Pound, roll, fill, fold, tray, repeat.

That was how it went, how each meat pie that came from Mrs. Lovett's oven was created. Being here now, of course, she had to resort back to making her regular pies... It was a shame - unless someone was desperate she doubted they'd eat this. Truth be told it probably wasn't edible... Then again, if the citizens of London knew they were consuming their fellow man she doubted that they'd be very popular either.

Shame, she thought sardonically, that cannibalism isn't ranked so high in society.

A few giggles escaped her mouth as she placed another pie on the tray. She supposed she should be glad she didn't have to eat the pies - and had she not been making so much money she almost would've sympathized. But the chance to finally pay off her debts and not risk losing her shop? Well that was worth a few lives and turning some London citizens into cannibals, eh? She snickered and pounded her baking pin into another piece of dough.

She paused and turned to sneeze over her shoulder, watching as a bit of flour flew into the air and floated there as she wrinkled her nose, wiping it carefully with the back of her hand and then onto her dress. She probably had flour everywhere, but Lovett wasn't one to care. Her appearance only mattered if a particular Benjamin Barker was around, and so far he was nowhere to be found. Lovett smirked as she placed the full tray of pies into the oven, rubbing her eye with the back of the same hand she'd previously used, before closing the oven door and going back to mixing more pie filling.

Absentmindedly her eyes began to wander around the room. It wasn't appealing... The decor repulsed her - the fact that it was so bright drove Lovett to feel a wretched dislike for the room. Perhaps not the room in general because it was the kitchen - Lovett lived in kitchens and she wouldn't know what to do without them. They kept her occupied and she needed that, otherwise who knows what ungodly harm could come upon her if she stuck her nose elsewhere.

Then again... she supposed this kitchen wasn't as bad as hers in London - after all this one was... well not necessarily cleaner - Nellie kept her kitchen clean, it was the pest problem. Lovett had yet to see a roach or anything of the such like around this entire manor so far, and she knew just about every corner and crevice and crack of the entire structure; so that was saying something.

She wiped her hands on her tattered black gown and placed them on her hips, then stared at the progress she'd made since so early this morning. It wasn't much, by any means.

She growled under her breath and pounded her rolling pin into the dough again.