A/N I Don't own this. Terry Pratchett owns all. All hail. Please review

"Igor!" The count paced across the carpet in the study, uneasy. His nephew seemed out of sorts and an out of sorts vampire is something no one wants to see, unless they are willing to pay the cleaning bills.

"Yeth marthter?" said Igor, appearing right behind the count. The servant gave a small –gave what was probably a small smile. Being able to lurch, appear apparently out of nowhere and lisp was making him feel like an Igor again. The count had even had his dribbling room restored. Blithth, reflected Igor.

"How are the webs today?"

"My thpiderth are hard at work marthter. But thereth a lot of damage to be undone from the other count. The thellarth were duthted exthtenthively thur. "

"I want to move half of them to stayawayfromthe villa, Igor. Mustn't disappoint the punters, and spider webs are expected."

"I"ll go and break the newth, marthter" He turned and began to shuffle off.

"Igor" the count called "...does Vlad seem quite... normal to you?"

"Couldn"t thay marthter. If I could take a look at hith brain I"d know for thhure"

"No, no quite unnecessary...would you fetch Laccrimosa for me"

"Yeth marthter"

Vlad was sulking.

He was sulking about a combination of things including his uncle's approach to vampirism, his sisters fascination with pain, being a teenager for a hundred years and chiefly, Agnes's absence from his life. And the cloak he had been forced to wear by his Uncle was uncomfortable and hot. Stupid evening dress...he missed his waistcoat. He had only narrowly managed to keep his ponytail intact. Who cared if it wasn't vampiry?

Life was a witch.

Like Agnes. And unfortunately he couldn't die...

He groaned. She was constantly there, in mind if not body. He should just forget her and move on. Perhaps another girl would help. After all he always felt better on a full stomach. Or maybe he should find a girlfriend. Heiraglypha (Pam) was making eyes at him and Cryptaglotta (she preferred Frances) had suggested a human just for the two of them. Besides Agnes was probably married to that damn priest by now.

He kicked a chair.

Lacci hadn't been helping. Yesterday she'd sent out for a strap extension kit "in case your fat Agnes comes back." She hadn't realised how many knifes that sent through his heart. He hadn't mentioned that to Lacci, though in case she whisked him down to the torture chamber to test the exact number. Lacci was a little testy these days anyway on account of the truly hideous dress she had to wear. He had heard more complaints from her since the count had presented her with the thing than in the rest of their un-life. Tradition be damned, the corset- thing was uncomfortable, the sleeves draped in the blood, a serious problem for a vampire, especially one with such an extensive torture chamber and it was far too revealing. The only thing Lacci had offered in its favour was that the black didn't show the blood.

His uncle wasn't actively trying to hurt him unlike his damn sister, but he had received a number of lectures on the importance of adventurous young women and underwired nightgowns. He could appreciate that they played a vital part in the traditional, hide bound approach to vampirism, and acknowledged that they had their place. It was just a shame his ideal women had three shelves of teddy bears and a fondness for attempting to cut off his head. Of course now every time he looked at the axe his uncle had hung over the fireplace, he was reminded of those precious moments where Agnes had tried to kill him...Of course if she came back

He needed to feed. Surely no one could blame him if he happened to pass over Lancre? And more specifically Agnes's cottage? He could take a wrong turning at Lancre gorge couldn"t he? Accidently of course. Accidently on purpose.....

Agnes was currently being guided by Perdita.

Well, thought Perdita, not exactly guided. You guide people, small animals, that sort of thing. Not ships.

The problem was, Agnes was mostly attracted to that clown, Oats but there was a part of her that longed for a ponytail, silk waistcoat, flight and immortality.

Perdita, on the other hand was mostly attracted to that gorgeous, wonderfully cool and exciting Vlad. With just a tiny part of her saying that she would rather have someone far more wholesome, who shared her...affliction and had a passionate belief in a higher power. She was even starting to find boils attractive.

What was a girl (or two) to do?

"Damn" she said, enjoying forcing her useless body to swear. If only she could retain control a little longer she could really whip this lump into shape. Not that it would be any use if there was no one to appreciate it.

There were benefits to having no men though. For instance she could...

She could....er.....

There was always...ah...

That was it; Perdita decided, her life was officially over. If only she had been allowed to deal with the whole Vlad episode then they could be living a life of wonderful gothic-y cliché. She could sit in a tall tower for most of the day while bats roosted in the roof and ivy grew everywhere, with a handsome, ponytailed man and ...

Just then Agnes resurfaced, blushed and left to do her rounds. Personal Crises of biblical proportions or not, she still had to trim Mrs Treadle's toenails...

Darkness was beginning to fall when Vlad launched himself from the highest tower of the castle. It was a cliché, but his Uncle insisted on it. What was the point, he had cried, of being a vampire if you weren't going to launch yourself from the highest tower? He had even installed NoFly© Bars straight from Ankh-Morpork in all the lower windows. He had planned to leave earlier in the afternoon, but since his father's training had lapsed he had received a nasty sunburn just from starting to draw back the curtains. So as clichéd and corny as it was he launched himself off the tallest tower, in the dark with his cloak streaming out behind him, silhouetting him against the full moon.

Uberwald was beautiful by night he had to admit. The rivers, mountains and the castles. The various shouts of "It lives!", "Argh!" and "They said I was mad, Mwahahahaha" punctuated the still night air, providing a perfect ambience to his flight. The little villages and towns bathed in the silvery light, buildings huddled together for protection against the shadowy death that came from above...

He hit himself. He was starting to wax lyrical and that could only be a bad thing. Next thing he would shave off his ponytail, line the damn cloak with red and forget how to use "w" in a vord. Word!

As he approached Lancre gorge an idle thought began to worry him. Supposedly he wasn't able to cross running water. He always had done in the past but without his father's training would he be able to?

"Mind over matter" he murmered to himself. This doesn't contain the usual sentiments expressed by this phrase i.e willpower conquers all but rather sums up a vampires or indeed a vampyres approach to un-life; I don't mind, You don't matter. Blood isn't necessary, it's just a way of keeping score.

Vlad was almost halfway across when the barrier went up. He struggled against it for a few minutes but eventually had to admit defeat and retreat. Standing on the shore he tried to think about what to do next. But his mind was too taken up by a certain witch to focus on any clear plan.

He kicked a stone into the river angrily and turned back towards Dontgonearthe Castle.