I do not own any of these characters.
I started writing when I was cast as Columbia in The Rocky Horror Show. I wrote a series of scenes to flesh out Columbia's past and enrich my own performance. I would love to hear suggestions or critique (or praise?) from all of my fellow writers out there, or from people who just love Rocky Horror as much as I do!
Scene One – The Fifth of July
Magenta lay like a corpse on the bed, completely indisposed. Her auburn hair clung unforgivingly to her clammy forehead, her right hand hanging limp over the iron bedpost. She could think of one thing and one thing only: heat. Rather, she could barely think at all; the temperature overwhelmed her Transylvanian nervous system into a state of complete stagnancy. Every hair weighed heavily against her translucent skin, and her head throbbed with the pangs of a cheaply bought hangover. Her eyes rolled back into her head, the whites gleaming in the dimly lit room. How long had she been like this? Two hours? Five? She had woken up in a splayed position on the bed, and couldn't find the energy to leave it. She certainly hadn't attempted to make breakfast this morning, and surprisingly, none of the castle's demanding inhabitants seemed to care.
Magenta's attention slowly came into focus as she heard the pitter-patter of tap shoes heading down the hall.
"Please. Not today."
With a heaving moan, she turned over and thrust her head under the pillow.
The tapping suddenly roused Magenta's memory of last night's festivities. Her body seized as she remembered the cheap alcohol burning her throat, the greasy, fried food, and the deafening, colorful explosions whizzing past her head. Magenta's eyes narrowed as she remembered Columbia's enthusiastic, persistant, annoyingly high-pitched voice. This is an important 'immersive cultural experience,' she insisted, carefully emphasizing each syllable. Her eyes gleamed conspiratorially as she perched her hands on her hips, giving Frank a sassy smirk. If you're gonna screw around with us humans, don't cha wanna know a little history first?
Magenta's head throbbed. History. Yeah, right. This whole tour guide act was grating on her nerves.
Damn it, Riff! Ever since he had accidentally spilled the beans, the Transylvanians couldn't do anything without Columbia making it into an 'immersive cultural experience' or an 'assimilative milestone,' phrases which Magenta doubted Columba could even come up with by herself. The first thing Magenta was going to do when she regained full consciousness was to punch a fist through that damned television in Columbia's room, so she would stop imitating those "anthropologians," or whatever they were called...
As Columbia neared the doorway, Magenta's sluggish blood pressure began to rise. Columbia beamed with patriotism, sporting a blue sequined bow tie, a snug, red and white polka-dotted tank top, and some high-waisted navy striped shorts. She, too, had been affected by the heat, but with a subsequent increase in energy and shortened attention span, which, today, had prevented her from practicing her tap dance. When Columbia was hyper, her energy manifested physically, replacing her cheeky, defiant gait with the explosive movement of a child.
"Oh my God, it's as hot as a monkey's balls in this castle!" Columbia exclaimed, bounding into Magenta's room and plopping down on the carpet.
"Columbia," said Magenta flatly, muffled by the pillow.
"You look like a drowned rat."
Magenta groaned and turned to the wall. Columbia was terribly annoying when she wanted to be, and today Magenta did not possess the energy to entertain her high-strung friend.
"Get out."
"I don't think so!" In one quick movement, Columbia leapt onto the bed, straddled Magenta, and began tickling her.
"COLUMBIA!" Magenta snarled, recoiling violently. She pushed Columbia off the bed and assumed a defensive stance.
"Golly, lighten up!" Columbia grabbed a pillow and threw it at Magenta, whose sluggish reflexes failed to deflect the blow. She angrily tossed the pillow aside.
"My Transylvanian pores abhor this dreadful heat!" she cried, gasping from exertion.
Columbia got up from the floor and brushed herself off. Well shoot, she thought, what the fuck is her problem? She was only trying to have a little fun.
"Fine," Columbia sputtered. She walked out of the room.
Magenta sighed, sinking down on the bed and closing her eyes. The worst was over. Breathe. Control.
She heard the tapping sounds stop after only a few steps; Columbia was sitting right outside the door. Will this earthling never stop pestering me?
"Columbia. Come here," Magenta called reluctantly.
Columbia poked her head through the doorframe with a sassy grin on her face. She walked lightly into the room and resumed her place on the floor. Magenta could only shake her head.
"Your energy astounds me."
"I'm really bored."
"I know."
There was a long pause. Columbia looked expectantly at her friend.
"Let's go do something."
Magenta rolled her eyes. "Here we go."
"Everybody's gone comatose! I couldn't find Frank or Riff."
"I'm sure they need urgent medical attention due to the so-called nourishment you forced upon us last night."
"Hey!" exclaimed Columbia, offended, "I made the beer myself. And the corndogs, too!"
At the mentioning of the beer, Magenta began to feel nauseous and turned to lie facedown on the bed. Columbia smirked.
"I don't think it was that bad. Beer's supposed to taste like cat piss," she insisted. "You know," she paused, watching Magenta, "kinda acidic, but a little sour too..."
Magenta groaned into her pillow. Columbia laughed and began fanning herself with one of the papers littering the floor. She made an airplane and threw it at Magenta, who flinched.
"Un," she lifted her head, "fucking. Believable."
"Love you too." Columbia grinned and began making another plane.
Magenta lazily sat up on the bed, picked up the airplane, and curiously examined its construction. Her body tensed as she glanced about the room—the plane was made from one of Frank's financial documents, and the others were now a mess on the floor.
"COLUMBIA! These are the master's papers!"
Columbia eyes grew wide. A barely audible "Oh" was her only response. She looked down at the paper plane in her hand for a moment, and then carefully began unfolding it. She scrambled to pick up the rest of the papers.
"Sorry."
Magenta rolled her eyes. She reached for a cigarette on the nightstand.
"Right."
There was a awkward pause.
"So…now that you mention him," Columbia began, "I've been meaning to ask you something."
"Hmm?" Magenta lit the cigarette.
Columbia stared at the floor.
"About Frank."
Magenta raised an eyebrow.
"I refuse to discuss this with you," she replied coldly.
"Come on!"
"No."
"I gotta talk to someone."
"Not with me."
Before Magenta could stop her, Columbia hurriedly spilled her feelings.
"I think I'm I love with Frank but I have no freaking idea how he's feeling! Most of the time, he makes me feel like shit. I know I'm just here for..." she paused, "you know...but sometimes he makes me feel so smart…and pretty...and...I don't know."
Magenta leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling, the cigarette dangling from her slender fingers. She slowly exhaled a stream of smoke.
"Columbia, I am unable to sympathize with your human anxieties," she said.
"Well ain't you the coldest bitch I've ever seen."
"The idea of playing detective with the mind of the master is extremely unappealing to me."
Columbia grimaced. Why wouldn't Magenta help her with this? It's not like Columbia could talk about these things with anyone else in the castle. Not that Magenta was ever willing to talk, but at least she let Columbia spill her guts to a living, breathing person every once in a while. That way, she didn't feel completely alone.
Hell, she thought, this thing with Frankie shouldn't be so hard to figure out! She had been in a relationship before, hadn't she? She'd loved her high school boyfriend with what she thought was her whole heart; loving Frank shouldn't be any different. It's just that she'd never felt so…addicted…as when she had been with Frank these past couple of months. It felt like her "whole heart" had now expanded to include her lungs, her stomach, and every part of her body to which her heart pumped blood. Every fiber of her small frame felt overwhelmingly devoted to Frank.
Columbia pulled her legs to her chest, resting her head on her knees. She looked up at her friend.
"Mag, I just want him to love me back," she whispered.
"I will not discuss this further," Magenta said firmly. She felt intense displeasure when agonizing over matters of the heart, and firmly believed that such feelings must either be kept deep inside oneself, or confessed only to the subject of the emotion in question. Magenta had never confided in Columbia, and didn't plan to anytime soon.
"You must find strength within yourself, Columbia. Those who are weak will perish quickly at Frank's hands." Columbia's expression suddenly became hard, her forehead creased and her shoulders tense.
"You're so full of it!" Columbia snapped. "What is that even supposed to mean?"
Columbia's body language screamed defiance, but with one look at those sad brown eyes, Magenta saw that she had wounded her young friend. Magenta knew that Columbia felt completely alone in the castle, but Magenta believed that an emotional distance was necessary; they had known each other for only a few months and she really couldn't trust Columbia yet. But perhaps, in the future, Magenta could open her heart to a real friendship, or even more than that. She was just being cautious; bonding with a human came with many complications, as evidenced by Columbia's current emotional crisis. Luckily, she had known this outburst would come sooner or later, and had planned in advance.
"Columbia. I purchased something at the store for you." Magenta gestured lazily with the cigarette. "Look in the white bag by the armoire."
Columbia stretched out on the floor to reach the plastic bag and pulled it towards her. Her eyes widened as she discovered its contents.
"Holy cannoli! West Side Story!" Columbia screeched. A tidal wave of nostalgia swept through Columbia's system. She couldn't remember how many times she had watched it as a child, singing and dancing along with the characters on the screen. When she was completely alone, she loved to act out the passionate dialog between Tony and Maria. Their ethnicities couldn't keep them apart. Well if they could make it work, she thought, why couldn't me and Frankie...
But she always forgot how the movie ends.
"I thought it would please you," Magenta replied with a shrug.
Her face full of glee, Columbia hopped onto the bed and squeezed her friend in a big bear hug. Magenta protested weakly, one arm holding the cigarette out of harms way and the other arm pinned by Columbia's grip. Columbia popped the movie into the VCR and flipped the switch on the television set. When the movie started playing, Columbia squealed. She jumped off the bed and started mirroring the dancers on the screen; she knew the choreography by heart. She felt electric, like nothing in the world could touch her or hurt her again. She snapped, sang, and leapt across the room with the Sharks and Jets while breathily explaining the ill-fated love triangle to Magenta, who could only chuckle huskily at Columbia's quickly changing mood.