Disclaimer: I don't own The Rocky Horror Picture Show

The next day - a Saturday - I woke up oddly late. Many people don't even go to work on Saturdays. Alas, people who work backstage at the Royal Court Theatre do. At least my work wasn't as bad as some. Few people got to see all those pretty actors getting dressed. Frank might've liked it.

I'd stayed up far too late talking to Patricia and Richard. They're wonderful people, and ever so much fun to talk to! Though Richard's quietness was sort of troubling.

I had to eat this awful tasting pastry I'd bought from a café near the tube station for breakfast. Thankfully, I finished it by the time I'd gotten to the theatre.

"I'm so sorry I'm late! I slept in," I told Mrs. Josie the moment I saw her.

She sighed. "Well, it is a Saturday. And at least you're better off than the people who went to Elsie's party. All of them got extremely intoxicated quite quickly. Never did approve of drinking myself. Apparently half of them can't remember a thing!"

"That's terrible."

"Yes. And I always thought Elsie wasn't really that sort of girl," Mrs. Josie muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

I almost felt bad, not telling her what really happened…

But what's the real harm in it?

After the evening I met Patricia Quinn and Richard Smith/O'Brien, I hadn't really heard from either of them for a while. Months upon months went by. Pure white snow dusted the bustling city, to Stella's delight. Soon enough it was Christmas season. That meant carols being sung on the streets, and stages being flooded with adaptions of A Christmas Carol. These Brits got more into the spirit of it all than Americans. I suppose that's because one of their number - meaning the late but great Mr. Charles Dickens - basically invented Christmas as we know it.

I often wished I had an address or something to contact Pat and Richard at, you know. Mostly just to see if Richard made any progress on his little musical. And to invite them to the holiday party Tricia was plotting. Though I had other things to worry about at my job. I'd been promoted to Head of Wardrobe for the theatres both up and downstairs. This didn't really mean anything but making sure people didn't trash their costumes. Each play usually had it's own costume designer, and none of them really like me. Apparently my accent was too annoying. Though I had been trying to loose it - if only to sound more stylish.

I learned that actors came and went with the various productions. A few would come back to be in another unrelated show, but there wasn't much of a 'company' that truly stayed. Pat Quinn had apparently done something there - which explained how she knew Elsie. I'd only been there long enough to see the end of three shows and the beginning of one so I didn't know much. Though I did know that Elsie didnt like me at all after I helped Pat make a mess of the party.

Tricia wanted me to invite a few of the actors to her party. Of course, I didn't really know anybody that well. So I just sort of hung around and did my work as best I could. It was like in High school, when I'd promise my mother I'd befriended 'nice kids' to keep her out of my social life. Except this time there wasn't anyone I knew.

Then, one day, Tim showed up outside the theatre.

It happened to be about six in the evening, on a Wednesday. We never had shows on Wednesdays for some reason. Perhaps people need a day off and weekends are extra busy for our sort. I was only there because I needed to organize a few of the costumes that those stupid actors left of the dressing room floor. It gave me something to do, in the least. Just as I was leaving, I found him standing outside the theatre- absolutely covered in snow. Though he looked hilarious I knew not to laugh. Tim is a very funny person but probably doesn't want to be laughed at for something other than his comedic performances.

"Tim! That is, Mr. Curry. Er, why are you here?" I asked him.

"An old friend - meaning director Jim Sharman - told me about some play he'd be directing here. I was supposed to meet him on the 19th of December to talk about auditions," He explained,

"I'm sorry, Mr. Curry, but it's not the 19th. That was yesterday."

Poor guy seemed a bit upset, going by the look on his memorable face. Though I knew him well enough to know that he often had that expression of disgust upon his face. It probably was just what his face looked like by default. He never truly seemed to act angry...

That's when I remembered something. "My friend Tricia and I are hosting a party together this weekend. She wanted me to invite my coworkers. Of course, most of the people I work with I hardly get to know. Not to mention you're a bit more respectable than some of the real artsy kids."

"Are you inviting me to a party?" he asked, looking somewhat amused. "A Christmas one, presumably?"

I nodded.

"When did you say it was?"

"Saturday the 23rd. Here, I'll write it down."

So, I did. On a scrap of paper I'd found on the ticket desk, which happened to be nearby. After I handed it to him he stared at the terrible handwriting for a moment. He deciphered it quickly than most and didn't say anything - luckily. The more I interacted with Mr. Curry the more kind he seemed.

"What's your name again?" he asked.

"Did I not mention it? Sorry, I'm so used to knowing everyone. I'm Laura Trent- er, Scott."

Tim stared at me in confusion. Probably wondering how I forgot my own name.

"My maiden name is 'Trent'. Though, because of my late husband Edward Scott, a lot of legal papers and things call me 'Scott'," I explained.

When I'm just a bit too tired- as I was that evening- I forget who I'm pretending to be. It's especially bad when I write '1978' instead of '1972' on documents.

"I'll try to make it to the party," Tim told me. "But I can't make any promises."

I didn't have work the day of the party. Everyone at the theatre was off from Saturday to the following Wednesday. Some places do adaptations of A Christmas Carol or something for the holidays, as I previously mentioned. The Royal Court Theatre doesn't because we're all about new, edgy performances. They don't call it an experimental theater for nothin'.

So I spent the entire day helping Tricia prepare for the party. That mostly meant baking sugary desserts, hanging up decorations, and finding Christmas carols in Tricia's impressive record collection.

"I'd better warn you, my husband will be at the party," Tricia told me, as we rolled out cookie dough.

"Is that a problem?" I asked nervously.

She shrugged. "I don't think so. As long as he doesn't do anything too stupid it's okay. Usually he behaves well when I'm watching him. Though this is Invasions Season and he might not even have the time to show up."

"Who else is coming?" I asked, not wanting to think about the last of what Tricia said.

"A few friends from work, neighbors. Maybe my ex-boyfriend Arthur and his girlfriend Fenchurch."

I probably would've asked whom 'a few friends' were if I hadn't been so distracted by the last part. "What sort of name is Fenchurch?"

"How should I know? Ask her when she gets here."

Then we went back to cooking. By 4 o'clock in the afternoon- an hour before the party officially began- we'd baked every sort of holiday cookie imaginable. The robot and Stella (mostly the former) had finished decorating the living room at that point. It was all very pretty. On the telly a re-run of Doctor Who was playing with the volume turned down very low. It was a second-doctor episode.

I was tired, after a day of work, and my clothes had somehow been covered in various cookie ingredients. Mostly flour and powered sugar. If only Tricia hadn't forced me to help cook! Even she seemed to wish so. As I've said too often - I'm a dreadful cook!

"Hopefully nobody gets here early," I muttered… just as somebody knocked on the door.

Tricia sighed dramatically. "I'll answer the door, you get dressed! Hurry!"

Now slightly panicked, I rushed upstairs. I'd planned on actually wearing the outfit I wore at that point to the party. That meant I didn't have anything else picked out.

After a while I found a rather plain dress in dark blue. It wasn't too nice, though it would do. Since it happened to be a bit too loose, I wore a terrifyingly glittery silver belt. I put on the first pair of stockings I found (which happened to be very dark purple), but didn't bother with shoes.

Then I made the mistake of trying to redo my makeup. That took ages. Technically, a 'natural' makeup look was stylish. But I'd always like glittery, obvious makeup. That's not very practical, since it's very easy to mess up. And then you have to redo it…

Finally, I ran downstairs again.

There, to my delight, stood the most unlikely of people. People I thought wouldn't show up. Pat, Richard, Tim, and Tricia were all cheerfully conversing. From what little I knew I'd previously believed that Tim and Richard hated each other! Apparently they didn't.

Soon enough other guests began to arrive.

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