ivory tusk. It was on a pilgrimage to India with her father, the Baron of Drapery, from the scum-covered area of Wales. They stopped in Kenya for safari first. It was her first, his eleventh, and he was glad to share it with his daughter. She was just seventeen then, and quite beautiful. Not like she was later, when she went to America to study at some mind-numbing tech school in Kentucky or Alabama or other dumbass state, learning how to do some menial shit job like putting one thing in another or marketing or hair repair or God only knows what, while thinking that she's actually getting an education that any decent company would hire her because of. No, at this point, she was seventeen and beautiful and a virgin and laughed and said things like "Oh, father" and "That's right brilliant" and "cover me with butter and lick me and force yourself on me and show me what it's like to be some whore from Croatia or Finland or the Jersey Shore, Dad" in her dreams, on safari with her father as the first part of their month-long pilgrimage to India.
They were out in the bush on elephant hunting day. Their guide, Ambassador Sarek from Star Trek's original and next generation series, as well as two movies, had spotted them the night before and drove them out in the morning. There they were! Almost twenty of the glorious creatures, all gray and tall and trunked and wrinkly and gorgeous and Lydia squeeked in joy at their magnificence. But it was their tusks that focused her attention. Those tusks! "I must have one!" she thought. And then she said it. "I must have one!!!" she screamed in the shrewishly pitiful way that only a barefoot filthy Appalachian female can manage. "I must!" she thought to herself again, embarrassed by how dumb she sounded in that outburst. Sarek almost nerve pinched her, but decided against, and instead sucker punched her in her right kidney, and she crumpled like a piece of limp broccoli. He kicked her in the head. With his booted foot. The booted foot that had seen numerous wars, and a genocide, and planets blowing up. Again and again his boot landed on her face, her chest, her shoulder, the small of her back. He lifted her up, did a suplex on her, and cracked her spine. Then he stopped.
Her father, the Lord whatever the hell it was (my text box has scrolled up, and I don't feel like looking) sat there, like a true Welshman, too stupid to react, too polite to be enraged.
But she could still talk! "Ivory - must have ivory!"
Gandalf, or Sarek, or whoever the hell it is that was there, pulled out his staff or his medicare coder or what the fuck deus ex machina and healed her, but she ended up ugly. really ugly. And no longer a virgin. Not sure how that worked, but that's the hole I wrote myself into. Damn, this is hard.
So Lydia gets up, and demands that Captain Mal give her his trenchcoat. I mean, kill an elephant. We're in Kenya, right? Yeah, elephant. So he does. "Now cut off the tusks!" she asked him, batting her now ugly as shit eyes at him. Unfazed, because he was probably gay all along anyway, and even if he was straight she was so butt ugly he wouldn't have hit it no matter what. Even the asses on Jersey Shore wouldn't have hit her, that's how utterly fucking repulsive she looked.
So Saruman, also known as "Captain Sulu", cut off the tusks and handed her one. She looked at it longingly, moving it around to catch the light in many different and alluring ways. Ways far more alluring than that shitstain of a face of hers, I can tell you that much. I mean, Christ, even at the bottom of the blackest abyss in lightless hell, a blind man would be so terrified he'd shit his pants from the sheer magnitude of her ugly.
Eventually, the ivory tusk made it to her mouth. "I wonder what this would taste like?" So slowly she put her mouth to it, and slid the entire thing down her throat, making her immediately very, very attractive to every male in the world.
"Oh, that tastes good, poppa!" she said to her dad, the Baron fuckin' whatever.
"I know sweetie," he replied, because he was stoopid.
Over the years, Lydia would find other opportunities to swallow ivory tusks, and in that time Captain Nemo continued to be her guide, as he always had been.
But the night that she planned a birthday party for her friend and helper, she was having some hiccuping issues. She had written "Thank you, Bilbo Baggins" but it got all squiggly because she kept vomiting. Or hiccuping. What did I say before? Whatever that was. Anyway, it totally fucked up the cake she had made in honor of Duke Atreides, so she threw it out the window. I think there was a window. ((Hey -- set guys -- can we get a window in here? This chick has a cake she needs to throw out. The script calls for it to go out a window. What do you mean that will take half a day? Cut a goddamn hole in the wall! Overtime? Are you fucking serious? I'll fucking do it. here, give me that... what do you mean, I can't use a saw because I'm not union? What the hell does that have to do with anything? I'm the writer, you fucking stain! I can do whatever I want! Oh, a general walkout - really? I touch this saw, and you all just walk the fuck out of here, with everything half done? You don't give a shit about the art, do you? It's just a goddamn paycheck to you, isn't it?!))
She smashed it to the floor. ((can i use the floor without a goddamn Union card? I can? Thank you. Asshole.))
In her euphoria, or anger, I don't know. I'm so pissed off about that jackass gaffer or electrician or whatever the fuck I was talking to, she needed another rusk. Yusk. Tusk. Fuck, ic an't ahr dly avene tyupe now Im so enraged.
((okay, calm down - I'm taking a break. Soke a cigarttee. Have somef ffoccceee.))
So she swallowed the fucking thing ((at least SHE does her GODDAMN JOB, assholes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)), and then stumbled, and as she was going down to the stairs she saw Chewbacca or whoever the hell it was, i don't know, someone tall like Chewbacca or Christopher Lee or a Watoosi, who the hell cares, she sees him grab another cake, one she had made earlier ((note to prop guy: we need another cake on the set)) and just before she died, swimming in a pool of her own blood at the bottom of the steps, as her broken body finally shut down, she managed to tell Dumbledore that the cake was not for that birthday party, but it was for the Tupperware party for the Dean.
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