Title: Dust
Fandom: Rocky Horror Picture Show
Characters: Riff, Frank, OC Transylvanian
Prompt: 013. Yellow
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Ritz and Fox own all.
"C'mon, that's enough for today." Drake spun him about as he raised what felt like the thousandth block of sandstone. "Besides," the other squinted at the sun, which perched tranquilly on horizons that conspired vainly to be hills, "It's getting late. You'll have a love to be getting home to, no doubt."
Riff wiped the sweat from his eyes, wrung it in tiny rivulets from his hair, and tried not to be too resentful of Drake's comment. He'd meant well, of course, and there was never any way to tell what wounds the most casual words could open in another person, especially one you'd only known for a week of working on the tomb of the next generation of Transsexual royal bastards.
Riff spat--even his saliva seemed yellowed with sandstone dust--and muttered something indifferent in Drake's direction. He needn't have bothered; the other was long gone. Tentatively, he tried standing upright again, and the pain made him gasp and swear and stagger most appealingly against the still-warm stone. He recalled with some satisfaction the way the young, swaggering Prince's lips had chapped after only a few hours out in the hot sun and wind, supervising the building of the tomb he wouldn't occupy for another lifetime.
The cool metal of the chisel was the only comfort to him in the heat of his anger, and he hefted it, palms breaking out anew in sweat. His vision was an icy sharpness of blues, the royal blue, and he saw only the tiny square of stone before him, and that instantly detestable face, run through with the metal. Blue, square, face, chisel...Crack. The jagged hole was easily visible, even as he backed away from the wall, which really hadn't been all that thick.
He didn't flinch at the footsteps behind him, didn't feel the sudden swoop of guilt as a shadow joined his own across the stony ground.
"Nice work." There was no mistaking that voice behind him, but, for once, it didn't sound insincere, even choked with yellow dust and a thousand other lies.