Disclaimer: I do not own Rocky Horror, only obsess over it.
A small introspective piece of Magenta. Rated T because of dubious sexual content (come on, it's Rocky Horror). Sort of an off-screen moment, feel free to interpret when it happens as you like.
Enjoy!
Blue-grey smoke drifted into the cloudless sky, and Magenta could see the stars glittering back at her, like a million eyes staring her down.
She sat on one of the balconies of the castle, one leg propped over the edge, her back against the cold stone. Heavily-outlined eyes gaze into the sky, a sharp longing making her ache inside. Magenta is feeling homesick. All she wants is to return to sweet Transsexual, and to bask under the moon-filled sky. There, she had been a Queen of the night, princess of the darkness, and she answered to nobody.
Now, she was reduced to posturing in a skimpy made outfit for a deranged drag-queen, drunk on his own power and constantly sinking further into madness, with seemingly no way out.
Although, in hindsight, she rather liked the maid outfit when she was in the right mood, it still didn't change the fact it was a costume, something that reduced her to being a servant.
Magenta pursed her voluptuous red lips, her face tilted up towards the peculiar earth moon. The outside air was chilly, and the air smelt crisp and promising, but she made no move to shift her precarious position on the balcony. A cigarette dangled from blood-red tipped fingernails- Magenta likes cigarettes, specifically the way they seemed to burn her lungs, filling them up with ecstasy and leaving their taste on her lips. She even liked tapping it imperiously with one of her fingers and watching tiny flecks of ash spiral into the darkness, like dying petals falling off a flower.
She doesn't hate Earth- she just doesn't understand it. Doesn't like the helplessness she feels here. Or the homesickness.
Why, then, is she still here?
She certainly can't think that Riff Raff has much sentimental attachment to Earth. And she sees the looks her brother gives him- he would like nothing more than to knock Frank from the pedestal he has placed himself on.
But Frank has a way of winning you over, even if you don't want to be won over. He's a craving that just won't go away- persistent, intoxicating and very good at letting you know what you're missing. And once you give in, let yourself go, by God, you enjoy it, both the pleasure of the moment and the relief of giving in. It almost makes it worth the guilt and frustration that comes afterwards. Perhaps that is why Riff Raff has endured for so long.
Magenta allows a wry smile to grace her face, thinking this. It gives her a strange comfort to know that it's not just her- she hasn't met anybody who is immune to Frank. Columbia, strange, silly Columbia had raged and grieved when he murdered Eddie, yet she somehow forgave him. She somehow still stayed. Perhaps it was because she had nowhere else she could- or wanted- to go. Columbia is one of the few people Magenta actually understands in this world.
Footsteps made Magenta tear her eyes away from the spherical orb suspended above her. She is both relieved and disappointed to see that it is Riff Raff. She would recognize the ungainly shuffle of her brother anywhere. She stares at him as he reaches her, putting one hand on her leg.
"Magenta." Riff Raff says, and the way he says her name makes her think that he is going to say something dangerous, and she is not disappointed. "I believe...it is almost time."
Magenta's lips stretch into a smile. Instinctually, she knows precisely what he is talking about. She stubs out the cigarette on the balcony, relishing the hiss and the burning crater it leaves in the wood.
"When?" Magenta asks him, her voice husky. "When will it be time?"
"Soon, my sister." Riff Raff answers, the shadows under his eyes looking all the more prominent in the silvery light of the moon.
Lust, Magenta mused as Riff Raff's fingers gently touch the side of her face, was nothing, really.
What really fucked you up was love.
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