****
She assumed it would all be over, now that the Master had unwrapped his oil-sheened, muscle-bound toy.
With the creature now unveiled, Magenta had no doubt that the Master's ego wouldn't be able to withstand waiting to show his handiwork to the salivating masses of Transsexual. Besides, he'd already made an utter spectacle of himself tonight, taking his golden boy to bed in front of half the galaxy's ambassadors. Surely that should be enough for any megalomaniac scientist to be getting on with.
After slamming the door on the last of the guests, she idly brushed some of the confetti and streamers under any convenient surfaces she could find, before tossing the dirty broom aside in favour of sneaking down to the cellars. After all, clearing them of any left-over champagne was (or should be considered) a perfectly valid duty. Cellars raided, she retired to one of the castle's hidden parlours, sprawling across a dust-covered sofa. The Master wouldn't be out of the Bridal Suite for hours, and she never passed up an opportunity to contemptuously ignore her work. She was halfway through her third bottle when she became aware of her brother's presence, lurking deep in the shadows of the room.
He crept up to the sofa, and searched an empty bottle for any sign of alcoholic solace before throwing it down sulkily. The crashing of glass was perversely satisfying, even if Magenta did tire of his black moods, and not one to be outdone when it came to the wanton destruction of the Master's property (their favourite way to pass a quiet evening), she aimed the bottle in her hand at a dartboard on the wall.
"Don't be so cross. I thought it went quite well," she said, reaching up to throw her arms around his neck and give his skin a chiding rake with her nails.
The corner of his mouth gave a grim little twitch. "You haven't…heard the Master?"
She snorted. "I have better things to do than eavesdrop." Riff Raff's twitch spread out into a knowing smirk. "On him, anyway," she added. Exhibitionists were never very rewarding to spy on. "Why, what did you hear?"
"Curses, sister. Such curses. I shouldn't expect the creature to last the night."
Magenta frowned. Of course, she didn't suppose that Rocky would amuse the Master for long – nothing ever did – but his pride was a force to be reckoned with, and surely he'd rather die than admit to any failures in creating the beast. When she said as much, though, her brother's lip twitched into a pessimistic sneer. She dropped her arms from the embrace, and skulked upstairs without another word. If Riff Raff insisted on spending the night in such dour spirits, she'd celebrate her future homecoming elsewhere.
Columbia would be an ideal playmate, if the Master's tantrum earlier hadn't sent her into one of her maudlin fits. Magenta couldn't say that she particularly mourned the sudden death of their delivery boy, but the whole affair was distasteful; such a childish, messy outburst from the Master – in front of the guests, no less – with blood splattering everywhere from his clumsy pickaxe strikes (even onto her boots, to her great affront), and no finesse at all. And she was sorry to hear Columbia's awful screeching and sobbing – for her eardrums' sake, as much as anything else.
Against her better judgement, she'd grown fond of the girl since the Master brought her to the castle as a half-feral slip of a teenage runaway, all brass and sass; something garish and bright bouncing into their sombre homestead with a zest that was unlike anything Magenta had seen before. The rest of the planet may be unforgivably dreary, but perhaps she would miss Columbia.
On entering their room, she found the groupie huddled up in an old leather coat of Eddie's, absurdly huge on her pixyish, sequin-covered frame. Magenta wasn't one for empathy, but she could see that Columbia was in quite a pitiful state, looking as limp and lifeless as marionette with its strings cut. Determined to coax her out of her moping, Magenta rummaged through the piles of clothes and kitsch that littered the couch until she dug out a few magazines. All of them were suitably distracting – glossy, bright, and bursting with Earthling inanities, like tips for their silly mating and beauty rituals. Even if she despaired of Columbia's tastes, the fact that she was so easily amused could be rather useful.
"These came this morning," she said, waving them under Columbia's decidedly red nose.
A faint "thank you" was the only (surprisingly squeakless) reply that she got, followed by a quiet sniff.
When a couple of tears splashed onto the magazine covers, she slunk back, a red lip curling with instinctive aversion to the heat and messiness of human emotion. A cool and serpentine creature, Magenta was always disdainful of weeping and wailing, something far more common in the warm-blooded Earthlings than her own race. Although she usually felt that Columbia was her complimentary opposite, this was a difference she couldn't admire. She supposed it would be best to leave her to it for a while, and settled herself in front of the television monitor, flinging her apron off and combing her wild hair out with her fingers.
While she flicked through the castle's empty rooms in search of her brother, she paused for a moment at the Bridal Suite, curiosity and schadenfreude compelling her to watch the Master's creation floundering so miserably. She wasn't disappointed, and her throaty cackle made Columbia look up at last.
"Look at this. The Master might as well be teaching Transylvanian physics to a primate."
"Really?" Columbia appeared to perk up at the thought of Frank getting some form of cosmic vengeance, and perched herself on the edge of the chaise longue to get a peek. "Well, he deserves everything he gets," she sniffed.
Magenta grinned. "That's better." It was always amusing to have a partner in voyeurism, and Columbia was a keen observer, her lingering bitterness making her particularly sharp-tongued that night. With her playmate in a better humour, she casually undid a few buttons on the top of her dress.
Perhaps her return would not go uncelebrated after all.
****
She was asleep late into the afternoon of the next day, far too late, even for her indolent tastes. If they were leaving today, the Master would most likely want her to spend her last day of servitude doing something other than some self-indulgent stretching and yawning. The clock ticked on, and eventually the sun set without her hearing a word from him. Her mental curses grew more and more frequent for every hour that went without an order, and she was forced to avoid her brother, who would doubtlessly take a moment from his brooding to gloat over her. She did hate it when he was right.
However, their sibling rivalry was a minor worry compared to the idea of being kept from her home planet for much longer. Perhaps the Master was just licking his wounds for a couple of days, she reasoned. Still, she was nagged by doubts, which were unsettling enough to make her do the unthinkable, and starting carrying out work independent of his orders.
In one such act of desperation, she and Columbia took it upon themselves to make Rocky more presentable for the Master; a task they hoped to accomplish with liberal use of Columbia's extensive collection of body glitter. The Master was, after all, quite easily swayed by the idea of such a pretty toy, and if he wanted to show the creature off again, he'd have to take it back to Transylvania.
"Frankie always said he'd take me to Transsexual one day," Columbia sighed wistfully, dousing the bewildered beast in more glitter. "I was thinkin' maybe I'd stowaway, if the castle ever got movin'."
Magenta said nothing, but hummed in quiet approval. The notion of going back with or without the Master's consent did have its charms - if it came down to it, there was a creaky but serviceable French Cottage-camouflaged escape pod down in the Control Room, although the keys were highly elusive. Nevertheless, she faith in her wiles; she'd wheedle them out, if the worst came to the worst.
****
It was after midnight when the Master deigned to summon her up to the lab, and she knew no good could come of it.
Taking the lift, she gathered up as much cool superiority as possible, and sauntered out with casual iciness. An unflappable sense of style was the only thing which could make a lab entrance worthwhile, and ever since they came to be living together, she and the Master had been bitter rivals when it came to the art of a dramatic entrance.
All her artful composure was blown to pieces, however, when she saw the beglittered creature spread out on the slab. The Master was sawing its head open with a scientific exactitude that belied the splatters of blood dripping down the walls, which she would no doubt be ordered to clean up any minute now. Her eyes narrowed into murderous slits as she watched him, all her chilly contempt boiling over into bright red rage. Being expected to aid and abet her further exile on Earth was an indignity not to be borne. She stalked over, her killer heels clacking like warning shots against the tiles.
"Ah, Magenta," he said, without looking up. "You will assist me in removing Rocky's brain."
When no aprons or gloves were forthcoming, that was the last straw. She suspected that silence unnerved Frank the most, and usually held her tongue, but now she found herself on the verge of a violent outburst. "I thought the creation was already honed to perfection, Master?"
"Yes, well, it was completely unforeseeable that Eddie's brain would prove to be so…inappropriate," he huffed, feathers thoroughly ruffled by her question.
"And where do you think you will find a suitable replacement, Master?"
Already, he was close to spluttering. "That doesn't concern you. Get me a vacillating scalpel."
Magenta rolled her eyes, disappointed despite herself. The Master had such potential, and yet all his promise was let down by a childishly weak core. He had such power, but he wielded it so clumsily, leaving a spoilt boy where there should have stood a great commander. She reminded herself to remain focused; if she found a way to leave, it wouldn't matter to her what sort of a master he was.
"Perhaps I am concerned, Master," she returned, handing the instrument over. "I was not brought here to serve any revisions on the creature."
It happened with a flash of lightning, in a rough motion that she almost found exhilarating. Not one to calmly take any undermining of his authority, the Master suddenly had her pinned against the bloody tiles, his scalpel raised above her throat in an empty – yet vaguely exciting - threat. She squirmed in approval, raising a dark eyebrow when a couple of beats passed without any change.
"If anybody hears that my creature isn't…as he was…at the unveiling…" he trailed off, panting, and looked unexpectedly winded by his fit of rage. "Well, you'll be sorry," he concluded, backing away from her slowly.
Quite an anticlimax, in Magenta's opinion. She smoothed down her dress and felt through her hair for any drying blood, disgruntled, while the Master prowled back to the creature. The most pertinent part of her threat seemed to have sailed straight over his head, anyway.
"Will that be all, Master?" she asked, after an awkward silence that was now too spent to be considered tense.
Frank soliloquised about not needing any ungracious guttersnipes to aid him with his creation. Taking that as a yes, Magenta used the opportunity to slink away and consider her options.
****
The next day, the Master's garter belt was adorned by a jangling collection of silver keys - every key in the castle.
Out of paranoia, and a subsequent craze for power, he'd taken to making his servants ask for permission to use each key as they wanted it, and to return it afterwards. If it weren't such an inconvenience, Magenta might've been proud to have prompted such measures.
Aside from loathing to play along with the Master's power games, the effect it was having on her brother was dreadfully tiresome; he was back to obsessively polishing his raygun, and muttering far-fetched threats to it. She would pat his head and say of course, dear, now put that down before you hurt yourself, but she could never talk any lasting sense into him. Something must be done.
At least she knew where the keys to the escape pod were, now. Given that they were in the general vicinity of Frank's knickers, it shouldn't be too hard to get her hands on them. Between puffs on her cigarette, she plotted her ambush with military precision.
****
A diversion was wanted for the attack. Bright and brash, Columbia was ideal for subterfuge, and given the girl's fondness for being in on secrets and schemes, it was easy enough to persuade her.
"I've gotta get myself pumped up," she insisted, and had her records playing on maximum volume all day while she dolled herself up with punk leather and red lips, swapping her rainbow sequins for the clothes she'd made from Eddie's old cast-offs. It was a silly ritual, Magenta thought, but the effects were rather pleasing – Columbia would look well suited to Transsexual, at least.
They cornered him down in the Control Room. Being a pretty pair, their effect was deeply striking, and the Master looked appropriately flummoxed by the sight. "What do you want?" he snapped, never taking well to being startled.
"We're here 'cause we've seen the error of our ways," chirruped Columbia helpfully. "Ever since Rocky came 'round, we've been neglectin' you."
The flattery was highly disarming. Magenta silently thanked the Transylvanian Pantheon for Columbia – she could never degrade her tongue with such servility. "Well, quite," she agreed, crossing over to Frank. Rather than grovel herself, she took advantage of the Master's perplexed state of mind by backing him into a wall panel.
It was the work of a moment for them to go from there to a violent clash of tongue and teeth, lipstick and blood smearing red everywhere and her sharp nails raking over pampered, tattooed skin. Through all the years she'd been waiting and watching in the background, she'd been curious about the Master, and now was as good a time as any for her to try him out. She did love to be amused, and Frank was always the soul of the party – he should keep her entertained for a while. She pushed aside any inconvenient clothes with her usual domestic efficiency, and steered them over so that she was against the panel, in accordance to her battlefield blocking.
Columbia hovered on the other side, providing some suitably worshipful distractions and waiting for Magenta to hand her the key. All was going according to her plan, and she laughed huskily as she wrapped her legs around the oblivious Master. The spiked heel of her boot worked at the lace that held the keys as she worked mercilessly on Frank, until over his shoulder she saw Columbia waving the keys triumphantly.
Her work there was done. She pulled herself away just as suddenly as she'd crashed into Frank, and dragged Columbia with her through the catacombs of the Control Room, until they reached the pod. Without looking back, she rifled through the keys she found the one they needed, and then they were through the pod's hatch like a shot. She slammed the door on the Control Room with a vindictive flourish, and took off in a billow of smoke.
Transsexual beckoned.
****
Moonlight and freedom suited them.
They spent the first few nights in a whirlwind of subterranean parties, drifting for crowd to crowd as two perfect creatures of Transsexual; white as the shores, black as the sea, red as sin.
Then it started being whispered through the underground, a particularly ripe piece of gossip, darkly insinuating and full of promise: the Frankenstein Place had been spotted on the horizon.
Magenta shivered when she heard it; there was such potential. Perhaps the Master was dead, and her brother was storming back home. She had missed him. Perhaps the Master was alive, and he'd find her. They did have unfinished business hanging between them.
Either way, this should keep her entertained for a while.
****