Monster Sex 05 - Blackadder

He thought of Perdita’s laugh. Her terrible table manners. The way she’d nuzzled his cold hand once, her wolf form’s rough tongue surprisingly gentle.

They did not marry. That was for humans. Instead, they entered a “mutually beneficial territorial and emotional accord.” The Vampire Council was appalled. The Wolf Pack was confused. But no one dared challenge the couple who had, in a single night, outmaneuvered Duke Malvolio and his mosquito hordes.

Baldrick, watching from the shadows, nodded sagely. “See?” he whispered to the stuffed raven. “Told you. Even monsters need a turnip.” Blackadder Monster Sex 05

He didn’t ride out with a sword or a stake. That would be common. Instead, he used what he did best: cunning. He sent Baldrick to divert the Duke’s attention by releasing a flock of bats into his castle’s belfry (“It’s a classic, Baldrick. They’ll be finding guano in his coffin for a century.”). Then, under cover of a convenient fog, he swapped the silver nitrate barrels with barrels of concentrated wolfbane essence—which, while foul-tasting, was harmless to werewolves but would give any vampire who touched it a rash for a decade.

His unbeating heart had just given a very inconvenient lurch . He thought of Perdita’s laugh

The problem was twofold. First, Perdita was a werewolf . Their clans had a truce, but a romance? It was taboo. The Vampire Council would have him exsanguinated. The Wolf Pack would have her de-tailed. Second—and far more terrifying—she didn’t seem to care about his status, his fortune, or his carefully cultivated aura of menace. She liked him for his wit .

His sterile existence was shattered, however, by the arrival of a new neighbor: Lady Perdita von Hissingbrook, a werewolf of considerable fortune and even more considerable inconvenience. She was tall, silver-haired, and had a laugh that sounded like rocks tumbling down a mountainside. Worse, she was cheerful . They did not marry

This last event caused Edmund a moment of profound horror. As her laugh—a genuine, warm, lupine roar—echoed off his granite walls, he felt something stir in the desiccated raisin of his chest. A thump. Then another.

“No, you imbecile. It’s soft. Warm. It makes me want to do something unspeakable, like… smile .”

“That’s indigestion, you troglodyte,” Edmund sighed. “Not love.”

Edmund still complained. About the hair on his velvet. About the smell of wet dog after a full moon. About Perdita’s habit of leaving half-eaten bones in his sarcophagus.