Disclaimer: I do not own the characters portrayed, or any other aspect of the Rocky Horror (Picture) Show.
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"You're sure about this?" Columbia asked. She was sprawled on the floor of Magenta's room in what could have been loosely termed a sitting position. The dregs from a discarded bottle of wine were seeping into the carpet beside her. With her eyeliner smudged and her hair tousled she suddenly looked very young, like a little girl who'd been experimenting with her mother's make up.
Magenta wasn't sure. If she was honest she found Columbia a little irritating, with a voice that sounded like her lungs were permanently full of helium and an immature personality that suggested she'd been inhaling something altogether more illicit. But she had managed to outlast any of Frank's previous conquests and Magenta had decided it was time to start making the best of things. But if she was going to take the girl under her wing then some things were going to have to change.
The hair for instance. Magenta looked from the groupie's blonde bob to the small bottle in her hand. Very Cherry wasn't the best colour she could have chosen but then Denton wasn't the best place to choose in. She would just have to make do.
"No," She told Columbia, draping a tattered towel around the younger woman's shoulders and balancing a basin on her lap anyway.
Columbia giggled. "You're crazy," she declared with the absolute conviction of the very young and the very drunk. "I must be crazy too!" The thought seemed to amuse her and she slid a little further to the floor, giggling helplessly.
"Of course you're crazy," she said, working the dye into the younger woman's hair. "Why else would you be here?"
Columbia shook with laughter, gripping the bed post for support. Magenta grabbed the basin just in time.
"Hey," Columbia said between giggles. "Red's kind of like Magenta; they'll think I'm you."
Magenta rolled her eyes. She had wanted to get Columbia drunk enough to agree to dying her hair but this was ridiculous. The girl couldn't hold her alcohol. Strangely this thought made her feel protective as well as exasperated. She would almost be sorry when Frank got tired of this one.
Besides: it was nice to have another woman around the place: Riff Raff never really talked to her, no matter how intimate they might be in other areas, and Frank veered between an occasional attempt at seduction on the rare occasions he was between groupies and treating her like part of the furniture.
All in all she could have done a lot worse.
