Make way! Super short filler coming through! Because there was no way they were going to come quietly ;P
Also, over-dose of wish fulfilment in here - so much fun to write though *sigh*
"Wow! That's so cool! Dad! Dad! Can I get it? Pleeeeeeeeeease? I promise I'll feed it every day! Please?" Trash hopped up and down impatiently, clutching a small, squirming replica of a familiar bronzed, blonde creation.
"That's what you said about that Dr. Scott replica – and we all know how well that worked out," Riff Raff snapped moodily, crouched down behind a corset display in an attempt to escape from his doppelganger, who was keeping up a never-ending stream of questions, compliments and invitations to meet his family.
Trash bit his lip and winced before re-doubling his efforts, "But this will be different, I swear! I'm more mature now! pretty please?"
"Magenta…!" Riff Raff shot her an exasperated look before diving behind a copy of Frank's throne, just in time as well, as the actor materialised next to the Frank-mannequin, looking around eagerly.
"Wouldn't you prefer a Magenta toy?" she tried hopefully, scooping up a preening miniature version of herself and thrusting it towards her son.
He pulled a face, "Er, no offence mum, but Magenta dolls are so last year. Rocky's where it's at!" he squeezed the mini-Rocky tighter, oblivious to its gasps and blue face.
Magenta sighed and turned to her daughter who was standing awkwardly by the tap shoes, shooting anxious glances at her Columbia-Clock watch.
"How about you, sweetie?" she waved the complaining Magenta doll in her face, "Don't you think she's kind of cute?"
"Mum," she said solemnly, "When are we getting back to the tour? We're going to miss the runway show!"
Magenta paled, as soon as she and Riff had realised what was going on they had hurriedly snatched their offspring and threw them into the gift shop, hoping to distract them until closing time – unfortunately, whilst Fake-Magenta had seemed happy to be shot of them, Fake-Riff had slid after them, clinging to Riff like a limpet and badgering him about his performance, asking for tips and autographs, until Riff had created a diversion by knocking over a bin full of fishnets and scarpered.
The diversionary tactics seemed to be working well for Trash, who had eagerly shut-up after having a handful of midnight blue notes and purple coins thrown at him, and had spent the last half an hour frittering away his cash on Frank-wigs, golden tailcoats, nerd glasses, easy-learn saxophones and whatever else caught his eye. But Name Tag had spent the whole time waiting stubbornly near the exit, shooting anguished looks at her mother and tapping her foot impatiently.
"Don't worry, honey," Magenta attempted to smile, "We won't miss it, but, I mean, look at all that pretty nail-polish! Ooh, you like pink!" she grabbed a random bottle and studied it as if her life depended on it, "And it's odour-less! Isn't that nice?"
"Mum."
Magenta avoided eye contact with her stony daughter and continued to inspect and exclaim over various pieces of tat.
"Come on, mum!" Trash appeared at her side, Rocky-less and glum, "Let's get out of here."
"Not without your father!" she cried desperately, scanning the shop, hoping that Riff would remain hidden.
"Don't worry kids!" Fake-Riff popped up from behind a shelf of spare tyres, "I've got him right here!" he beamed and hopped over to them, dragging the reluctant Riff behind him.
"Yay!" the kids whooped, high-fived and sprinted back out to the hall.
"Come on then," Fake-Riff grinned, oblivious to the death-glares being aimed at him, "Don't want to keep the kiddies waiting, do we?" and he skipped out after the children.
"Riff…!" Magenta clutched her husband's arm and silently begged him for a decent excuse.
"Quick! Pretend you're in labour!" he said, half-serious.
"Oh no," she said sternly, "That's how we had Trash, two weeks early, right in the middle of that wedding rehearsal you wanted to get out of, remember? Why don't I just say I've got a headache or something?"
"Are you kidding? Do you actually think that the kids will let you get away with that?" Riff spluttered, "We'll have to endure 'When we going back to museum?' non-stop for months!" he groaned and massaged his temple, "It's best to get it over and done with, face our demons, you know? It won't be too bad…"
"But –"
"If we don't do it today, then we'll be dragged back tomorrow," he said sharply, "Just grin and bear it, dear."
Re-read all the HP books after DH Part 2, which is where the animated dolls come from.
I made a few changes; the 'Furter Firer' is now the 'Flaming Furter' - which sounds like a tacky cocktail, I know - and 'The Museum of Un-Modern Frankie-Poo' is now *deep breath* 'The Fabulous Friends of Franklin N "Frankie Poo" Furter Present The Natural His Story Museum' *exhale* I'm rueing the day I wrote that chapter of Mother Earth whilst watching The Mikado, believe you me -_-
Fun fact: I'm deciding the name for the chapters by randomly flicking through the Godfather and making it whatever quote I land on from now on (although the first chapter I got from the movie)
Oh well, it seems I only update this fic when there's torrential rain and my plans for the day require sunshine... which doesn't explain why there are so few updates...
