Author’s Note: The title comes from some silliness in Chat. The story was written entirely in Chat. And we blame it on the birthday girl. Happy birthday, Lydia!

Posted on 2009-04-03

Lydia Bennet, pretty, vivacious and tall, with a chaotic home and an exuberant disposition, seemed to possess some of the worst curses in existence; and had lived nearly sixteen years in the world without having any knowledge of it. For she had been gifted, at her birth, with two extraordinary talents: The strength to kill the forces of the underworld, and the cunning to recognise them. (From the oil paintings depicting her christening, it became clear that her faerie godmother had been rather inebriated when dealing out her gifts.)

Not knowing about her powers, it came quite as a surprise when she discovered on the day of her sixteenth birthday that vampires were as real as any human being. She had only gone out to find Kitty in the garden but got a vampire trying to suck her sister dry into the bargain.

Lydia usually like shiny things but this thing sparkled too much for her liking. She neatly disposed of the vampire and brought her sister back into the house. (Kitty never remembered what happened but her health was weak ever after.) When she lay in bed that night, she wondered that she knew how to dispose of vampires since she hadn't even known their name before that evening.

In Lydia's seventeenth year, however, something happened that nobody could have foreseen. On one of her strolls through the neighbourhood, Lydia encountered a sparkly being cowering under a shrubbery. Not knowing what it was, but realising from the way it sparkled that it must be evil, she raised her mallet and went to explore.

She had not come very far, however, when something black whooshed past her, raised a mallet of its own and struck the sparkling being.

"Shame on you for being a disgrace to the name of vampire!" the black whoosher cried and struck again.

The sparkly formerly being fell to the ground with a thud.

That's new, Lydia thought. She raised her mallet, unsure whether to strike the newcomer or not.

The black clad figure turned around and seemed surprised to find her there. Looking at her mallet, he said slowly, "You're Lydia Bennet, aren't you?"

Lydia nodded while watching for tell-tale signs of evil vampirism, like sparkling, marble skin and the likes.

He grinned widely, took her hand and pumped it up and down while saying excitedly, "Lydia Bennet! Such a pleasure to meet you. I've heard all about you. You cleaned the sparkly coven of Purvis Lodge! That was brilliantly executed, that was." He didn't stop pumping her arm up and down. Nor did he stop babbling as if he'd just met his personal hero.

Lydia stopped listening after a while (it wasn't as if she didn't know what she had done in the last year) and thus missed as he introduced himself. She thought she heard something along the lines of Oodlepods of Garglepond but that couldn't be real, could it?

"I'm sorry?" she asked.

"Albarathon, the Seventh Count Gilgumil of Garglepond, Archduke of Anthracite, at your service, ma'am," the stranger said, exposing a row of white, shiny, pointy teeth. "Such a pleasure to meet you, at last. I've been hoping for an introduction for ages."

Lydia scanned the pointy teeth carefully.

"You're a vampire," she said, raising the mallet again.

"I know, I know," the Seventh Count Gilgumil of Garglepond said apologetically, "but please, don't hold it against me."

"I've never done that before and I won't start now," Lydia said. "You are what you are. Can't be helped. I am what I am and that can't be helped either. I'm very sorry but I'll have to kill you."

"No, no, please don't. Not that I wouldn't like that. It's quite an honour to be killed by the great Lydia Bennet, truth be told," the vampire said and floundered a bit. He didn't resume speaking immediately and didn't seem to want or be able to going by the blissed expression on his face. Lydia poked him with her stake a bit to bring him back to the present.

"Listen here, Count Gilguthingy," she said only to be interrupted by the being she held at stake.

"Oh, please call me Albarathon."

"Right then, Albarathon," she conceded. "You may call me Lydia for the short duration of our acquaintance." The Count looked like he'd been granted entrance to heaven. Lydia frowned. "I'm sure you're very nice and all but I'm in this world to rid it of evil when I perceive it. I have to kill you."

"But I'm the good kind of vampire," he protested and added with a happy sigh, "Lydia."

Her face must have shown what she thought of his objection as he hastened to explain. "Look, do I sparkle? The sparkly kind are the evil kind. I'm just your average friendly neighbourhood vampire."

"You don't sparkle, no," Lydia agreed, "but that might be a trick. How do I smell to you?"

"Beg your pardon?" the Count said.

"My bodily smell," Lydia said. "Is it pleasing to you? What do you think of it?"

"I - I couldn't say," the Count said and added reverentially, "Lydia."

"Well, come closer then," Lydia ordered, "take a good whiff, come on, you know you want to."

The Count did as he was bidden and proceeded to circle Lydia, eyes full of awe, nose sniffing the air.

"A touch of honey," he finally said. "Apples. And curd soap? And, uh, perspiration? Forgive me. Lydia."

"Does it overwhelm you?" Lydia asked sharply.

"Goodness, no," the Count said. "Although it is quite an honour - and you could do with a bath. Long night?"

Lydia glared at him. "That is neither here nor there. May I point out that you're making it longer than necessary by refusing to be staked like a good vampire?"

"But I don't want to die. I'd rather accompany you and watch you work. I'm sure I could learn so much from you. And I could help."

This was not how it was supposed to go. From her experience, vampires usually didn't try to help her in her line of work. Lydia lowered the stake and the mallet. It was getting tiresome holding it up all the time. "Don't you think we might come to clashes over your predilection for human blood?"

"Oh, I don't drink blood," said Albarathon cheerfully. "Gives me horrible indigestion. I know. I know. Very unusual for a vampire but my metabolism doesn't take to blood lightly. I can't help it."

Now, that was definitely a new one. Lydia didn't know if she should laugh or pity the Count. "How do you feed?"

"I pretend-suck on tomatoes," said Albarathon sheepishly.

Definitely laugh. She stifled a snort. "Oh, alright then. I'll keep you."

"We are Lydia, the Mighty Slayer and Albarathon, the Trusty Sidekick. Your days under this moon are numbered."

"What are you doing?"

"I thought we needed a snazzy line to introduce ourselves."

"Two points. One: That was no snazzy introduction line. If anything it's ridiculous. Two: I'd prefer just to stake them and go home. No, three points. Mighty Slayer and Trusty Sidekick?"

"Spoilsport," said Albarathon under his breath while he decapitated one of the vampires they had surprised in the middle of feeding.

"What are you doing?" Lydia looked at her companion in disbelief.

Albarathon glanced at her in would-be innocence. "Nothing."

"You were humming. Are you humming your own theme music?"

"Well, if we can't have a snazzy introduction line then we could at least have theme music, don't you think?"

Lydia took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then she told him exactly what she thought.

The vampires they had intended to slay, made off during the ensuing discussion between the hunters. Luckily, they thought about theme music just as Albarathon did. (It must be a vampire thing, Lydia decided. Just as the drama and emo.)

It was easy finding the errant vampires again. The duo merely followed the faintly sinister humming to their prey's next feeding grounds.

"Why do you wiggle the stake like that?"

"I thought every good slayer should have a signature movement," Albarathon said, looking slightly hurt.

"Yes, but one that says, here be fear and angst, not one that says, here be a ballerina."

"It's a shame slaying doesn't make more money," Lydia said mournfully. "I really do need a new black cape, but good silk and velvet lining is so expensive."

"You should write a book," Albarathon suggested. "About your adventures on the road, so to speak."

"And who'd read that?"

"I know a lot of people who'd buy it," Albarathon said, then added, "of course, most of them have left this world by now, thanks to you."

Vampire-slaying being the straining business that it is, and Lydia and Albarathon often being forced to share quarters, one thing soon led to another. Within a year, they were sharing more than just stakes and mallets.

Lydia didn't mind their unorthodox relationship but Albarathon was raised in a different time. Literally.

"Lydia," he began one evening as they were lying in the grass stalking out a coven.

Lydia waited for him to continue, but he did not speak again. She gave him a little poke with the stake. "You were saying?"

"Lydia," Albarathon began again.

"Yes?"

"I have been thinking," Albarathon finally said.

"Dear me," Lydia muttered. "It's not about the emblem again, is it?"

"This is not right," Albarathon said. "I mean, you are a girl, and I am not a girl, and we are living together and sharing stakes and mallets and tomatoes and - well, other things -"

"La," said Lydia carelessly. "You worry too much."

If she hadn't been concentrating on the coven they were intending to stake out, she might have noticed that this was probably not about them being so broke that they couldn't afford two of everything. Nor about the emblem, Albarathon's new pet project, either.

He didn't propose then. Mostly because they were discovered, dragged underground and then embroiled in a fight.

On the other hand, Albarathon thought, no time like the present. He dodged a blow and staked his opponent. "What I've been trying to ask," he panted and staked another. "Do you want to marry me?"

"You're proposing in the middle of a fight?" Lydia took out her opponent with particular vehemence.

"Uhm," said Albarathon. "That wrong?"

Lydia decapitated two in one vicious move. "Oh no. Not at all. Couldn't think of a more romantic proposal."

Albarathon winced. Whether it was from Lydia's tone of voice or the blow to his rear, he didn't know.

"And what," continued Lydia, "do you propose I tell my family?" She paused for effect and added in a high-pitched voice, "Oh, it was ever so romantic. We were in a dank cave and ugly crawlies and disgusting creatures of the night were about when he asked me."

"You're complaining about the place? I had to gather all my courage to ask you and when I finally find it you complain about the place and time?"

"Alright, I'll marry you," Lydia said, "now could you please chop off the head of that big ugly one over there? He's the last one. We can think of a cover-story on our way home."

"A countess!" Mrs Bennet exclaimed with delight. "Countess Gilgumil of Garglepond! La, how well that sounds!"