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

A/N: Here we get to see fictionalized versions of dear Patricia Quinn and solemn Richard O'Brien. They are not real at all. Well, it's like the Tim Burton movie Ed Wood versus the real Edward D. Wood jr. Some of it's true and some isn't.

The people who crashed the party were very polite about it. They didn't barge in wildly, or do anything crazy. And neither of them was intoxicated!

In fact, the only reason anyone acknowledged the appearance of the two strangers was that the woman had tried to pour something into the punch.

"What's in that bottle? I sure hope it's not alcoholic, 'cause we-"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Of course it's alcoholic! What else would it be?"

The other party crasher (a man) now looked very embarrassed. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea. I think we'd better leave n-"

"Not yet. It's only about nine-thirty!" the woman protested. "Anyway, this was a very clever idea. You said so earlier. In fact, if I-"

"You aren't nineteen anymore, no matter how hard you try," he replied darkly.

"Look, you can stay if you don't cause any trouble. Though we'd at least like to know names," Elsie said.

The woman smiled cheerfully. "I'm Patricia - call me Pat, though. And this fine young bald man is Ritzy. Isn't his hat nice?"

"My name is Richard, actually. Richard Smith," the man corrected.

Patricia was a petite woman who wore her brown hair curled and partially pinned back. The mischievous gleam in her vibrant green eyes made me think of some sort of troublemaking spirit out of a fairy-story. Probably an Irish one. There was something slightly Irish about her. Perhaps the green eyes reminded me of a leprechaun? She wore a vintage dress - from the '30s, I think - which complimented her figure very nicely. It was Something about her voice and her cheerful manner made her the sort of person you couldn't help but want to be around. That woman was intoxicating.

Oddly, Richard was the opposite. He seemed sort of shy and almost too serious. Like kids I might've gone to school with who were the cleverest yet never felt good enough. It was sad. Clearly, the man had a lot on his mind. I wondered what but didn't dare say.

Once the partygoers had gone back to their earlier conversations, and when Patricia thought nobody was looking, she poured the entire bottle into the punch. I was a bit

"What are you doing?" I asked her, quietly.

"Whenever she hosts a party, alcohol is banned," Patricia replied brightly. "And that makes things a bit too boring. Since none of them have work tomorrow, they can use the free time to figure out why their trousers are in her front garden."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think things could get that bad?"

She smiled a wonderfully roguish smile. "If all goes as planned."

Various guests began to drink more and more. I didn't drink any of the punch, though I did have a bottle of beer she offered me.

"So… how do you know Elsie Cartwright?" Pat asked, as we stood there.

"Well, I have a job backstage at the Royal Court Theatre. Though I don't really know her, since I work in the Theatre Downstairs and this party is for a Theatre Upstairs production," I explained.

"Hmm."

By then, all of the guests were showing some signs of drunkenness. The fact that there were only about fifteen people made that not as impressive sounding. And the party sounded a bit wilder than it actually was thanks to a record player turned up as loudly as possible.

Soon, they ran out of punch.

Luckily, Pat had brought a bag full of various almost-empty bottles of strong drinks just to refill the punch bowl.

"I went through the liquor cabinet at my apartment earlier this afternoon. These are all the almost empty bottles I found. They'll be too drunk to realize how awful it tastes soon enough," she explained as she poured it all into the bowl.

Her 'partner in crime', Richard, appeared to have started various drinking games among the guests. Of course, he didn't drink any himself. Clever.

Even cleverer, he left once things started to get really crazy.

By then nobody else was sober enough to speak clearly or walk in a straight line. Pat and I were like the two clear-headed people left. There seemed to be a fight of some kind going on and Elsie was in the corner making out with a random guy. It looked like what people think teenager-hosted parties are like.

"What do we do now?" I asked, staring at the madness around us.

"I'm really not sure. We could either run for our lives, get almost as drunk as these people all happen to be, or watch them look stupid while being glad we aren't them."

Watching one of the guests knock over a fancy glass lamp, I grabbed a glass. "I'll go with the second option. I really need a drink!"

"I brought perfectly respectable wine for that," Pat said cheerfully, pouring some for both of us.

"A toast to your talent for causing chaos!" I said brightly, gesturing toward the room.

"A toast," she repeated, clinking her glass against mine.

We both gagged at the taste of whatever was in the glass. It wasn't wine… though it wasn't actually bad. The flavor just surprised us.

She blushed. "I don't really drink very often, so I don't go into my cabinet very often. Somebody is messing with me… oh God. Only one other person has a key to that cabinet! I'll kill him if-"

To shut her up, I kissed her. Okay, I had had some of the punch earlier. And whatever we'd drunk was probably something strong. I get drunk very easily. That isn't a good thing.

Or maybe I wasn't drunk. Maybe it was how lovely her green eyes were. Those green eyes reminded me of someone, but I just couldn't remember whom!

Pat chuckled nervously. "I think escape might be a better option…"

"Right!"

Without further ado the two of us ran out of Elsie's house. A running car sat out front, with Pat's friend Richard in the driver's seat. He looked rather annoyed. This made sense, of course.

"Should we go straight to your flat or-" Then, he noticed me "Who's that?"

"My name's Laura Trent," I explained. "I'm the only sober person left from the party."

"An American in London," he muttered, noticing my (obvious) accent. "What ever will happen next?"

"He's joking," Pat whispered, seeing the expression of worry on my face.

"Oh."

"So, Miss Trent-"

"Laura."

"So, Laura, where do you live now?" Richard asked.

Good. He was going to drive me home! "I live with a friend of mine. Tricia Beeblebrox."

"Where's that?"

I told him the address and, then, he began to drive away.

We drove for a while. It felt kind of awkward, being in a strange car with people I'd just met. Though Pat made an effort to be nice about everything. She told poor Richard all about our little adventure.

"It took you more than an hour, Pat. You're record for getting a party of about 15 people drunk is exactly 45 minutes, 32 seconds," Richard said.

"Do you do this often?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Sometimes…" Patricia replied sheepishly.

"Most of the time," Richard corrected.

Then, the both of them burst out laughing. She seemed to laugh a lot more loudly and enthusiastically than he did. Not that this was a bad thing. They seemed like nice people.

Soon enough we were Tricia's street. I pointed out her house and Richard parked in front of it. Then, I got out of the car.

To my confusion, Pat also got out of the car. As did Richard. Then, they followed me to the door of Tricia's house.

After I'd unlocked the door they followed me into the foyer. There stood Tricia, reading a magazine she'd gotten in the mail.

"Who are you two?" Tricia asked, once she'd seen the three of us.

"I'm Patricia Quinn- though you can call me 'Pat'- and this is my friend Richard Smith," Pat explained cheerfully.

"Good to meet you," Tricia said politely.

Then, she led them into the kitchen. I'd learned by then that Tricia's an extremely trusting person. For one thing, she acted like I was an old friend the moment we met. So it made sense that she didn't mind these people I'd randomly brought home. She trusted me and therefore trusted my judgement when it came to choosing friendships. What an idiot!

"What happened to the party?" Tricia asked, as she served us tea. "It's hardly been an hour and a half, Laurie, but you're already back! With a few friends in tow!"

Richard sighed dramatically. "Pat gave a bunch of random actors - aged about 22 to 30 - strong alcohol. Drunken partying and general stupidity ensued. We were the only sober people left soon enough."

"It looked like the sort of crazy teenager party that doesn't happen in real life," I said, rather thoughtfully. "The sort of thing that's even crazier than all those weird events I got dragged to by various bands in my Sex, Drugs, and Rock n' Roll days."

"Yes, very wild… but also the kind of thing you laugh about years later!" Patricia added.

"You seem to have made friends very quickly," Tricia muttered, not totally approving. Though at least she still seemed to trust me.

I blushed. For some reason Tricia reminded me of my mother. Well, not my actual mother. I suppose she just seems like she's being a mother to me. What an odd way of putting it! The way she'd been 'helping me find friends' reminded me of what someone's mother might do when they'd moved to a new school. It's sort of patronizing of her, though in an accidental way. It's a sensible reaction, I suppose. And she'd also been acting as a mother to young Stella lately. Ever since I began work backstage at the Theatre Downstairs, she's replaced me in many areas of Stella's life. Maybe she'd spent so much time being Stella's mother that she'd decided to become my mother… or so I reasoned at the time.

That's when I began to realize that I probably owed her something for it all. Whatever Marcus was paying her couldn't be enough for what she'd done for us.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Tricia asked

"We're both actors," Pat explained. "I've had bit parts in two Frankie Howerd comedies from this very year. Now, I'm not so fond of him but I will say playing in Up the Chasity Belt was interesting, especially because Don was also in it. Don being my husband Don Hawkins. And I'm getting all sorts of roles on the telly. Not long ago I played a dominatrix on television! She was called 'Yvonne' and is my most daring role of the screen so far."

"You've had a very... colorful career," Tricia commented.

Pat smiled. "Yes! There's also been lots of stage roles, too... but everyone's done stage roles these days. Even Richard."

"I'm an out of work actor at the moment," Richard said, probably in an attempt to shut Patricia up. He wasn't enjoying her rant as

Patricia raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were in that funny religious play now? The Andrew Lloyd Webber one?"

"They fired me," he replied simply. "After my first performance, actually."

"Oh dear," Tricia muttered.

That's when Robby entered the room. "I heard unfamiliar voices and wanted to see-"

"A robot!" Richard said suddenly.

"Indeed," Robby replied.

"I thought aliens and robots and everything were common around here," I said, not understanding his enthusiasm.

"Space men are common in London, even though nobody likes to acknowledges it. But robots… whoa, there aren't many robots around! You look like something out of a science fiction picture. I loved going to the pictures as a kid- back when I could afford it. And my favorites were always the ones with the robots and the spaceships and everything. There's nothing like a science fiction double feature," Richard said, grinning.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up with inspiration. He became to snap his fingers a bit and sing. "Science fiction- ooh ooh ooh- double feature! See androids fightin' Pat and Laura…"

Pat and I both began to laugh. Robby, on the other hand, wasn't amused.

"Sir, I prefer the term 'robot' over android and even those of us who don't follow the Three Laws never fight people."

"Richard didn't mean anything by that little song, I'm sure," Pat said, smiling at the robot.

"Did you just improvise that?" I asked him.

"Sort of. I've been trying to write a musical, mostly 'cause it gives me something to do. It's not like it's even got much of a story. Right now it's just a few half written songs," Richard explained with a shrug. "That first part was from one of the songs I've begun. The bit about androids I just invented."

"Wow," I muttered.

"Can we here some of the other songs?" Tricia asked. "From your musical?"

"Yes, sing for us! I think they'd like the one about the sword," Pat added. "The Greek-sounding sword bloke."

"You mean the one I call That Ain't No Crime?"

"Yes! That one!"

"Well, then...

"The Sword of Damocles is hanging over my head ! And I've got the feeling someone's going to be cutting the thread… Oh! Woe is me - my life is a misery Oh! Can't you see? That I'm at the start of a dreary old downer…"

That song reminded me of Janet for some reason. If life were a musical, she'd probably sing that when she'd found out she was pregnant and stopped leaving the bunker. Though I tried to avoid thinking about Janet. Her death had been highly upsetting and all the fuss with the then-newborn twins kept me from properly mourning. So when I thought of her

Richard had a good voice that distracted me from dark memories of Janet Weiss. I realized that it was so very nice as he sang his various songs. Why would anyone fire someone with a voice like that? He didn't deserve to be some sort of 'starving actor' (which is like a starving artist, but in a theatre instead of a cheap apartment).

"You should play a character in that musical," I said. "I really hope you finish it soon, since you're so talented!"

"I'm not that good," he replied nervously.

"You are," I insisted.

"She's right," Pat insisted, kissing her friend on the forehead.

"Indeed," Tricia agreed.

He laughed at this. "If I had an actual plot to work with I might write something worth performing…"

That's when I decided to help him. I'd give him the craziest plot ever.

"You know," I muttered thoughtfully. "I think I can help you there."

Tricia looked at me in shock. "Laura! Do you really think-"

"That they should know? Yes. It's not like it'll cause any trouble. He won't show up for another two years!"

"What are you talking about?" Pat asked.

"The weirdest eight hours of my life," I told her nervously. "I think they'll make a good plot for a musical- Richard's musical."

"Tell us, then," Richard said.

So, I told them all that happened that night Eddie died. The night Stella was conceived. The night Frank was murdered. The night the servants went to a distant planet. All the terrible things that happened that life-changing night. It was a story that sounded more like the plot of a science fiction picture show than real life. Though they thankfully believed me. Indeed, who could make that much up?

"Is this why you left the United States?" Richard asked, once I'd told the entire tale.

"Yeah…" I replied awkwardly.

And that's when I began to cry. Recounting the whole thing, reliving those memories… not the best idea. Especially since I happened to be rather tired. When I'm tired I'm often more emotional. That's why everything seemed very dramatic in that diary entry I once wrote in the middle of the night.

"Oh, Laurie," Pat muttered, putting her arm around me.

That's when I realized who she reminded me of. Though her hair happened to be a bit lighter and her face slightly different, she resembled Magenta.

"You look… you look like… somebody… I knew," I said, sobbing pathetically.

"Who?" she asked.

"M-m-magenta. The girl I mentioned. You l-l-l-l-look like her."

Pat gave me an odd look. "Who?"

By then I'd managed to get myself under control and stop crying. "My friend Magenta. We were best friends, as Itolf you. Though I suppose 'best friends who screwed each other when we couldn't get anything from one of the guys' is a better way of saying it. The only stable relationship at the castle was between Magenta and her brother, though he didn't seem to mind what she did with anyone as long as there wasn't any actual emotional attachment."

Everyone- even Tricia- stared at me in stunned silence for a moment.

"Wow," Pat muttered, after a moment.

"Oh dear. Are you guys the sort who don't approve of… girl-on-girl?" I asked, cringing at how awkward that sounded.

"This is the 1970s, not the 1870s! We don't care at all," Pat replied cheerfully.

"We really don't," Richard added, though he looked bothered.

"Just don't, er, kiss me or anything. Well, for now…" Pat added, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

I laughed, as did everyone else.

"So, how did you end up at that castle…? If that's not too personal a question," Pat said.

"Well, I ran away from home at about 16. Then, I traveled with various bands for a few years as some sort of groupie. Since I don't weigh much- well, at least, I didn't then- drugs and alcohol went to my head very quickly. That means I don't remember much of what happened for a while. One day Frank picked me up in his pick-up truck and took me to the castle," I explained.

"Why did you run away in the first place?" Richard asked.

I sighed. "My older sister Agnes had a kid before she'd married her boyfriend- when she was 18. Since I didn't really understand how that could happen, a kid at school explained it in much detail. That- combined with my parents' strict rules- kind of freaked me out. I guess that was a pretty severe overreaction… but I was 16."

"Even I didn't know all that," Tricia muttered.

Then, Pat and Richard began to tell Tricia and I all about themselves. I suppose they thought I deserved to hear all sorts of random nonsense about them now that they'd heard about me.

I soon learned that Pat had been born in Belfast (Northern Ireland) and that Richard was originally from Gloucestershire– though moved to Hamilton, New Zealand at the age of nine or so. Apparently his 'real' last name was Smith, but the Actors Guild already had somebody called Richard Smith listed so he changed it to O'Brien.

"Do they really make you change your name like that?" Tricia asked.

He nodded. "Yes, they do."

"How did you guys end up in the business of acting?" I asked.

Pat smiled cheerfully. "When I first came to London, I was 17, I worked in various-"

"You were a Playboy bunny," Richard said, amused.

She glared at him. "Not until later, silly. Anyway I started to perform in plays and such. And, more recently, I've begun auditioning for television. As you know, I've already got a few minor roles here and there. Acting is so much fun, I think."

"What about you?" I asked, glancing at Richard.

"I didn't actually end up in show business until I moved to London at 22. At first I was a stunt actor for movies, but that was miserable. So I've been playing pathetic bit-parts in various musicals since," he explained.

By then, it was getting quite late.

"I don't mean to be rude," Tricia said. "But I think you two should leave now."

And so, they did. I hoped to see them again- and that my 'story' would make a good musical.

Please Review!