Baldrick, watching from the shadows, nodded sagely. “See?” he whispered to the stuffed raven. “Told you. Even monsters need a turnip.”
Count Edmund Blackadder, Lord of the Carpathian Vale and a vampire of impeccable sneer, had three great loathings: sunlight (fatal), garlic (vulgar), and sentimentality (utterly unbecoming of an apex predator). For four centuries, he had navigated the treacherous waters of the undead aristocracy with cynical grace, dispatching rivals, evading vampire hunters, and maintaining a cellar of exceptionally well-aged O-negative. Love, he often remarked to his put-upon familiar, Baldrick, was a chemical error corrected by a good staking. Blackadder Monster Sex 05
Part One: A Most Unwelcome Throb
“Wit is my armor!” Edmund wailed to a stuffed raven. “It’s not meant to be… appealing !” Baldrick, watching from the shadows, nodded sagely
Edmund recoiled, smoothing his lapels. “Madam, I am not glum. I am superior . There is a difference. And kindly refrain from touching. I bruise like a peach, and I’m worth more than your entire pack’s flea-ridden fortune.” Even monsters need a turnip
Perdita only grinned, her canines lengthening. “Ooh, prickly. I like it. Want to go howl at the moon? I promise not to chase you too hard.”