ears, then.
"Right you are sir. Here you go! Would you like a drop of ale?
ARCHER: Ale, brandy, gin – anything that'll ensure I don't remember this fic at all.
No you don't!" She said stepping on another bug as she took a pie crust and ladled some gross looking fillings on it before serving us each a pie and a glass of ale.
"Here you go here's an ale trust me you'll need it!
SABBAT: if you want to get through this without collapsing.
These are the worst pies in London after all.
ARCHER: And the whole song is reduced to something that bears as much relation to the musical as those pies do to real meat.
It looks like revolted and it tastes like…well…pity."
SABBAT: Is it just me, or did that not make sense at all?
ARCHER: It didn't. Obviously the Suethor likes musicals purely because of the nice sound they make.
She said shrugging. She turned her back to put the raw meat pies into the oven and Sweeney took a bite of his pie and encouraged me to do the same. Our reactions were the same, we both spit it out in the direction of the door and took some ale before practically choking on that as well.
ARCHER: They're doing everything in unison, aren't they?
ARCHER: She can't think of anything else to do except copy him?
"What are you here for sir?" She asked finally sitting down next to him.
"I'm looking for a one Benjamin Barker."
SABBAT: As opposed to a Benjamin Barker mark two – better, faster, stronger.
ARCHER: Was that a Terminator quote?
Suspicion was the first thing that lifted into her eyes
ARCHER: 'shortly followed by the ham and eggs for table two, and three bottles of red wine.'
but soon I saw that she had realized something.
SABBAT: 'because a large exclamation mark popped into existence over her head.'
"Gone?" He asked sounding worried;
ARCHER: 'But sounding worried had no idea what she was on about either.'
he must really need this guy.
SABBAT: Slang... and tense shift... in the same sentence... very... very... painful.
ARCHER: Here. (gives him a bottle of gin) That should help.
SABBAT: (taking a deep draught) Thanks.
"Gone. He was sentenced by a one Judge Turpin…"
ARCHER: One Turpin, two Turpin, three Turpin, four, five Turpin, six Turpin, seven Turpin, more.
SABBAT: How much of this did you drink?
And so Mrs. Lovett told us the sadly cruel
SABBAT: 'Or the cruelly sad – she could never remember which it was.'
story of Benjamin Barker and his beautiful wife Lucy and daughter Johanna.
"Has no one showed her mercy!"
ARCHER: And more mangled lines. This is really beginning to bug me now.
He interrupted her story in an angry yell. She had been telling the part where Lucy Benjamin had been raped.
SABBAT: Benjamin had been raped? Right – that takes this story onto a whole new level of oddness.
ARCHER: No, Lucy and Benjamin were raped, according to her.
SABBAT: Either way, it's definitely wrong.
"So it is you…Benjamin Barker." She whispered. I attempted to scoot back from the piano I was sitting on
ARCHER: Why is she sitting on the piano?
SABBAT: And why does she have a scooter?
next to the spot Benjamin had just risen from.
"Where's my wife?"
"Poisoned herself with arsenic, was off her feet for two months."
SABBAT: 'Off her feet'? D.E.A.D = dead. Off her feet = in bed, then got back up again. The whole point of the story has just been negated.
"15 years is along time to be dreaming to come home to a wife and child…"
"Mr. Barker?" She asked.
"No. Not Barker anymore. It's Todd now." I shivered when he put his hand on my practically bare shoulder because of my low cut dress.
ARCHER: Does she want to be mistaken for a prostitute?
"Come on dear. Let me show you to the room you'll be sharing with me.
ARCHER: If this is Sweeney speaking, I may have to take that bottle back.
SABBAT: Not if I finish it first.
Mr. Todd will have his own…? Right Mr. T?" He nodded absently
ARCHER: '—then noticed that I was—'
sitting down at the piano and
ARCHER: '—walked over to me. He pulled my head back, slit my throat, then sat down and began—'
playing a melancholy tune.
ARCHER: '—which soon changed to a triumphant waltz.'
She held out her hand as if I was a young child, being at the age of 17
ARCHER: So she's going to end up sleeping with someone at least twice her age? Well, if that's what she feels like doing....
myself made me realize that they could send me back to that horrid place yet again.
ARCHER: 'Yet again'? How many times has she been there?
SABBAT: Not enough.
I took her hand willingly still quite scared to the fact that she was leading me upstairs, where it was said that the second floor of this building was haunted.
SABBAT: Said by who? She's cut out the whole bloody song where that bit gets explained.
"Not to worry dear, there's nothing to worry about up here."
ARCHER: Damn it.
She must have realized my panicked faze.
SABBAT: Panicked what?
ARCHER: It's Suespeak – no-one can understand it.
I felt my blood run cold when one of the stairs creaked under out weight.
ARCHER: She's scared of some stairs? This gets stranger and stranger.
SABBAT: Do we really want to know what she sucked?
ARCHER: You have a sick mind.
in quickly and she smiled at me kindly before leading me down a hallway. She pulled a ring of keys out of her top
ARCHER: Because every woman carries all her belongings in her cleavage.
and winked at me before unlocking a room.
"This'll be our room to share; you can have that bed there." She said pointing to a dusty bed next to a window and desk farthest away from the door we had she walked in from.
SABBAT: Again, a sentence which makes no sense whatsoever.
I nodded at her appreciatively.
ARCHER: 'because I appreciated random sentences that made no sense whatsoever – they complimented the plot of my life story.'
"Do you happen to know what Mr. Todd wants with me?" I asked trying to get all of the dust out
ARCHER: '—of my empty cranial cavity—'
ARCHER: '—the top of my head – not that that did anything for—'
it. She stood next to me and nodded.
"Wanted you to become his apprentice is the best guess I could give you dear."
"You know a young helper…"
ARCHER: '—who lives down Drury Lane, don't you?'
"I know what it means. I just…apprentice for what?"
"Well I can only imagine you'll be helping me with making the meat pies
SABBAT: Yes... I can think of quite a few ways she can 'help'.
and then of course you'll be needing to help Mr. T with his barber business." I nodded acceptingly
ARCHER: Is that a word?
, of course I knew I would be put to work, there is no way I would just be put into a happy home for no reason.
ARCHER: 'unless I was a Mary Sue.'
"It's fine for tonight dear. Why don't you just head off to bed?" I wanted to glare but I knew I would have been punished if I had.
SABBAT: She's unhappy because she gets to sleep in a bed after however long in a madhouse? Ungrateful bint.
"Yes mam." I was about to lay down but she pulled me back up by the shoulders.
ARCHER: 'allowing Sweeney to slip round behind me and slit my throat.'
"What are you doing dear? You can't wear that to bed." I looked up at her.
ARCHER: 'as she swung the chamberpot at my head.'
"Well what do you propose I wear?" I asked smartly she gave me a grim look
SABBAT: Very smart, Mrs Lovett, very smart – she's obviously worked out the Sue's little secret.
and I muttered an apology under my breath.
"How about your shift?"
ARCHER: She's trying to get into bed in her full dress? Can someone please explain to me how that would work?
"Yes mam. After all, it's much better than wearing a corset." She nodded and helped me untie all of my many layered dress wear before she scrunched her nose in disgust.
SABBAT: "You smell... like glitter and urple."
ARCHER: Does urple actually have a smell?
SABBAT: It does now.
"Darling, when's the last time you've changed outfits?"
SABBAT: So they only notice now that she stinks?
"I haven't since I was first sent to the asylum, I wasn't aloud to change, and we didn't have clothes to change into."
"Humph. I see, well then we'll just have to make due
ARCHER: 'sacrifices to the gods, and hope that they don't destroy the shop as a punishment for harbouring a Mary Sue.'
with my clothes on you."
"Yes mam." She walked across the room and pulled some clothes out of a trunk.
"Here ye go love." She handed me a black dress with a black outer corset
, it had red tuffs
SABBAT: Red whats?
of material coming out of the top.
"Wear that tomorrow I'll be into bed later."
SABBAT: Was that an invitation?
ARCHER: You really do have a dirty mind, don't you?
SABBAT: Of course.
"Yes mam. Thanks very much." She nodded dismissively and I had no choice but to lay down on the old dusty bed and listen to their footsteps below me. I heard Sweeney screaming in apparent anger
ARCHER: 'Apparent' anger. So he might have just been asking her for a drink?
and my stomach jumped, things didn't sound good for poor Mrs. Lovett. I heard them walking up the stairs I had just came up and I held my breath. They walked up another set of stairs that I hadn't realized before, and up into another room I could only assume.
SABBAT: 'that I hadn't realised the existence of before (being an extremely thick Mary Sue)'
I heard Sweeney talking about his 'only friends' I believe he was saying something about knifes as well but I was soon dozing off.
SABBAT: Knifes? Knifes? It's razors, godsdammit! Razors!
ARCHER: I know, I know. Could be worse, though.
SABBAT: How? They're totally different weapons! Knifes isn't even a word!
ARCHER: Um... technically a razor isn't classed as a weapon, you know.
SABBAT: And that matters why?
ARCHER: Oh, nothing.
SABBAT: When I get my hands on that bitch—. I think I'll slit one side of her throat open with a knife and the other side with a razor. Then she might be able to tell the difference.
ARCHER: She'll be dead.
SABBAT: Best way of driving a lesson home, in my opinion. At least she won't make the same mistake again. Come to think of it, cutting her throat would be too quick. You know what I'll do?
SABBAT: I'll start with her chest – cut along each rib – one side with a knife and the other side with a razor. Then I might do her toes. Then her fingers. Then... maybe her ears. Then....
ARCHER: I get the point.
SABBAT: Sorry. I just get a little carried away.
ARCHER: So I've noticed. (turns to readers) Anyway, join us next time for more fun and games.
SABBAT: I've thought of a few games I'd like to play with our Miss Tiffany....
[Alas once again, there was no "next time." —Ed.]