Darkness.
All Columbia registered was darkness, and she felt vertigo as soon as she awoke. That, and goose feathers poking out of the pillow she was lying on. Sitting up, she wiped the sleep from her eyes and let them adjust to the black around her. Of course, she was in her room. And staring at her, on the wall, was the face of the man she never wanted to see again. Her discovery was gnawing at her insides, even more so when she remembered why. She felt physically weak, scrunching up into a ball on the bed she hadn't spent a night in since she got there. No time to start now, she thought, getting up and grabbing the nearest sharp object: a pair of scissors. Slightly perplexed why the room even had on in it (than again, where would they belong?) she wasted no time on the train of thought. Dashing over to the black and white, larger than life Frank-N-Furter, she raised her arm as high as she could, reaching his right eye.
Slash. Tip. Tear.
Strips of the Doctor's face fell down, carving and curling over her. Struggling to get out, she grimaced, pulling at the poster of the man who betrayed her. There were noticeable incisions in the wall, but she kept stabbing, making the dry wall wheeze dust, and make spiders struggle for safety. Hack hack hack. Columbia didn't stop until just tiny thin strips remained on the holey wall, and she clasped in an aggravated heap, covered in dry wall bits and pieces. She clutched her head, letting it hang, scissors still in hand, she clamped them down and heard the snitchet of them closing.
A lock of raven hair fell down, draping on her fishnets. The idea sunk in a second later.
Snip snip snip the hair fell down; she didn't stop to think about how she could regret this. She didn't bother to use a mirror, or turn on any lights; she just settled on hacking off nearly three feet of naturally black hair. Columbia got it shoulder length-most of it anyway-and thought she was doing just fine when the door open and dim light flooded in.
"Vwhat are you doing?"
The maid was standing in the doorway that emitted light, causing Columbia to shrink back into the wall. Reality sunk in as far as it would go, and she looked down in horror: she was covered with hair. Her hair. It took years to grow it that long, and now…moaning, her tears welled up again; she felt like a human spigot. "Aww, no, do no cry." Magenta flicked on the lights, making Columbia's sore eyes even more sensitive. Looking up, she saw the domestic tilt her head slightly, and cluck her tongue. Dropping the scissors, the groupie stood up, shaking hair of her. It fell like a waterfall of ink, but pieces still clung onto her skin, and dress. Spinning around, she knew she must've looked like a mess. Badly cut hair (and bits still clinging to her) and eyes red, rimmed with kohl melted by tears. Not a good look for anyone, least of all a groupie held hostage.
"Come here."
"What?"
"I can fix you. Bring me the scissors."
She didn't ask questions, just kept her head to the ground, arms wrapped around her body. Magenta was holding a feather duster, brushing off the stray hairs, they fell to the floor. Columbia knew it was Magenta's job to clean it up; but there were slim chances of that. Handing her the sheers, still stuck with raven strands, she stood there as the domestic shaped the hair, quickly and skillfully.
"How'd you learn to do hair?"
"I am a domestic; I can do anything. Ok."
She felt her hair timidly, running fingers through it. The top was barely chin length, and silky, the hair underneath it was short and cropped. It felt bristly and Columbia felt hesitant to look in the mirror. She closed her eyes, and felt Magenta lead her to the tall mirror. Opening them slowly, a wide grin spread across her face. Maybe the domestic was right; maybe she could do anything. Still seeking change, she turned around and voiced ideas for the new Columbia.
X.x.x.x.X
"Eee! I think I got some in my eye!"
"You did not get it in your eye, your head is upside down."
Magenta's hands rubbed the wet hair in the sink, getting the rest of the dye out. Part of Columbia's impulsive decisions was to not only cut her hair, but also dye it. That, and shave off her eyebrows because "auburn hair and black eyebrows? No way." "Okay, you are done." Lifting her head, she was immediately smothered by a red-stained (probably blood, but Columbia was too used to it to care) rag, which Magenta wrestled her head with it. Eyes still stinging from what she assumed was the hair dye, they were squeezed shut in hopes of blocking out the pain. Than, she heard a gasp.
"Oh, shit."
Her burning eyes popped open, they met her reflection in the broken mirror. Cursing under her breath, she fingered the hair, which had turned a shade of raspberry. Bits of it stuck out from Magenta's harsh rubbing, she smoothed them down nervously. Resisting the urge to strangle her friend, she ran shaky fingers where her eyebrows used to be. Than, she laughed.
"Vhat is so funny?"
"I dunno! I look ridiculous, yet I'm totally hot. Yay!"
Columbia twirled to face her friend, hugging her while jumping upside down. The events of the day were momentarily forgotten. She stopped suddenly, rebound hitting her, and when the two of them made eye contact, she leaned forward and kissed her. The domestic immediately returned the kiss, her lips powerful and hungry. But it was wrong; Frank's face was angry in her mind. She broke the kiss apart.
Magenta smirked, and raised and eyebrow before walking off casually, with a bit of a swagger. Wiping her lips off, Columbia thought she could hear the maid snickering.
X.x.x.x.X
""Let us see…I've never fucked around with a rocker."
"Vell, go on, take a sip."
Columbia did, and giggled in a drunken manner. Magenta took a swig too, grabbing the bottle from her, and tweaking her nipple at the same time. It had been a few hours since the kiss, yet Magenta was still acting like nothing had happened. Columbia silently thanked her; every time she thought about that incident she thought about Frank-N-Furter. What if her dear Frankie found out? Luckily, the domestic seemed to understand, and flirted with her the way she always did.
Crash. Bang. Stomp.
Noise came from the upstairs lab, no doubt the specimen "Edward" was trying to escape. They'd hear him every once in a while, and than he'd stop. Frank was probably trying to run "tests" on the poor guy; but Columbia's heart wrenched, she felt no sympathy for him. He was helping taking her Frankie away; he would be part of the creation.
"Ve could alvays kill him."
"What?"
Columbia than realized she was talking to herself, out loud. Blushing, she heard the words in her head, rolling them about like ocean waves. Yes, she could kill the specimen. And than, Frank would have to find someone else. It would stall him; give her time to win him back. She got up from the rickety bed, drew on eyebrows (a little wiggly, and too high) she grabbed the scissors.
"Alright. I'm going to kill him. Wish me luck."
"Good luck."
Nodding, almost nervously, she was sure there was passion burning in her eyes. Turning the knob, she stumbled (she was still fairly intoxicated) out into the hall, ready to win her transvestite back.
X.x.x.x.X
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