Disclaimer: Richard O'Brien is bald! And he owns Rocky Horror...which I suppose is more relevant in this situation...

Chapter Two: Sickness

It was morning, a month after Frank N. Furter's party. Magenta was in the kitchen, frying bacon on the stove, the smell of which seemed stronger than ever and was making her feel queasy. Columbia sat on a stool next to her.

"And so Frank told me that he didn't need the socks after all," said Columbia, finishing a story. "I've never understood THAT one, but, you know, things never change, do they?"

Magenta nodded, and then grimaced. "Columbia, I'll be back…can you take care of this for a moment?"

"Sure…" said Columbia, eyeing Magenta suspiciously. "Have you been feeling well lately, Mags?"

Magenta had already left the room. Though Columbia had not known, she had run straight for the bathroom, throwing up the seemingly endless bile in her stomach.

She sighed, standing up and looking at herself in the mirror. Her eyes had even darker circles than usual under them. She had been up all night, bent over the toilet, the sickness almost overtaking her.

Magenta cleaned up and then turned to go back to the kitchen. She knew something was not right with her, but she was not going to tell anyone if she could help it. She was not one to lay her problems on others.

Magenta opened the bathroom door to find her brother, a deeply concerned look on his face.

"Again?" he asked. He had been up all night as well.

Magenta shrugged. "It must be a stomach bug," she said, and tried to turn for the kitchen, but Riff-Raff caught her arm.

"You're not well, Magenta," said Riff-Raff. "I can complete the rest of your work for today. You should rest."

Magenta shook her head. "No, you already have to…"

"Magenta," said Riff-Raff. "I care about you more than anything. You know that. Please, lie down before this sickness gets worse."

She sighed. "You may be right."

Riff-Raff escorted his limp and exhausted sister to their bed, his brow furrowed in worry.

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Riff-Raff entered the kitchen. Columbia bombarded him with questions.

"She doesn't seem…right, you know?" said Columbia. "I heard her last night. I'm sure you did, too."

Riff-Raff shook his head. "I don't know what could be wrong with her."

"Have you tried asking her?" asked Columbia, transporting the bacon from the pan to a plate.

"She insists that it's only a stomach flu," Riff-Raff said.

Columbia sighed. "I don't know…I'm just...concerned!"

The computer-messaging screen turned on, revealing an angry Frank.

"It's been thirty minutes," he said. "Where is my breakfast?"

"It will be sent right up, master," said Riff-Raff, a look of scorn on his face.

Frank looked around the room. "Where is Magenta?"

"She isn't feeling well, Frankie," said Columbia. "She needed to lie down."

"I am taking over her duties for the day, master," said Riff-Raff.

Frank sighed. "Very well then. Send up the breakfast." The screen turned black.

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As exhausted as she was, Magenta knew she had to get off the bed and to a bathroom. Again?, she asked herself, pulling herself off the bed and inching towards the bathroom. After she had finished, she cried, sobbing into her hands. What have I done?, she thought.

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