Sorry I've been so crap at updating this, but I've been busy with other stuff and I've had complication with transferring it from one computer to another and other stuff. Plus I was fairly sure no one was reading it since they changed the site. But I was very excited to receive a review, proving I have one reader. Thank you Cera. This section is dedicated to you. I hope you've seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show. If not, I apologise for the lack of sense you will be able to make of Chapters 4 onward. Incidentally, I would like to make it clear to everyone who reads this that I am in NO WAY against drugs. Not at all. I promise.

The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon Part Six

Chapter 1 - At Sea Again George sat watching the sea and singing. The song was entitled 'Victims', and was unusually melancholy for him. Robert was assisting by strumming along on his guitar. Marc sat dejectedly watching the waves. The last notes of the song died away and George sighed heavily and stared toward the grey horizon. The three men sat in miserable silence. They were now three days sailing from the Labyrinth, and the journey had been tense and depressing. Any excitement felt at the beginning of their journey from Rarn had long since evaporated. Unusually, it was Robert who attempted to break the gloomy hush. He yawned and stretched his legs. "How are the supplies holding up George?" "Oh fine." Said George indifferently. "That reminds me, could you ask Marc to get what we need for dinner out of the hold." "You ask him." said Robert, losing his tolerant manner swiftly. "He's only over there." He gestured to Marc, who was less than two metres distant and clearly attending to their conversation. George looked sulky. "Marc." He said curtly. "Get the food." "Don't order me around." Marc objected crossly. "Oh shut up and do your job." "Look!" Robert interrupted. "This is really stupid. Will you two grow up? You're being pathetic." "Well, he started it." Said George. "He didn't even like David. He was just jealous 'cause David liked me." "It was nothing to do with you." Marc assured him. "Me and David were friends years before you met either of us, so don't act like you know everything about it." "I REALLY, REALLY don't want to talk about this." Robert interjected hurriedly. Silence. "Well" said Robert "I still think he had a really big nose." Marc began to laugh. "Yeah." He agreed. "And terrible fashion sense." "I can't believe he was calling himself." Robert could barely continue for his laughter. "Jareth the Goblin King!" He and Marc were by now laughing hysterically. George looked at them resentfully. Then, despite himself, he began to giggle. "He was a bit sad, wasn't he?" he admitted. "Remember what he said about the wizard and the link to another universe?" Their laughter increased, and this time George joined in. Eventually the three of them calmed down, and sat trying to catch their breath. Robert wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes. Suddenly he grinned broadly, a rare site indeed. "Well he may have been ugly and pathetic." He said solemnly. "but he was really handy with those balls!" And the three of them began to giggle again.

Chapter 2 - The Calm Before. The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon had not seen land for three weeks. Those on board were having difficulty entertaining themselves through the long days and nights at sea. Much time had been spent playing cards, or telling each other rather melodramatic ghost stories. George had begun to write an autobiography, Robert spent a lot of time reading boring literature and Marc was writing a book of poetry. As well as helping each other with these activities, much time was spent searching for group activities to occupy the three men. They had, for example, spent some hours drawing up a chart of the voyage so far. George had carefully sketched a basic outline of the main bodies of land (with much disagreement from the others), Robert had painstakingly labelled each location he had any knowledge of, and Marc had assisted by colouring the map in. This particular afternoon Robert was putting the final touches to a new song (which involved him playing the same chord over and over again until it drove everyone mad, and occasionally pausing to look thoughtful), and Marc was plaiting George's hair, as George had decided that morning that he needed a change. "I was thinking." said George, as Robert paused for a moment to note down a chord change. "We've been sailing for a very long time now, and we haven't seen any land." "Yes, I had noticed actually." said Robert nastily. "Well I just thought." George continued, rather annoyed. "Maybe there isn't any other land. I mean, what if there's nothing? Or at least nothing near enough to reach. I mean, isn't it a bit stupid for us to just keep sailing on?" "Well there's nowhere else to go." Marc pointed out as he tied a piece of red ribbon into a bow. "Maybe we should go back." George suggested. "Back where exactly?" Robert asked. "The Labyrinth? The Fog? Or back to Uluria to get hung?" George gave up. There was clearly no point in even bringing the issue up today. Marc started a new plait. Robert tried a new chord experimentally. Outside an ominous rumbling noise echoed across the open sea. "Great." said Robert. "A storm. Typical." He put his guitar down grumpily. "We'd better go and take down all the bigger sails, or we'll be blown over." The three of the, got up and climbed on deck. A strong wind had risen quickly. George's new plaits blew rather painfully into Robert's face. Robert sighed and stared out across the sea. The waves already appeared dangerous, and the storm hadn't even started yet. "Anyone want to place bets on who survives?" he asked. "2-to-1 me, 4- to-1 Marc, 10-to-1 George" "Why am I least likely to survive?" George demanded tetchily. "Well, you do tend to panic in storms." said Robert. "And you can be kinda silly. And Marc's complete lack of common sense is his flaw." "On the other hand." Marc pointed out as he struggled to control a sail. "the chances of you being murdered by one of us are extremely high." Robert was prevented from replying by a peal of thunder so loud the three men were almost deafened. It was accompanied by a flash of lightning which conveniently hit the main mast. Marc hurriedly let go of the rope he was holding (which was connected to the mast in question ) and screamed, although the sound was drowned out by the thunder. Robert, who was leaning on the mast, threw himself face first onto the deck, thereby just avoiding being burnt to death but looking rather stupid in the process. As he sat up the rain began. It poured down in sheets, soaking all three of them almost instantly. George shrieked and ran into the cabin. Robert and Marc tied up the sail they had been lowering and followed him. "Brilliant." said Robert flatly, wringing out his shirt. "Now we're stuck in here, and most likely the boat'll be overturned or driven onto rocks, and we'll all die." George burst into tears. "Thanks for your words of hope and comfort Robert." Said Marc, as he passed George a rather wet handkerchief. "They were just SO constructive and inspiring" Another clap of thunder shook the boat, and the sky was illuminated. George shrieked again, grabbed hold of the nearest thing to him (which was Marc), and hid his face. Marc patted George's shoulder absently. "Great." Robert struggled to close the shutters against the onslaught of driving rain, stinging sea spray and biting wind. "He's completely hysterical. That's really going to help." "I hate storms." George told them needlessly, his voice muffled because he was pressing his face into Marc's chest. "I hate them." There was a sudden dull noise form the deck followed by a flapping sound. Robert opened the cabin door cautiously and did his best to look outside. "What's happening?" George screamed in terror. "We're sinking aren't we? We're all going to die." He dug his nails into Marc's hand. "It's the main sail." said Robert. "It's come lose. Next time there's a big gust of wind in the right direction we'll be blown over." George moaned, but seemed to have given up on speech. "Well" Robert said unenthusiastically "I guess I'd better go out and fix it. Come on Marc, I'll need some help." Marc prised George's nails from his flesh with difficulty. "Back soon, okay?" he whispered to the trembling figure. "Here, hug this for now." He passed George a rolled up sleeping bag. George grabbed it desperately. Marc turned and followed Robert up the ladder to the uncertain deck above.

Chapter 3 - .The Storm The tiny boat was tossed precariously over the black sea as Robert clung to the mast and desperately tried to control the sail. Marc was nearer the front of the boat, trying to tie the sail before Robert lost his grip. Without warning the tiny vessel was hit by an enormous wave. Robert was knocked off his feet, and swung across the deck clinging rather ridiculously to the rope. Marc was thrown to the prow, where he managed to catch hold of a barrier before the entire front half of the craft was engulfed in the foaming waters. It emerged with Marc still clinging to the side, looking distinctly annoyed. Robert dragged his feet until his pendulum like course was slowed and he managed to stand upon the deck rather than swing across it. Then he began again to attempt to control the sail. With Marc's help this was done before the next wave enveloped the boat. They staggered as best they could back to the cabin. George was now sitting up looking tearful. The rocking of the boat threw the man from one side to another. Robert, as he clung to a window shutter to remain upright, began to laugh. "What can you possibly find funny in these circumstances?" Marc screamed over the noise of the thunder. "I was just thinking" said Robert. "Your hair looks rally stupid when it's wet." "Thanks Robert." The boat tipped onto its side and Marc hung onto a shelf, legs dangling. "And there I was thinking I'd die without comfort." George, who had been thrown into a position where he could see the window, suddenly screamed. "Land! Land!" "Where?" Robert screamed back, looking out of the window excitedly. And indeed there did appear to be land of some kind but a few miles distant. "Thank the Gods!" George sighed with relief. "Hurry up. Turn round. Set a course, or whatever." "But what if it's surrounded by rocks or something." Robert objected. "We'll be sunk." "I couldn't care less." George told him. "I can't stand any more of this." And so the occupants of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon set a course for the strange black land mass ahead.

Chapter 4 - There's A Light Hail battered the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon as it was dragged unsteadily up the shore by George, Robert and Marc. Eventually they reached an area where the boat could be safely tied. They stood for a moment in the downpour regaining their breath. "Lets go see if we can find some help or something." George suggested. "I'm freezing. And standing under a tree in a thunderstorm is making me nervous." "What if the island's uninhabited and dangerous, idiot?" demanded Robert, who was in a bad temper because he had fallen head first into a large pile of mud while moving the boat. "We could freeze to death, or fall down a cliff, or bit hit by lightning, or attacked by wild beasts, or." "Well, there's a house about 100 metres away. " George indicated a nearby hill. "I figure we can just about get there without dying," There was indeed a building, large and ornate and decorated with all the gothic trimmings, gargoyles included. It was surrounded by an iron fence, and a path led through elaborate gates before tailing off immediately outside when there was clearly nowhere to go but dense forest. It looked somewhat out of place. Robert sulked. He hated sarcasm that wasn't by him. "Fine." he conceded grumpily. "Come on then." "Wait!" George looked shocked. "I'm glad you delayed me. I'd nearly forgotten. You can't go and knock at somebody's house all covered in mud with your make-up all smudged. It's bad manners." "Oh for." Robert just about managed to keep his temper at the thought of warm beds and a good meal. "Okay, fine. But can we hurry up?"

Fifteen minutes later Robert was ready. He had selected as his visiting outfit rather worn black jeans, a spotted waistcoat and a huge white shirt with frilled sleeves. He covered all this with a massive shapeless black coat. On his feet were ridiculously oversized, somewhat mismatched white trainers. Marc was the next to finish dressing. He wore black velvet trousers with coloured diamonds of sequins running down the sides, and a top with the word MARC across the chest. Over this was an old fashioned overcoat. On his feet where brightly coloured trainers. He carried a black umbrella with a cane handle. The two waited impatiently while George applied lipstick, lip-liner, mascara, eye-liner and blucher. He wore large, black smock like clothing along with a floor length yellow mac. A flat black hat was the finishing touch. "Can we go now?" Robert asked impatiently, looking longingly toward the house. A single window glowed promisingly in the darkness. "Wait, wait." George was flustered. "I need jewellery. This whole look hinges on accessories!" Robert sighed and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. To provoke George would only mean more delay. Finally George was ready, and they made their way toward the house. Marc out up his umbrella and since it provided insufficient cover for two Robert shielded his head with an old newspaper. They soon arrived at the rusted gates, and worriedly read the sign lashed to them:

ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

Robert pushed the gates open nevertheless, and held them for the other two. "Oooh, it's very big isn't it?" George said admiringly. "What is?" Robert asked nervously. "The house, obviously. I bet they're really rich." "Good." said Marc. "Then they can afford to help us." They had by this time reached the door of the mansion. George checked his make-up in a hand mirror and Marc quickly applied extra lip gloss. Robert ignored them and rang the doorbell. The sound of the bell echoed around the building, and finally faded into silence. There was no sign of any response. Robert rang the bell again, and then stepped down from the stone staircase and turned to George and Marc. "I don't think anyone's gonna answer." he said. "Oh well." Marc shrugged. "Lets break in then. I'm freezing." "Good plan." George agreed. "Shall I go and see if there are any windows open?" He was interrupted by a drawn out creaking noise as the front door slowly swung open. George quickly fixed his hair, Marc brushed his clothes down and Robert coughed nervously. A face peered around the door at the three men. It belonged to a sallow skinned man who was bald except for a few strings of white-blonde hair hanging from the sides of his head and brushing the dirty shoulders of his jacket. He stared at each of the men in turn. George grinned nervously, Robert glared and Marc shuffled his feet. Having thoroughly considered all three personages on the doorstep, he paused. Then, slowly, he returned to George and began the process of examination again. Finally, just when the process was getting so ridiculous that George, Robert and Marc felt compelled to speak, the man finally cleared his throat and said in a high, wobbly, rather ridiculous voice. "Hellew?" "Er, hi." Robert began awkwardly. "We, er, we got caught in the storm, in the boat.that's the boat we came in, obviously.and, er..." The man stared blankly at him as he spoke, which was making him feel rather awkward. He did his best to continue. "We, er, we wondered if we could just stay here until the storm dies down? I mean, if that's not too much trouble.?" He looked hopeful. The man stared at them, frowned, and then said slowly. "You're wet." George, who had been putting up with the ruination of his hair, make-up and clothing by the rain with as much patience as he could muster finally lost his temper. "That's because it's pouring down with rain, you ugly, bald little freak." he screamed, marching up the steps. "Now are you gonna invite us in or are you gonna leave us to die in the storm?" His expression left no one in any doubt which was the correct answer. Throughout this tirade the man kept staring blankly ahead, apparently oblivious to the screams. When it was over however, he stepped back and held the door open. "I suppose you'd better all." he paused. George clenched his fists. ".come inside." "About time" George muttered as he stepped inside. Robert followed him cautiously. As soon as Marc had stepped through the door the man slammed it closed and drew the bolts. Seen in the light he appeared to be a butler, albeit an unusually scruffy one. He wore a tattered black suit and an unpleasantly stained, previously white shirt. The house itself was as gothic as its exterior implied. Oil paintings jostled for space on the walls, stuffed animals posed in inappropriate places, a grandfather clock stood open, revealing a skeleton within and an oak staircase led up to darkness. It looked like an inept attempt by people who had never seen a house before to replicate the surroundings of a rich country gentleman. "Nice place." said George, examining an oil painting on a nearby wall. "So where's the owner then?" "The Master is upstairs." Said the butler slowly, with an odd jerking of his head. "He is not to be disturbed. He is.working." "Just go and get him." George snapped, quickly losing patience. "We're important people. We won't be treated with this lack of respect." He smacked the butler viciously across the head. "Of course, sir." The man replied, cowering nervously. "I'll fetch the master immediately. Do come this way." He led them across the hall, past a lift shaft and through a set of double doors. Inside a red carpet led up to a raised dais on which rested a golden chair. "Wait here." said the butler turning to Marc, who backed quickly away from him in disgust. "The Master will see you soon." And he scuttled from the room and slammed the doors behind him.

Chapter 5 - Meeting the Master "Well he was a freak." said Robert, brushing a cobweb off the top of the throne. "Do you think he's got mental problems?" Marc asked. "What kind of problems? Complete insanity?" "No, I mean is he a bit, y'know, slow?" "No, he's a lot slow." said Robert. "I hope the master's a bit more normal. "Who are you to talk about normal?" laughed George. "Well I'm not a bald albino hunchback." Robert pointed out calmly. "You were kinda cruel to him though." Marc said to George. "Hitting him and everything."

"That's how you talk to servants." George told him. "Learnt that in your days as Royal Concubine did you?" said Robert acidly. George looked subdued. "Do you guys hear a noise?" Marc interrupted. "Kind of a stomping?" They listened. "Oh yeah." agreed George. "I think it's coming from the hall." He crossed to the back of the room, followed by the Marc and Robert, and opened the white-painted doors. The hall was empty. "Funny." said Robert, leaning against the corner of the lift-shaft. "I could have sworn the noise was out here." He rubbed his chin musingly. "It's getting louder." said Marc. "It must be getting closer. Actually it sounds like it's coming from above.George, are you okay?" George was staring at a point somewhere behind Robert and Marc, wide-eyed. He pointed and realisation dawned on the other two. They turned slowly around. Behind them in the lift stood a man in a floor length, high collared black cape and shoes with massive white glittery heels. His face was heavily made up: painted ghostly white with dark red lips outlined in black and heavily applied dark eye-shadow. He leant forward so that his face was a few inches from Marc's and smiled. Marc backed hurriedly away and tripped over a stuffed leopard. "Allow me to introduce myself." The man extended a gloved hand languidly in Robert's direction. "My name is Dr.Furter, but you my dear." He smoothed Robert's gently. "You can call me Frank." Robert smiled nervously. "Wait a minute." said George. "Your name is Frank Furter?" He looked incredulous. "Indeed. Frank N Furter. And you are?" "I'm Boy George, and this is Robert Smith and Marc Bolan." George gestured to the other two as he spoke. "We got caught in the storm, and we wondered if we could stay here for the night?" He smiled hopefully. "How could I refuse my hospitality to three such.fine specimens of manhood?" Dr. Furter stretched and convoluted each word as he spoke. "And may I apologise for my handyman Riff Raff. He was most disrespectful." "Frank Furter and Riff Raff?" George laughed. "What planet are you guys from?" Dr. Furter jumped visibly, and then smiled and relaxed. "Ah yes, one fo your colloquial expressions I believe." "Er, yeah." George agreed, puzzled. "You three gentlemen must be tired after your.exertions earlier." said Dr. Furter, his wide mouth spreading into an unpleasant grimace. He had a strange tendency to leave a suggestive pause in the middle of even the most innocent of sentences. "My servants will show you to your rooms. I must return to work." "What do you do?" George asked politely. "I'm a biochemist my dear." Said Dr. Furter. His voice suddenly became harsher. "Riff Raff! Magenta! Columbia! See to out guests." He turned and swept into the lift. The butler hurried down the stairs at his master's command, followed by tow women. One was dressed as a French maid and carried a feather duster. Her face was wide and dominated by a large and crooked mouth. The other was small and pale with very short red hair, and wore striped pyjamas and a small black hat with tow large ears on top. She yawned sulkily. Riff Raff's hollow gaze fell on Robert. He approached him and began to remove his baggy coat. The French maid did the same for Marc's overcoat and the pyjama clad girl removed George's yellow mac. "Er, thanks." Robert did his best to keep as far away as possible from Riff Raff. The butler hung Robert's coat on his arm and began to remove his waistcoat. "It's all right." Robert explained. "I want to keep that on actually." The butler became more insistent. "I said I want to keep it ON!" Robert pulled the fabric from Riff Raff's grasp. George was trying his best to remove his hat from the clutches of Columbia and Marc was fighting a losing battle with Magenta to keep his t-shirt on. "Thank you." said Robert loudly in a firm tone. "But we'd rather get undressed ourselves. In Private." The butler let go of his clothes, but looked somewhat less than happy about doing so. Magenta and Columbia followed suit. Riff Raff led the way upstairs, glaring at George as he did so. He insisted on leading Robert by the arm, despite Robert's obvious discomfort with this situation. Columbia followed behind George, pushing him unnecessarily up the stairs. Marc lagged behind, still struggling with his t-shirt which Magenta had tangled around his head. "Shift it!" she shrieked, in a voice that could shatter glass. Marc hurried upstairs looking scared. In the abandoned hall a grandfather clock chimed midnight. Strange noises echoed down the lift shaft from the floor above and spread through the many rooms. The only recognisable sound among them was that of faint, cruel laughter.

Chapter 6 - That Night Once George had been shown to his room he stretched out happily on the bed and made himself comfortable, wondering as he did so why the whole room was lit entirely with red light. Still, this was the first time he had been in a proper bed for almost a month and frankly he could put up with weird lighting for the privilege. He smiled contentedly and curled up beneath the covers.

The bedroom door creaked slowly open. George stirred in his sleep and shifted around under the bedcovers. A figure crept slowly into the room, and closed the door softly. Then it approached the bed and twitched the hangings aside. George scrunched his eyes up at the slight increase in light and peered up at the figure, which climbed onto the bed and closed the curtains. "It's me." It whispered." Robert." "Oh, hey." said George sleepily. "What is it?" "I brought you something my dear." whispered the figure, holding out a small ebony box inlaid with gold. "Couldn't it have waited until morning?" George said, accepting the box. "What's in it?" He unlatched the lid and lifted it carefully. Inside was a golden brown powder. "Opium extract." whispered the figure, leaning so close to George that their lips tickled his ear. George moved away nervously. "Where'd you get it Robert?" he asked. "Er.I found it." said the figure, looking nervous. George, who was still half asleep, nodded and placed the box on the bedside table. "Thanks." He said, smiling weakly. The figure slipped its arm around George's shoulder and leant against him. George looked uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" it whispered softy, stroking George's chest. "Nothing." George shifted away from the slowly moving hand. "Could you leave now? I'm tired." "Very well, whatever makes you happy dear." whispered the figure, slipping out of the bed. "Sweet dreams." he added in an unusually suggestive fashion, and left the room. George wrapped the bedcovers tightly around him. He was puzzled, both by Robert's behaviour and his refusal to explain where he had got the opium extract from. But his tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.

Chapter 6 - That Night Once Robert had been shown to his room he stretched out happily on the bed and made himself comfortable, wondering as he did so why the whole room was lit entirely with blue light. Still, this was the first time he had been in a proper bed for almost a month and frankly he could put up with weird lighting for the privilege. He smiled contentedly and curled up beneath the covers.

The bedroom door creaked slowly open. Robert stirred in his sleep and shifted around under the bedcovers. A figure crept slowly into the room, and closed the door softly. Then it approached the bed and twitched the hangings aside. Robert scrunched his eyes up at the slight increase in light and peered up at the figure, which climbed onto the bed and closed the curtains. "It's me." It whispered." Marc." "Oh, hey." said Robert sleepily. "What is it?" "I brought you something my dear." whispered the figure, holding out a small ebony box inlaid with silver. "Couldn't it have waited until morning?" Robert said, accepting the box. "What's in it?" He unlatched the lid and lifted it carefully. Inside was a piece of thick paper embossed with rows of small red lips. "Hallucinogens." whispered the figure, leaning so close to Robert that their lips tickled his ear. "Just like they used to give you during sacrifices." Robert moved away nervously. "How did you know about that Marc?" he asked. "Er.you must have mentioned it." said the figure, looking nervous. Robert, who was still half asleep, nodded and placed the box on the bedside table. "Thanks." He said, smiling weakly. The figure slipped its arm around Robert's shoulder and leant against him. Robert looked uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" it whispered softy, stroking Robert's chest. "Nothing." Robert shifted away from the slowly moving hand. "Could you leave now? I'm tired." "Very well, whatever makes you happy dear." whispered the figure, slipping out of the bed. "Sweet dreams." he added in an unusually suggestive fashion, and left the room. Robert wrapped the bedcovers tightly around him. He was puzzled, both by Marc's behaviour and his refusal to explain how he knew about the hallucinogens. But his tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.

Chapter 6 - That Night Once Marc had been shown to his room he stretched out happily on the bed and made himself comfortable, wondering as he did so why the whole room was lit entirely with green light. Still, this was the first time he had been in a proper bed for almost a month and frankly he could put up with weird lighting for the privilege. He smiled contentedly and curled up beneath the covers.

The bedroom door creaked slowly open. Marc stirred in his sleep and shifted around under the bedcovers. A figure crept slowly into the room, and closed the door softly. Then it approached the bed and twitched the hangings aside. Marc scrunched his eyes up at the slight increase in light and peered up at the figure, which climbed onto the bed and closed the curtains. "It's me." It whispered." George." "Oh, hey." said Marc sleepily. "What is it?" "I brought you something my dear." whispered the figure, holding out a small ebony box inlaid with rubies. "Couldn't it have waited until morning?" Marc said, accepting the box. "What's in it?" He unlatched the lid and lifted it carefully. Inside was a chalk white powder. "Cocaine." whispered the figure, leaning so close to Marc that their lips tickled his ear. Marc moved away nervously. "How come you're giving it to me George?" he asked. "Er.I just thought maybe you'd want it." said the figure, looking nervous. Marc, who was still half asleep, nodded and placed the box on the bedside table. "Thanks." He said, smiling weakly. The figure slipped its arm around Marc's shoulder and leant against him. Marc looked uncomfortable. "What's the matter?" it whispered softy, stroking Marc's chest. "Nothing." Marc shifted away from the slowly moving hand. "Could you leave now? I'm tired." "Very well, whatever makes you happy dear." whispered the figure, slipping out of the bed. "Sweet dreams." he added in an unusually suggestive fashion, and left the room. Marc wrapped the bedcovers tightly around him. He was puzzled, both by George's behaviour and his refusal to explain why he was giving the cocaine to Marc. But his tiredness overcame him and he drifted into sleep.

Chapter 7 - Dinner is Prepared The sound of a gong reverberated around the old house, calling the guests to the dining room where Dr. Furter sat, now dressed for dinner in an extremely torn black top, fishnet stockings, suspenders, small black satin knickers and knee-high boots. He sat at the head of the table with Columbia to his left, still clad in her stripy pyjamas and looking as sulky as ever. Eventually the door creaked open and Robert entered, looking uncomfortable in the white satin dressing gown he was wearing. Frank smiled a rather unpleasant welcome and stroked the chair to his right invitingly. Robert accepted the chair, but looked annoyed. "Something seems to be troubling you my dear." Frank whispered, leaning over and stroking Robert's face with a gloved hand. "Do tell me. I can keep a secret." He smiled. Robert sat stiffly in the hard chair and looked awkward, "It's nothing really." he said, nervously picking at the tablecloth. "It's just that my clothes are gone. I suppose your servants took them to wash or something, but I've got nothing else to wear and." "Don't concern yourself with such menial matters." smiled Frank. "They are far beneath you. You are, after all, a king." Robert visibly jumped. "How the hell did you know that?" he asked, moving away from Dr. Furter. "I have my ways." replied the doctor. "Who told you?" Robert demanded. "George or Marc? I'll kill them both." It was at this opportune moment that George and Marc entered the room. Robert turned to them angrily. "Which of you's been talking about me?" he shouted. Both George and Marc looked confused. "Robert, Robert." Dr. Furter chided. "Do calm down. Neither of your friends is to blame." "Well then hoe did you know?" objected Robert. "I told you." replied Frank, a wet red smile splitting his face. "I have my ways." "Look, I don't know what's going on." interrupted George "But we came down for dinner, not an argument." He sat down next to Columbia, who glared at him. He ignored her. Marc took a seat next to Robert and grinned at him. "What's up?" he asked. Robert shrugged, and was about to reply when a loud clattering heralded the entry of Riff Raff and Magenta, pushing a serving trolley. Riff Raff lifted a covered tray from this, and placed it in front of Frank before removing the lid to reveal a large, unpleasant looking lump of meat. Frank lifted a rather peculiar looking carving knife and smiled at everyone. "Well then" he said cheerfully "Who wants the first slice?" There was an unfriendly silence. Eventually Columbia shoved her plate toward Frank. He flicked a small button on the carving knife, and the blade began to whirr around by itself. "Wow!" George said admiringly. "It's a magic knife! Or something." He looked at Frank in confusion. "It works by electricity." Explained the doctor, returning Columbia's plate to her. "Where's Electry City?" George puzzled.

Marc shook his head. "It's not a place, it's a thing." He said. "You use it to make guitars work, I think." "My guitar works fine without any cities." Robert pointed out. "Yeah, but you know those funny shaped guitars that aren't hollow." "Sure. I had loads of them once. Imported from the South. A pretty good invention actually. You plug them into boxes and they go really loud." "Well that's how it works." Marc concluded "With electricity." "Yes, but what is electricity?" interrupted George impatiently. Marc frowned. "I think it's like, a cosmic force or something. But I've never seen anyone who could use it to make a knife move." He looked awed. "Are you a wizard?" "No dear." laughed Frank, taking Robert's plate "It's used for little things like that quite commonly on my planet. How many slices would you like?" "On your planet?" Robert repeated enquiringly, looking smug. Frank realised his mistake too late. Riff Raff, who was standing silently behind his master's chair, sighed and rolled his eyes. Magenta looked extremely annoyed. "Well, it looks as though you've discovered my guilty little secret." Frank patted Robert's hand. "We're aliens from the planet Transsexual, in the galaxy of Transylvania. I'm the leader, Riff Raff is my second and Magenta is his sister. And this house is a space ship." "I see." Robert sighed heavily. "My life just gets more and more ridiculous. I don't think anything would surprise me any more. I expect next it'll turn out that George is my father and Marc's really a goldfish" "I assure you we are in no way related, thank God." George told him. "What made you think of a goldfish?" Marc asked anxiously. "Is there a resemblance?" George interrupted him. "So, is Columbia an alien? She looks like one." "No, she's just a girl. Useful for observation and such." Frank waved a hand dismissively. "So should we be worried about having our brains removed and put in jars, and needles stuck in us and stuff?" asked Robert. "Oh no. We're not conducting experiments on you." Frank returned to serving the meat. "You're guests. That would be terribly rude." He handed Robert a plate of jelly-like flesh and reached for George's plate. George passed it to him reluctantly. Once the food had been served there was a silence while the three men toyed with the blubber-like substance on their plates. Eventually Marc spoke. "So is it a cool planet, this Transsexual?" he asked. At the very sound of the name the eyes of the three aliens lit up. "Ah, sweet Transsexual." sighed Magenta, clutching her hands together in rapture. "Land of Night." "Forever will live the memory of its dark seas." Riff Raff continued. "Its crystalline mountains and satin flowers." He clutched Frank's shoulder in excitement. Frank rose to his feet, his eyes bulging rather scarily. "The blue-black of the sky." He said softly. "The soft grey of the trees." "The scarlet glow of the stars." Magenta rhapsodised. "The blood-black lips of the young." "The moonlit glow of the silver eyes. "The soft underbellies of the ground creatures." "The damp hair and pale flesh." "The white teeth scattered on the stone." "And the music." Magenta gripped Riff Raff's arm ecstatically. "Oh the music!" The three stood together, their eyes wide and moist, pupils dilated. George, Robert and Marc exchanged glances. Robert tapped the side pf his head and nodded at the group. Then he mouthed the words. "Completely mad." There was an awkwardly long silence. "So." prompted George eventually. "The music was quite good was it?" "Oh wonderful, wonderful." Gasped Magenta. "Oh to return to the moon drenched shores of our beloved planet. To sing and dance once more to that dark refrain." "Couldn't you just sing it here?" George suggested. Their eyes turned on him slowly. He moved back nervously. They turned back to each other, and smiled. Then they began to sing.

Sunlight was already showing through the cracks of the horizon when George, Robert and Marc retired to bed. They had spent the night learning an alien dace called "The Timewarp", and entertaining the aliens with their own mucic. George had demonstrated a song called "I'll Tumble 4 Ya", Robert had played "Let's Go to Bed" and Marc gave a raucous rendition of "Get it On". Columbia escorted the three men to bed, leaving the aliens alone. Once the doors of the dining room were closed Magenta turned to Frank. "You told them they could leave." She said, her voice harsh in the silence. Frank smiled. "Do not fear Magenta." He stroked her arm gently, and his voice was sweet. "I'm sure our guests will stay a little while longer. The three aliens exchanged glances. Then all three began to smile.

Chapter 8 - Last night on Earth. George lay in the soft red glow of his room and stretched his entire body, enjoying the feeling of comfortable boredom. He curled up sleepily, and rolled into a ball beneath the sheets. But something was bothering him. He could not sleep, and his eyes were drawn to the bedside table. Eventually he gave up, reached into the drawer and lifted out the box he had been given. He opened it and squinted drunkenly at the contents. Then he glanced toward the door nervously. All was silent. George turned back to the box and smiled. "After all." He thought. "What harm can a little bit do?"

In his room Robert shivered in the cold blue light. In his hands he held the sheet of paper from the ebony box. The rows of printed lips drifted in and out of focus as he stared at them in the dim light. His hands moved rhythmically, folding and refolding the paper. Finally he tore a square from one corner, held it up balanced on his forefinger and stared at it. "After all." He thought. I might as well enjoy myself while I have the chance, mightn't I?"

Marc sat at the dressing table and stared at his reflection, distorted by the liver-spotted mirror and the greenish glow that illuminated the chamber. In front of him, on the dressing table's glass top, he had arranged the white powder into thin lines. Now he stared at them sadly. He turned to the door and listened. Nothing. He turned back to the powder. "After all." He thought. "Who'll know?"