Disclaimer: I do not own Rocky Horror, and I'm not making any money from this. I am losing money by writing stuff like this rather than getting a real job.
Authors note 8/2014: This story has been rewritten approximately 9,000 times since I first published it ten years ago. TEN YEARS AGO AND I STILL HAVEN'T WRITTEN THE LAST CHAPTER YET. So maybe, just maybe, I will finally get around to finishing it soon. (shakes fist at myself) Anyway, if anyone is too out of character, I'm sorry. If Rocky Horror/Moulin Rogue is a bad fusion, I'm sorry. If this sucks...fuck off, it doesn't suck, this is the finest piece of fan literature ever written, stop being a snobby noob, GOSH.
A pair of red lips appear on a black background and zoom in until they are in extreme close up. They begin to sing in a nasal drone:
There was a boy
A very strange, enchanted boy
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea
A little shy, and sad of eye
But very wise, was he
And then one day
One magic day he passed my way
And while we spoke of many things
Fools and kings
This he said to me:
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return'
There Was A...Boy?
I had only just arrived in Paris two days ago, young, foolish, and full of beans. I didn't have a place to stay nor did I know a single soul in the city, but I had to escape my father who was always criticizing me for my belief in love, as well as for my desire to become a writer instead of something more stable and secure, such as a lawyer or a banker. I quickly settled myself in a small, decrepit apartment building where I set up my typewriter and sat for hours every day, wracking my brain but unfortunately getting no more inspiration here—in the city of Love—than I had back home. But today, as fate would have it, someone dressed in a black suit and a gold and pink party hat crashed through my ceiling and landed right on top of my typewriter (with quite an impressive crack! I might add). Then, just as suddenly as all this occurred, my front door swung open and a man with a hump on his back, and long, stringy blond hair fringing his partially bald head barged in.
"Oh, I am sorry. We were just rehearsing our play and it seems Rocky got a tad bit too excited. Do forgive us," he said through his nose.
"Erm. Sure," I sputtered out, at a loss as to how else to respond. For one thing the deed had been done; for another, this fellow was freaking me out.
"Pardon me," he said as he stepped past me and bent over the body that had fallen through my ceiling. "Oh, he's dead!" he lamented, looking up through the hole in the ceiling at a muscular man with blond hair and a tan. "You've killed another one Rocky, you bad, bad boy!"
"Ugh!" was all the hulking blond man said in response.
Then a woman with a sickly pale face and impossibly frizzy red hair appeared in the hole alongside the blond man
"So now how are ve going to finish rehearsals if Rocky keeps killing the main actor?" she deadpanned in an accent I didn't quite recognize.
Then all three turned to look at me, as if I of all people could help them.
"Won't you come up and have a drink? I think there is a little favor you could do for us," the humpbacked freak implored.
Against all shreds of common sense I had, I went ahead and followed him to his room—not that I had much of a choice, since he had taken me by the wrist and was dragging me to the stairs before he had even finished his sentence. He pushed me through the group's apartment door and slammed it shut behind us. All in all there were five of them: of course there was the humpbacked freak, the red haired woman, and the muscular man with blond hair and a tan; but there was also another girl with red hair, except hers was short and impossibly straight instead of frizzy. She wore multicolored sparkling shorts, a glittering gold jacket, and a top hat to match. She was tap dancing to music being played by the fifth person, who was an old German man in a wheelchair. The girl with the sparkly outfit saw me and tippety-tapped over.
"Hi! I'm Columbia! What's your name?" she said in a voice that not only grated on my eardrums, but on my nerves as well.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your outfit," I said, though I hadn't meant to and I suddenly felt like a pompous goat. But apparently all was well because she simply laughed, momentarily making me wish I had offended her after all.
"I know it's a bit loud. It's my costume for the show we're putting together. Anything for the sake of showmanship!"
"I mean I think it's neat," I fibbed. "It's very, erm, er..ummmm...eye-catching."
She just laughed again and tried to turn the conversation back to where we had been before her shorts interfered. "Your name?"
"Oh, right, sorry. My name is Christian."
Just then the freak came over with a bottle of green liquid and escorted me over to the theatrical set they had put up for rehearsal. He introduced himself as Riff-Raff, and the redhaired woman as Magenta, his sister and girlfriend. I already knew Rocky's name from moments earlier, and the man in the wheelchair was called Dr. Scott. They then dressed me in a corset, knickers, stockings, and garters, and resumed practicing their show. For awhile I didn't know what to do, or why I was there, or how it had come to pass that I was a 25-fucking-year-old man standing in a room full of strangers and wearing women's lingerie. Not to mention the fact that I had no idea how to discreetly dislodge a killer wedgie.
'Damn French and their French cut briefs...'
"NO NO NO! You're doing it ALL WRONG!" Riff-Raff screamed at Rocky for the fifth time in the half hour we had been at it, and began chasing him round the room brandishing a candelabra.
"I grow veary of this show!" Magenta suddenly wailed, finally losing her patience. "Vhat happened to the beautiful idea ve had? Vhere did everything go wrong?"
Seeing such an unlikely display from his long-suffering sister/girlfriend, Riff-Raff immediately dropped the candelabra and rushed to her side, taking her hands and rolling their arms together in a bizarrely sensual movement that appeared to pacify her.
'God I wish I had just stayed in England and became a lawyer...'
Apparently while I had been drifting off into my own little world everybody else had gotten themselves sorted and had resumed rehearsals, because before I knew what was happening Rocky had lumbered over to me, hoisted me onto his shoulder, and proceeded to spin around in circles until I was about to blow chow.
"Whoa whoa whoa, let's just back up a few feet and park!" I screamed, hitting his back and kicking my feet until he set me back down. "What's the big idea there, buddy?" I poked a finger at his chest, forcing him to take a few steps back.
"Ugh! Ugghhh!" he replied with sincerity.
"Christian, please, we are trying to carry on with rehearsals!" Riff-Raff bellowed.
"I'm not going to partake in such...such nonsense! I don't even know what I'm doing here in this silly little show! And maybe if you'd change the script around a little bit, this behemoth wouldn't keep killing all of your actors!"
"What do you suggest we do then? Let YOU write the script?" Riff-Raff mocked, just before a look of absolute enlightenment crossed his face.
Everybody in the room looked at each other and smiled.
"Christian, my boy, I'm sorry I snapped at you just now," Riff-Raff said as he put his arm around my shoulder and led me over to the others. He sat me down and began to explain their situation. "We could really use your help right now."
"But I already am helping you...?" I said, looking down at my high heels.
"Yes, well, we could really use your help as a writer rather than an actor."
"As a writer?! You want my help as a writer! Good gravy, this is the job I've always wanted!" My concerned frown turned into a bright smile and I jumped up to click my heels together.
"So you'll do it then?" squealed Columbia.
"Fantastic," Riff-Raff said. "Now we just need to introduce you to our friend who can make all of this come to life."
With that said we all took a drink from the bottle with the green liquid.