Chapter Text
Long before Frank N Furter should be awake, Columbia hummed a partially remembered folk song while she touched up her cherry red pixie cut in the guest half bathroom. She was frankly mostly focused on her fast approaching 35th birthday, which felt a little startling since it felt like she’d been tap dancing for Frankie as a 19 year old just a moment ago.
She sighed with an old mix of wistfulness and contentment brewed in her gut, since she didn’t do much to celebrate her birthday. She never had much time anymore, after she’d taken over all the castle’s cooking from Magenta plus calming Frank when his emotions flared, to spare the other immortal transexuals the trouble.
On the more joking side, Columbia had also began only addressing him as “master” as a half joke once she officially became castle chef, that was usually met with a haughty chuckle, yet with a hint of annoyance in his gaze. It had become actually an unconscious habit after a while.
She was broken from her thoughts when she mindlessly moved a lock of hair, a stripe of sterling silver gazed back at her. A momentary panic gripped her before she shrugged it off. To be completely honest, she didn’t particularly mind, besides it was likely stress rather than age based, and it could be easily covered with hair dye anyway.
Just as Columbia lifted the applicator to her grey streak, a platform heeled, fishnet stockinged foot kicked the (admittedly old) door open making her jump so hard she almost sent her skeleton flying. After a brief dramatic pause, Frank N Furter’s face followed his strong legs through the doorway, as he sauntered into the room.
“Hello, you little minx,” He purred suggestively while she slowly turned back to the flithy mirror, which made him catch a glimpse of her streak. “Are you changing your hair? I’m so very attached to your current look!”
“Oh he is trying hard tonight”, She thought passively, “even if it’s like three am.”
“Just my greys coming in. Nothing much to worry about,” Columbia murmured sleepily, while he to look at her curiously.
“Greys?” He chuckled, like someone who didn’t quite understand the joke. Frankly, he always hated when he didn’t quite understand some aspect of human culture after hours of watching and reading so much earth media (even if most of it happened to be vile smut.) “What’s this all about?”
Mildly surprised, she quickly stifled a small yawn.
“My grey hairs, master!” She explained as though it rather obvious, yet nothing clicked for him still. “Y’know… aging and stuff. What…What years do to humans!”
“Of course I know your planet has this infuriating daylight cycle, and then when you have enough rotations or ‘days’ you get years. What in the universe that does have to do with your hair?” Frank asked a little irritated at her tone despite completely missing her point like a batter facing the opposite way from the pitcher.
Somehow, this intergalactic scientist had no idea of what aging is.
Columbia sighed, before leaning into his touch just slightly half just exhausted, and half to feel just how warm he was even in just a lacy lingerie set. God! she wished she was in bed right now, where she’d have both Magenta and Riff to keep her warm. Two natural hot running Transylvanians to snuggle up with definitely trumped one.
“Well,” She began after she begrudgingly pulled herself back to earth from her warm daydream, “Y’know how we humans keep track of our ages? Well that’s because we are physically affected by time. Our bodies just can’t keep going in peek condition forever, since we’ve got such short lives unlike you lot.”
A brief moment of silence passed, as Frank looked at her with a painful look of fear and curiosity on his usually charming features.
“Short lives?” Frank N Furter balked as panic formed a knot in his stomach, “How long are your lifespans, dear? Two or three centuries, perhaps?”
Tiredly, Columbia chuckled at his surprising naivety, “Not even close Master, I’d be lucky to live a SINGLE century, much less two. By then I’ll be too tired and achy to do much, plus I will probably be covered in drool too.”
While he stood frozen in shock and mounting horror, she just applied the blood-like dye over the strip as if this was no big deal that she wouldn’t be more than a memory in less than a blink of an shimmering eyelid.
Tying up her hair, she gave him a peck on the cheek, before skipping away to go watch an old, taped Scooby Doo episode to give the dye some time to settle into her hair.
Dear gods…
What could he do?