Actually, I think you're right; Olivia was younger, wasn't she? Damn. What was the name of the girl killed in the Eyegon episode?

What was the name of the girl killed in the Eyegon episode?

Dierdre, IIRC.

Thanks, Beverly.

Sheryl, thanks. Off to fix.

I had comments, but then sick people came in and now I can't remember any of them. General good work to all, because I do remember that it's all good.

More:

My birthday fell on a Sunday that year. On Friday night, Rupert showed up from behind Wolvercote Church just as I was about to lose my temper with the remnants of a group of six vampires who'd been amusing themselves with one of the local derelicts. I had no idea what the poor sod had been drinking, but whatever it was had been thoroughly spiked with something that left the lot of them as shirty as hell. I'd staked the first two, and the remaining four were so completely snockered they couldn't seem to understand who I was. I had no notion whether Darwinism also worked among the undead, but after one of them jumped up, reached for me and then proceeded to toss on my shoes, I abruptly decided that witchcraft would be my best course here.

"Hullo." I'd been aware of Rupert's presence before he spoke; my vision was acute but even so, I could smell him, the Tommy Bolan T Rex teeshirt he liked to wear when he hunted at my side, his particular taste, moving through the air to settle on my skin like a personalised pheromone.

"Hullo back. Half a tick ." I glanced down at the shoes - I'd bought them for myself as an eighteenth birthday present, since it seemed doubtful I'd get so much as a card from anyone else, except possibly Rupert. I'd snuck off to London for the day and prowled the shoe shops in the Kings Road. Ruined. Bloody wanker vampire, I thought, that's all for you, mate. "Quatre, poussiere!"

Once said, twice thought. All four screamed, the thin high wailing scream of dissolution. Then they were gone, and the Wolvercote churchyard was silent under the knife-edge of the quarter-moon.

"Oh, beloved, your shoes! What a mess." Rupert was staring down at the splotches of vomit and blood. "Well, you killed the bugger, anyway."

He wrapped both arms around me and kissed me, long and deep. Surprised, I touched his soft palate with the tip of my tongue, and rested one hand on the nape of his neck.

"Ummmm," I said, when I got my mouth and desire to speak back. "You've gone all sexed up tonight. You do know Mrs. Gollie is home tonight, yes? So we can't sneak off to my room for a cuddle?"

He grinned at the mention of my landlady. "Ah, but we can go to my room. My less than adored dad has gone off to London on some urgent Council business, and won't be home until Monday, late in the day. So I was thinking of offering the birthday girl a nice long slap and tickle. Or I could simply worship at your feet, if you'd rather. But honestly, I thought about sending a card, signed "KORWIGH."

"Rude Rupert, that's what you are." The reference to KORWIGH - "knickers off ready when I get home" - had me reluctantly grinning. But something was setting off my internal alarm system. What in hell was wrong? Every nerve ending I had was suddenly beating a war drum, and I couldn't imagine why. "Slap and tickle sounds lovely, ta."

had no notion whether Darwinism also worked among the undead, but after one of them jumped up, reached for me and then proceeded to toss on my shoes,

BWAH! Shempires!

Ooh, 18! She's 18! The Cruscam Cruscimentium Helpless thingie.

The Cruscam Cruscimentium Helpless thingie.

Not for Amanda. If you read "Pensioner", you already know it's way worse.

Shempires?

hehehehehehehBWAH!

I read Pensioner, I just thought that the 'trying to kill her' thing might be related to the Crusmumbletium.

Elena, not to be needy, but did you get my fic?

And, to be needy: Love me! Love me! Love me!

Erm. Yes. That's the darvocet talking.