Hey guys. Me again.

First of all I'd like to apologise. I know I'm under no obligation to update regularly but I try and stick by that, and I feel like I left everyone hanging without an explanation. The long and short of it is that I've had a rather difficult time these past few months and it impacted upon my writing. As much as I love doing it and it's a welcome distraction, I couldn't get immersed in it the way I normally do and everything seemed to come out wrong.

I'm not a huge fan of the previous chapter so I probably will go back and edit that one in the near future. Keep an eye out for that if you are interested.

If you are still here: thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

And lastly, I could never leave this story unfinished.

'We need to have a serious talk.'

They sat in an extraterrestrial triangle, bathed in the sickly blue light of early morning. Shaking, silent. Staring at each other, at nothing, at death, with a vacant, glazed look in their eyes.

Riff sat on one tattered sofa, his right leg jiggling up and down. One would think the same compulsive habit imploring him to pick at a piece of thread dangling from the torn upholstery applied in a neurological sense, but he had yet to let on that he was actually not able to stop. The nervous wreck, the hollow shell of a man had not slept at all and felt himself slipping away, least not from the shrieking wail of silence. The dark purple bruises and sallow, gaunt cheeks served nothing short of delight to his equally shattered observer.

Frank sat opposite, elegantly perched atop a sofa identical to the first, and took this opportunity to savour the black fear and pure, smouldering hatred emitting from the man before him. He had that knowledge. He held the key to the man's life, itself. And most crucially, he knew what Magenta didn't. And once he disclosed just what the vile creature had done to the girl Magenta so utterly adored (taking his sweet time with that one, of course) he felt a reasonable amount of confidence that Magenta would abandon her loyalties to her sibling (thank fuck for that) and then the man would have nothing. Frank would keep him alive, of course, and make him suffer. Make him live in the sense that his lungs properly functioned and his heart pumped inside his chest, but that would be all. Frank simply couldn't wait.

Magenta sat at the head of this impromptu conference table. In the middle of both men she sat on a floral stool, one leg crossed over the other and her skirts spilling over the edge and breezing about her bare legs. She hadn't slept so much as fainted, and regained consciousness feeling unrefreshed. Despite this, it was her who forced herself to leave her bed, accomplished the tall order of coaxing Frank away from Sprite (who hadn't moved at all since she slipped off, and each rise and fall of her feeble chest echoed tantalisingly close to death) and took a moment to steel herself when she went to fetch Riff Raff. And, without knowing of her brother's earlier endeavours with Columbia, she dosed the poor girl up to her eyeballs with morphine, to keep her quiet and at peace, at least until they made a small amount of headway. And it was her who broke the silence.

Both eerie figures turned to look at her.

'She's dead,' Riff stated, and Frank moaned softly. Magenta glared at him with fire in her eyes but even that left him unfazed. 'What is there to talk about?'

'She's not dead, you imbecile, I stayed with her and heard her breathing all night.'

'I'm preempting.'

'Alright, shut up, you two.' Magenta ran her hands through her hair and sighed heavily. 'The fact is, right now, she's very much alive, and as pivotal as that might be for us, none of us want that to change.' The second glare achieved at least something. Riff shifted uncomfortably, but it felt very much like acting. 'Obviously the first thing we need to establish is what the fuck happened last night.' She nodded at Frank. 'You first.'

The right hand immediately went to his sticky red mouth, long fingers hanging loosely over the over-drawn corners, shaking lightly in the dramatic pause.

Frank had made an appearance to this dysfunctional family meeting in an oversized, worn out, black night dress. Once upon a time it would have flowed effortlessly, hugging every curve and accent in all the right places. Sleek material and intricate lace would have been just the start of an unassuming guest's slow descent into stolen, secret eroticism. Both aliens watching him prepare himself would have said that even they had been caught by surprise once or twice. Only Magenta, however, would have been able to act upon those feelings. Riff could only fantasise.

But now, sitting there and seeing him disheveled, distressed, face swollen from crying, hair matted and tangled, makeup running or otherwise not there at all and the entire aesthetic was an accident... it was like looking at a broken doll. Or at least, a very shameful little boy who'd been caught playing with his mother's pretty face paints.

There was nothing evil about him. Nothing sadistic, or immoral, or dangerous.

Rage came as a sudden attack, and filled Magenta, almost to the brim. He was just a normal person, before all of this. He had a nasty temper on him and perhaps a few chocolate chips short of a cookie but this Frank, the Frank that caused all of this and ruined that poor girl's life, the Frank that found relief in hurting people, the dark, iron-fisted, chronically unstable Frank that, in a cruel twist of fate, everyone would remember...he was manufactured. He was scouted by the hungry and the lustful figures in this world. He was broken down and eroded into nothing but pain and fear and painstakingly built back up again.

They didn't have to be there, but she did. She had to live with the memories of the blood and the waste and the vomit. She had to grapple against the images of bruisings, of icy water dripping from black curls, and raw, glistening burns, just for her to sleep at night. She had to sit in quiet rooms and still hear petrified screaming, sobbing, industrial, electrical noises, the buzzing, and buzzing, and buzzing.

Look at him now. Look at life he led, how it had irreparably damaged him, and how it had damaged so many others.

Are they proud, she thought, of what they'd done?

'Well, Lessie had been crying before she went to bed last night. She got herself into a bit of a state-.'

'As per.'

Frank didn't even react. It was her that killed Riff Raff with a glare this time.

'So I took her upstairs, got her settled, and waited until she'd slipped off to sleep before I went into the lab. I always go in there during the night now, it's less distracting if my little mouse is sleeping. Of course, that theory lasted a few hours before you came banging on the door, Magenta, babbling something chronic about finding her in the kitchen, sprawled out and unresponsive.' Magenta caught a flicker of recognition between the two men, but couldn't pinpoint what it was. 'And there she was, sagged against the cabinet like a rag doll. She'd been at the alcohol again. Riff came down not long after and we all helped to get her back into bed. I sat with her for two hours but she didn't make a sound. I talked to her. Sang to her. Squeezed her hand and begged her to squeeze back. You coaxed me back into your bed,' this time Magenta knew exactly why the air crackled, and in her stomach flared ugly shame. 'And I fell asleep. Until she started wailing.'

Riff gave more or less the same version of events. He testified that he had been dozing when he heard worried voices downstairs, and got up to find the pair of them hefting a lifeless body into a bridal's carry. He retired from the girl's room so as not to be disrespectful, but maintained a watchful eye all the same. The only confession he made was that he used an illegal sedative on the girl for their sake and hers, but none of them had any qualms about that.

However, the way Frank glowered at the man unwaveringly, and the almost pitiful way in which Riff cowered away from him, suggested he had a lot more to disclose.

Magenta wouldn't question it, for now. But when this reached the aftermath, she would track both men down and nail them to the wall by their fucking testicles.

'Next,' Magenta continued, as if referring to an invisible agenda. 'The crest.'

An audible shudder ran through all three of them.

'I have nothing to say about that.'

'Me neither. It's there, what can we do about it?'

'Seriously? Are you really being this blaze? Neither of you feel the need to ask why?'

'I can't do that, Magenta. I'm barely hanging on as it is.'

'I think it's genuine.'

'I don't. I felt it. It feels...different. Raised, ever so slightly.'

'It doesn't seem to itch or irritate her. How could it be a tattoo?'

'She's been covering it with makeup every day, she might use soothing cream or something else along with that.'

'Well she obviously doesn't, have you ever seen any?'

'You two seem awfully opinionated on this for having only just discovered it.'

Brother and sister shared a nervous glance.

'We knew,' Magenta admitted, taking one for the team this time. 'She showed me not four months into her stay, and I confided in Riff afterwards.'

Frank stared, furious.

'And I suppose you just neglected to tell me?'

'We didn't tell you because it would have made everything ten times worse. Especially with the state you were in that night.' Frank hung his head, picking at a loose piece of skin on the palm of his hand. 'Riff and I didn't think it would turn out or be anything too serious, and it wasn't causing any major problems. So we left it out.'

Frank sighed, the adrenaline just washing out of him. He leaned forwards, elbows on knees, face in hands. Both could see the damning affect this was having on him. The mental and the physical strain of all the hysteria. And Magenta didn't know about Riff, but it scared the hell out of her.

'Whatever is going on here, has been culminating for a very long time. And Riff,' Frank tossed him a glance, and for the first time ever, he didn't flinch, 'I think you know that better than anyone.' He stared back, astounded. 'She confides in you. I'm not stupid. But I am tired. I can't regulate everything.' His lip quivered, and he may have even smiled. 'You have a connection with her that I'll never be able to understand. And the scraps of nonsensical ravings I get from deliriums and bad dreams, you get from whispered conversations and late night gardening.' Ludicrously long eyelashes brushed his cheeks. 'You know what I'm going to say, don't you?'

His heart slugged against his chest. It physically hurt him, sitting there with the sound of his heart in his head. He paled so quickly that Magenta started to stand up, worried he might keel over any minute. All of a sudden it just started happening too fast. He couldn't breathe. He feared death. He hated Frank. He loved Frank.

He loved Frank.

'I haven't a clue what she talks about.'

Gone, as if he'd been stabbed. Pop. Someone cut the thread.

'But I think you do.'

Time seemed to freeze. Those eyes bored into him for an eternity.

Magenta's voice came out so soft he could barely hear it.

'Riff?' A whimpering sound, almost, similar to the noise she'd make after getting caught in the act by their parents. 'What's he talking about?'

They looked. Pleaded.

'I don't know,' Riff said. Columbia was still lying upstairs. It couldn't end all like this. 'I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to. I think you're just getting yourself too excited.'

A new tear fell from Frank's eye, just one. Tattooed with runny black mascara.

The siblings blatantly ignoring this, Riff settled himself to face forwards and Magenta adjusted her skirts. 'I agree with you that things have been brewing.' Magenta's voice rang clear and travelled far, not weighed down at all by tremors or thick, wretched tears. 'But I think the real issue here is figuring out how to get this finished as quickly as possible so we can get the fuck out of here.'

Even Riff seemed a little surprised.

'What? You can't still think we can come back from this. We need to go home, now, before it's too late.'

Frank almost lunched for her, but stopped himself at the last second.

'And just...just leave her?'

'Have you got a better idea?!' She covered her face with her hands and took a few deep breaths. 'I am not heartless, Frank. I know how much of a crushing decision this is going to be. But you have to think about this now, Frank, you can't keep kidding yourself that in some Hollywood moment, everything's going to click at the last minute and we'll all get our way. Think about how many issues have stacked up on our backs since Sprite came to us. Recollect them now, so I know you understand.'

Frank hated when Magenta addressed him like this. He could handle his own affairs, and he was not a fucking child.

'The lab,' he mumbled. 'That's probably the biggest one, and the gateway into everything else. She walked in on me dissecting that bloated biker and convinced herself she was at fault for his gruesome death.'

'Convinced herself?' Neither of them knew Riff could speak with such emotion. 'Are you shitting me?!'

'Whatever,' he grumbled again, and shifted around with semblance of guilt. 'Then I was prepared to help her relieve that burden from her, but she threw herself at me instead so I had to take...a contingency plan. The ongoing issue with her addiction. Then Hugo, and his song and dance about the whole thing. During that, we almost got caught by the mother in her old house, found out she'd soon be a big sister, and she also got arrested for street fighting like a fucking animal. Then you lot leaving, and my girls coming over instead. Then that awful copper haired girl rocking up out of nowhere and we all remember how that ended up. Then Dax leaving, and she got upset because I was upset. Then discovering that her absence hadn't been that much of a loss to everyone at home, and it broke her heart. Not to mention how ill she's been throughout all this mess.' Frank finished on a whisper. 'And now this.'

In between the tear filled pauses, Riff added the Juniper narrative. The letters, the clearing, the black music box and lacy mouse ears. The tunnel in the dark, and the cryptic clues on the wall.

Magenta thought back to discovering her birthmark, that hallucinogenic piano concerto, and treating her wounds after that night of brutal sadism.

Had Columbia been awake, she would have thrown in not telling anyone about the audition, carrying the secret of her drug trafficking side gig with Riff Raff, and the guilt of getting her sentiments torn up.

And to top it all off, the constant looming of psychotic danger from Frank himself, which nobody seemed to mention.

In the long and short of it, they were fucked. And they had very little time to decide what to do.

Riff asked permission to speak.

'In my opinion, we need to stop worrying about what other people feel, and focus instead on how we are going to come out the other side of this.' He fixed the man opposite him with a steely glare. 'We are burning the candle at both ends here. And no matter how deeply we might feel about some of these unfortunate circumstances, some things will just have to be compromised.'

Frank understood the wordless agreement. They knew what she discovered, where she'd been, and what she'd say when she came back around. They had to lie, and they had to lie fast.

'My brother's right.' Magenta pushes her hair back from her face and sighed, keeping her eyes closed. 'How long?' She said, and winced as if in sharp pain. 'If we take the necessary measures to keep the girls...quiet and out of the way, so you two can devote all your time to plough through this, how long do you think it will take you to complete our mission and send for the adjudicators?'

Riff and Frank looked at each other, and shrugged.

Riff said, 'Six weeks.' Frank added, 'Eight, maximum.'

'Okay.' Magenta frowned deeply now, nodding at the floor. She was thinking hard. 'Obviously we need to get Sprite and Columbia sorted out first but once that's over we can-.'

The familiar sound of muffled groaning filtered from upstairs.

Frank and Magenta leapt up at once, but Frank flapped her away, uttering, 'I'll go, I'll go,' and dashing past her. They watched him go, scaling the staircase two at a time.

Magenta sprawled backwards in her chair, covered her face with her hands and groaned. 'Oh Riff,' she lamented, 'what have we done?'

Riff stared at a patch of chipped paint on the wall. Maybe it was better to just ignore the origin of all of this, and take his knowledge to the grave. Nobody else need know. He'd secured his place in Hell a very long time ago.

'After all this time.' Riff glazed over and moaned softly at the sight of Magenta crying. 'What have we done?'

Frank took a few half-seconds to compose himself before he went in. He didn't want to break down the door like an enraged bull and scare her even further. He took some deep breaths, tried to still his shaking hands, and pushed the door open.

She wasn't on all fours, wailing like a case of demonic possession like last time. He could make out the shape of her tiny frame curled up under the covers, the hem pulled right up over her head, as she stretched and writhed sluggishly. Sleeping or conscious, Frank didn't know, but he closed his eyes, steeled himself, and took a few hesitant steps towards the bed.

'Lessie?' He sank down ever so carefully, settling himself atop the silky quilt. 'Baby...?'

He reached out, long fingers unfurling with silent precision, and - hardly daring to breathe - pulled back the hem of the bedspread.

The sun caught a sheen of her silver hair just before she sprang up and punched him.

Her small fist caught him right between the eyes. It didn't hurt, but the shock of it ripped a bark out of him and sent him reeling. He folded backwards like a fucking lawn chair, hands scrambling to push himself upright. He was a lanky person, and managed to kick a small nightstand over, ornaments sprawling, one hand grabbed the curtain and ripped half of it from the rail and cracked his head on the wooden flooring with a dull thump when his stomach muscles failed him.

Long limbs and quick, spidery movements were all well and good until you had no control over them. And after all that, the loud bangs and bumps probably gave poor Lessie a heart attack.

He swore, drunk with pain, and moved to a kneeling position before standing.

His little mouse was an exact replica of herself upon their first meeting. Curled up as far as possible against the wall, knees drawn to her chest and blanket draped over her petite form. Her dainty feet trembled atop the mattress. If he ignored the pounding in his ears, he could just hear her breathing. High-strung, almost sobbing but not quite. She would lapse into hysterics if he ignored all his caregiving instincts and tore the blanket from her, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to him and then he was free to shout, intimidate, interrogate, and not give an inch until she stopped this little game of hers and told him what she'd really been up to.

He could see it now. Not even breathing room between the wall, Lessie and himself, hands around her throat or under her shirt, perhaps one braced against the wall for a more dramatic affect. He could dig deep, finally, and scoop out those delicious answers he'd been craving.

'Who the fuck do you think you are? Snooping around my house, invading my privacy, spouting pigheaded lies every chance you get. No wonder you're a miserable wreck.'

'How much longer are you going to drag this out, my girl, hmm? How much more can you extort out of me?'

'I pity you, little mouse, I really do. So sick in the head, poor thing, must be dreadful. Just what the bloody hell is wrong with you?'

'Juniper. I know you know. Who is she, where is she? Come on, smartass, she's been your little obsession for weeks! Stop lying to me. Tell me, now!'

He saw slapping, biting, spitting. Claws scratching, mouths screaming, bones breaking. They'd be locked in their together, their own corner of heaven, and no one else could do a thing about it. No one could force him to hold back.

She deserved it, after everything she'd put them through. Just as he deserved the relief. Sweet, blessed relief, after all this time. Keeping up the facade of a warm, charming, quick-witted gentleman twenty four hours a day. At times, it rather muddled with the brain.

At last he could let go.

She would still want him afterwards. Seek him out, as per. He had his ways, and he was an expert at them.

He would make her beg. Make her crawl.

A delicious shiver ran through him.

But he couldn't do that. With a reluctant sigh, the cooling mist began to settle, unclenched his jaw and relaxed his muscles. Rotated his stiff neck a few times.

As much as that fantasy glimmered so temptingly, it just wasn't feasible. Her lovesick companion, constantly pining for her even after knowing she'd never compare, would always see to that. Magenta. His gaze blackened. Soft in the head, she was.

And then there was Riff. He might take the cowardly step and keep his mouth shut while it was in progress but he'd turn on him the second they stepped on familiar soil. They both knew that. Deceptively loyal they were, both of them. A disgusting pair. They might play the part of the simpering, ever ready to please manservants but all three of them knew if they were to go down, come hell or high water they would drag him down with them. Kicking and screaming.

So, with reluctance and copious amounts of self control, Frank merely sighed wistfully and resumed his position at the foot of the bed. 'Oh, Lessie...' He crooned, reaching out to remove the covers a little more gently that first planned. The slender, manicured hand trembled. He pulled the sheets back far enough to see the top of her head and her large eyes. He tilted his head down to get a better view of her - shivering and sweating at the same time - and pouted sympathetically. 'Now what on Earth was that for?'

Something like hope flashed in her eyes and her head lifted slightly. 'Frankie?'

'Yes, honey. It's me. Can I come in?'

By 'in' he meant climbing under the covers and sitting up in an actual bed, putting his arm around her and letting her rest her head on his chest as she did when she was tired, and not leaving until he figured out what was going on.

He leaned forwards but she recoiled, all that fear and distrust back in her eyes at once.

'You've never called me that before.'

He closed his eyes and bit back a scream. Pet names? Are you fucking kidding me...?

Demonstrating again, just what a skilled performer he was, Frank kept his voice low, and warm, smiling in between phrases to keep her relaxed. Keep her sweet.

'Well you've never looked so frightened of me before, so I suggest that makes us even.' Her shoulders relaxed, but she didn't say anything. 'Now then my little mouse,' he advanced slowly and didn't look away from her. 'Is there anything you'd like to tell me?'

He waited, but could feel his patience wearing very thin. 'Lessie I know you're scared, darling, but you're being silly now. You know exactly who I am and you know I'm not going to hurt you. Something very serious has happened and we need to sort out how to help you so you need to talk to me. Understand?'

Stern, but loving. She flushed pink, thankfully the firm (he'd never quite had the balls to describe it as paternal but had always known that's what it really was) approach had worked.

Worked like a charm on Columbia too. Or it did, until she got too big for her boots and ended up on the wrong track, like they all did. He hadn't give much thought to Columbia at all lately. He barely saw his exuberant little firefly anymore, and in any case, she probably wouldn't survive much longer to change that.

He had to steer Lessie away. Act now, before it was too late. If not, she'd end up just like her. And that wasn't happening. No way. Not in a million years would his dear sweet little mouse wind up as this washed out, bruised, battered old thing with only eyes for the needle and a vague hatred for everything else.

Columbia's bursts of hyperactivity were nothing more that routine periods of mania. Anyone could see that.

Perhaps Frank was partly at fault for Columbia's destination in life. Perhaps he had been too soft with her - too lenient the first time around - but now he was older, wiser, he knew better. He'd done this before. And his absolute favourite obsession of all was coming out the other side with him, breathing or not.

He couldn't ruin another one.

Had Frank not been staring her out, he wouldn't have seen her mouth move. Her words came out too soft.

'I thought...I didn't know...I thought you were...' she was trying, and Frank respected that, so he waited for her to swallow down and collect her thoughts. 'I'm in trouble.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'What makes you think that?'

'They know. They saw me.'

'Who did, sweet girl?'

'I don't know,' she whispered desperately, starting to panic again. Frank recalled that punched in the stomach feeling and actually felt bad for his deranged little mouse, falling victim to her neurological inadequacies once again. Through pants and high strung breaths she confessed, 'but they know what I look like, they'll recognise me now and it's only a matter of time before they-!'

'Alright, darling, alright.' He offered his hand and this time she took it, clamping around his fingers in a vice like grip. 'I think we need to slow down, we don't want you getting in a state again. Now why don't you cast your mind a little further back and tell me where you saw these people?'

'Under the stairs.' She said without missing a beat. 'So many dead people are living under the stairs.'

Frank kept a straight face, but squeezed her hand so hard she screamed. What the fuck...?

'You didn't believe me last time and you don't believe me now.' He phased back in and almost jumped. Such naked, smouldering hatred. 'Last night I was so scared. I thought I'd gone insane. I thought I was going to die. I thought I was still down there, in the dark, and that they were going to hold me down and torture me for waking them.' She retched and covered her mouth in the same beat. Frank whipped the blanket away and shoved the same bowl from last night under her nose, in case she needed to use it again. She gripped the edges and her doll like hands were quaking.

'I thought they'd force me to become like them.'

She pushed the bowl away and started picking at her skin, running her restless fingers over the scars, bruises, love bites, peppering her arms.

Poor, poor fucked up little girl.

'Lessie...my love, when you say like them, do you mean-?'

'Dead.' She said. 'Or as good as. There's no way a human thing can survive like that. One of them didn't have any ears. And another, this one had eyes but they were so bruised and swollen, one had yellow pus leaking out like tears. One of them grabbed me, it clutched me here,' she lifted her shirt up and sure enough, faint red scratched stood out on her white abdomen, just above a dirty handprint, 'I pushed it away and the entire wrist came off in my hand. It's claws were stuck in me, I had to yank them out. It followed me when I turned to run, only it was crawling because it stopped just below its knees.

'Another wanted to tell me something, I think, but it's mouth was but a gaping hole. It's tongue had been hacked out, and not done a very good job of it. I could see bits of it still dangling there. Grey and fleshy. Something caught my foot and sent me sprawling. I cut my knee, the ground was hard.' Again, proof. Frank would tend to that later, stroke it with a warm cloth, simper and croon and kiss her better. 'I don't know how long I stayed curled up on the dank floor but the next think I knew, one of them was bent down, slimy hair tickling my face and the smell from that mouth...'. She heaved again, silently, but nothing more. 'It didn't have teeth. Flies were on its face. It could stand, but barely, one leg turned right the way in and the other food dragged along the ground. I couldn't have been staring at it for very long but it felt like hours. Like maybe all the bad things I've done, this awful person I've become, had caught up with me out of the blue and whisked me to hell.'

'Lessie you're not going to-.'

'I knew it. I knew it was hell because I knew it. Had it been a real person, - had it not been mutilated beyond recognition - I would have remembered it. Seen that face before. Liked it, loved it, even.' She shook her head, a watery, apathetic look in her eyes. 'I couldn't place you in a state like that.

'I don't remember getting out, although I must have done. I felt around the walls like something out of The Yellow Wallpaper. I would probably still be doing it now had I not awoken, half mad, in my own bed. I do remember, however, standing up and seeing what I tripped on.'

Frank brushed his fingers along her cheek and she leaned into his hand, sighing. She seemed to have shut down, and if Frank stroked her face for long enough, she would have drifted off to sleep. He could have left it at that, get her settled and lull her into a light doze - but the story was getting rather good, and Frank quite wanted to know.

'What was it, darling? Can you remember?'

'A full head of hair,' she said, drunk with fatigue. 'The scalp was still intact.'

Magenta stirred a pot of hot tomato soup over the flame. The rhythmic, systematic movement calmed her jangling nerves. Helped unravel her thoughts.

It was past midday and no one had eaten a thing. Columbia was still zonked out on her bed. Magenta sprinkled in some light seasoning and poured the dark liquid into five bowls. Her hands had stopped shaking sufficiently to stop her spilling it. She sniffed out the flame, swiped her forearm across her damp brow and picked up two bowls. She would serve hers and Riff Raff's first, then carry the next two upstairs and see if the twisted lovebirds were hungry yet. She wanted Columbia all to herself. To rouse her, carefully, and bring her round to a house that hadn't changed at all.

That poor girl. She might as well not even be here.

Riff took his bowl somewhat mechanically and began to eat. Spoon to mouth was an unconscious process. He barely tasted it, in any case it should have been far to hot to eat just yet. It could have burned a hole in his tongue and he would carry on, unphased.

However he only managed a few spoonfuls of this before Frank cane storming into the room, clamped on his upper arm and hauled him along murderously. It sent Riff's meal flying, shattered porcelain skewing across the floor, scalding hot soup dripping from the table and burning Riff Raff's legs. As always, the man didn't make a sound.

Magenta darted back to the stovetop, grabbed a bowl and dashed upstairs, protecting the top with one hand. She couldn't bear to see what would happen to Riff now. This would finish him, for good. And she couldn't do a thing about it.

Frank saw red, hazed, drunk with rage, indignation, drunk with power. He threw the man into a nearby broom cupboard and slammed the door on him. No need to tell him to wait there. Several minutes passed (Riff's heart slugging in his ears) before Frank returned, quaking, this time with an electro-magnetic laser.

The laser.

And just like that, a laser capable of emitting a beam of pure anti-matter pressed against the centre of his forehead.

Frank was galvanising, wild, teeth bared and lips pulled back in a feral snarl. His eyes stared back at him, bloodshot, and not a hint of human empathy in there anymore. This was insanity. Personified, in the flesh, holding a murder weapon to his head. And the one thing you can't do with insanity, is reason. But he still had the knowledge. He held all the keys. So he had to try.

'You can't.'

'I can,' he growled, and gripped the handle with both hands. 'She knows. My little girl. She saw. The chamber. You swore.'

The tri-pronged laser buzzed, and the red beam began to wake. There it lay, throbbing. Humming. Breathing.

Riff's eyes fell closed, and felt warm urine running down his leg.

His master had gone mad. The man was going to kill him.

Ayyy Rocky Horror Live Saturday week whip. I shall be in the front row living my best life.

Alma Oakley