Note: the following is a work in progress.  It includes almost no
dialogue, as it is from Magenta's point of view, and the woman hardly
ever talks.  I like to think she has a rich interior life, and this is
my attempt to show it.

Any comments on the following are very welcome.  Characters are the
property of Richard O'Brien and 20th Century Fox (all hail).  Writing 
copyright 1995, Ruth Fink-Winter.

++++++++++>The Maid's Day Off<+++++++++++++

Magenta lay slumped on the divan, exhausted from lovemaking and keeping
up an interested facade as her latest plaything, one of Frank's
castoffs, prattled endlessly about nothing in particular.  The girl was
gone now, her tap shoes mercifully muffled by the thick carpeting of the
castle halls.  Magenta was glad; she needed time to think, and to
recuperate.  Their self-styled "Master" was hosting a party tonight, and
she and Riff would doubtless hold a bacchanal of their own before going
on duty.

The tension was mounting on their current assignment, babysitting an
egotistical court favorite whose personal peccadilloes threatened to
overwhelm the entire mission.  Magenta was losing her patience, and
recently her brother had become downright surly.  He was perilously
close to boiling over and prematurely blowing their cover.  Not that
Frank had made things easy for either of them: he seemed much more
interested in satisfying his enormous libido than in doing any
constructive research.  Keeping him on track without seeming to had been
an enormous headache.  He had even brazened his way into Magenta's room
one night, leaving only after she physically fought him off, hurling
imprecations and a lamp after him.  Since then, he had lost no
opportunity to flaunt his supposed status as their superior, even going
so far as to brutalize her beloved brother.  Something had to be done.

Magenta idly scratched her thigh, musing as her fingers traced the pale
skin where she had once worn the tattoo of the Transylvanian Court's
inner circle.  Frank was expendable; she had acquired a copy of his
notes, and the last of his experiments was scheduled for tonight.
A delegation from the home world would be attending.  It might be the
perfect opportunity to demonstrate the man's unfitness for command.  She
and Riff could easily provoke some ugly outburst, giving them an excuse
to dispose of him and end the ridiculous charade of being his "faithful
servants".  Perhaps it was time.

She stretched and sat up.  Riff would know what to do.  He always did.
She dressed slowly, spinning elegant webs of treachery in her brain.  As
she pulled on her stockings, she felt the caress of another mind on her
own.  Looking up, she saw her brother slouched in the doorway, leering.
She bared her teeth and leered back.  He crossed the room with a catlike
leap, pinning her to the couch.  

"If Frank only knew," he growled, his voice thick with lust, and bit
her.  They embraced fiercely, each fighting for purchase on the other's 
body.  "Let's do something evil tonight."  she hissed.  "Let's start
now," he answered, drawing his teeth down her neck to the hollow of her
throat.  She shuddered happily.  With such a partner, how could she not
love her work?

-- 
Ruth J Fink-Winter
wfink@iastate.edu
"An it harm none, do as thou wilt."
Iowa State knows nothing about my opinions.