But I love you in your f- me pumps and your nimble dress that trails ~ David Robert Haywood Jones.
~o~O~o~
Frankie sat on the edge of an ornate black marble pier, his tanned flesh poured into an inky gown of velvet, his sequined heels dangling above midnight waters. Bowie's We Are The Dead rained from the bellies of pulsating clouds in the untold distance, covering the vacant shoreline as if with heavy shadow. The song played at the same inescapable, though welcomed volume throughout the land.
A breeze pushed a strand of Furter's curly hair across his face, and, mumbling, he brushed it away. One of his painted claws roused to dab marred mascara in the corner of his eye, but stopped as slowly as it had awoken so that it could instead clutch his throat. He stared into the blind darkness willing a demon in the disguise of a cherub to crawl into sight; out of the depths to take him; have its way with him while his mind grasped the fact that the shaking landscape was real. He wanted someone new. He wanted someone to lure him away from all this, even if only for a few minutes. A voluptuous beefcake. A babe.
The clouds stopped pulsating and stuck on solid white, igniting in fierce glory the diamond studded black sands of the beach surrounding the lake. He thought for a second he saw the reclined outline of a muscular god surrounded by specks of gold, without a brain or name, but it had apparently been an illusion. When the vision died Frankie's pupils contracted, desire flooding him.
"The hour is late," he heard Riff-Raff call out behind him.
Frank saw the blonde creature listing to his side in the dark sands. His sister, Magenta, was in the distance looking grim.
"What of it?"
"The Cabaret is now open. Perhaps you will find someone within its walls to slake your lust."
Frank cruelly laughed, letting a thin cloud of smoke escape his lips. "Perhaps..." He raised to his feet, smoothing his crushed velvet skirt. "Off we go then." He flicked his wrists, motioning them onward.
Magenta threw back her head and laughed, drunkenly swaying to Bowie's charms. The sequins on her form-fitting long red dress reflected the cityscape as she hopped from one foot to the other. When the music slowed, she danced in circles around her brother, fingering his hair and shoulders before moving to Frank and running her hands along the open V at his chest, staring blankly in his eyes. Riff joined her in the same strange walking-dance, grabbing hold her arm to draw her away from Dr. Furter.
Frank continued walking at a slow pace until the song dwindled and turned into The Stooges' Dirt. Frank looked to the others, sighed and surrendered.
~o~O~o~