Author's Note: Okay, I'm throwing yet another shout-out to Sarah. This one is for doing research on skin conditions that can result in greenness, and for helping me to text in class without ever being noticed. That said, thanks to Ione A. Carr, my cousin, who gave me the Horror Convention idea, as well as the term Horrorette, and the idea of Roger being a closet Horrorette. And to my friend Anthony, who proofreads everything for me, and my friend Mark, for helping me to decide which characters live where and are dating whom.

"I'm telling you, Mark, she actually believes that Oz exists." Roger hadn't even made it home from the Rocky Horror Convention. He'd dragged himself as far as his sister Alianne's apartment, where Mark was currently living, and crashed on their couch. Mark had offered him a cup of coffee at ten o'clock in the morning, and was being caught up on the details of last night, which he'd had to miss due to Alianne-five months pregnant-having a doctor's appointment. "Mark, I don't care that she's green, you know I don't give a crap about skin color, but she is completely insane."

Mark looked up from the Sunday paper. "Roger, have you ever considered the fact that you aren't exactly open-minded? If she says it exists, maybe it does."
Roger tried to change the subject. "So, what's today's big headline?"

"Cover page: 'Strange green object and two less strange white ones fall from sky and hit NYU professor on head.'"

Roger snorted into his coffee. "Seriously?"
"No. The headline is this: 'Rocky Convention Goes Off Without a Hitch.'" He continued reading the article. "'The Rocky Horror Convention, which ended this morning at five am, was a smashing success for NYC economy. Fan Club president Richard Burton made the decision to hire local musician Roger J. Davis, famous for such hits as 'Death Blow' and 'Sometimes (I'd rather not get out of bed)', pulling a lot of support from local Rocky Horror fans.'" You were mentioned. Aren't you excited?"

"I told them to drop the 'J' from my name." Roger chuckled. "Mark, you've become mainstream, my friend. You're reading the Times, for God's sake. What are you doing for a living these days?"

"I'm back at Buzzline. Just until the baby comes and Aly can get back to work. Then it's back to my films."

"You, my friend, are one hundred percent un-bohemian. We have to fix that."

"Later. Aly and I want to meet this 'Elphaba.' She sounds interesting."

"She is, mostly. I don't know, Mark, maybe I do have a problem with her skin color."

"Nah, you wouldn't be Collins' friend if you did. Roger, you're too centered in the real world. I mean, I get why, with all the shit you've been through, but that's exactly your problem. You insist on having proof shoved under your nose. She can't prove it, you won't believe in it."
"Mark, I got straight A's in high school. I was in three years of AP science. I was our fucking class valedictorian. I got my bachelor's degree majoring in music history with a minor in physics. Yes, I like having proof of something if I'm expected to believe in it! Is that a crime?"

"I didn't say it was! But you need to have some imagination sometimes, Roger."

"Do you two mind?" Aly appeared in the doorway-rather, her stomach appeared with her face behind it. "I'm trying to concentrate on deep breathing. The midwife said it was good for the baby." Aly was having a home birthing, and she'd been seeing numerous New-Age midwives and herbalists for the best care possible.

Roger smiled, getting up and embracing his sister. "Sorry, sweetie. We didn't mean to disturb you."
Aly scowled. "Well, all this negativity is going to seep into the fetus and corrupt it. So if you're going to argue, take it elsewhere."

Roger gently placed a hand on his sister's large belly. "We don't want to corrupt my future niece or nephew, do we?"

"No, we don't." Aly disappeared into her room, closing the door. Mark sighed. "I feel like I should worry about her. She hasn't seen a gynecologist since she found out she was pregnant."

"Leave her be. I should get going anyway. Mimi's going to be worried that I'm not home." Roger picked up his guitar, heading for the door. He turned. "Hey, I'll be sure to pick up a copy of the Voice so at least Aly won't lose her bohemianism!"

Mark threw the discarded sports page at Roger. "Shut up."

Roger chuckled. "Later, Mark."