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Lest we forget our friends	By : CherubChild Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Marilyn Manson Views: 2262 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Marilyn Manson. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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[ Disclaimer: This is a piece of utterly complete fiction* ]

From a few feet back his eyes looked like empty black sockets. He had the same blond hair, nonexistent eyebrows, and thin frame clothed with the tightest leather. I smiled, nudging him in the shoulder.

“Hey!”

He whipped around, dark eyes encircled by dark, brushing over me and then shooting past me; unsure of whom it was that had touched him. It seemed as though it took him a minute or so to realize it was me. I wasn’t that unrecognizable now, was I?

Suddenly, a velvety laugh escaped him, and he shook his head, “Twig—! Ah, Jeordie mother fucking White!” I didn’t get a chance to say anything in return because he pulled me into a strong hug. Most people would look at us and see one bag of bones clashing against another, but in fact, he had more muscle on him than I did.

“Look at you, man!! You look so… I don’t know… clean?!”

“Yeah, sure. No cleaner than you maybe. But, what ever floats your boat.” I grimaced, but all in good fun.

“Woah. Nice brows. Has Reznor been dressing you lately?”
He ran the tips of his fingers all over my face, through my now silky straight hair, then gradually down the front of my suit-jacket.

“…Or you undressing me.”

“What was that?”

Quickly I corrected myself, “I said I’ve been dressing more casual, yes.” What the hell made me say that? You undressing me? What the fuck?

“Oh, I thought you said something else.”

“Nope. Why, what did you think I said?”

“Nothing. It’s just so loud in here.”

I began to stare at his mouth swollen with color; ruby red lipstick. Perfectly shaped. I had to blink, looking away. “Ugh. Fuck…!” I smacked myself across the forehead, “Congratulations on the new solo project man! Whole reason why I’m here, by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks.” John gave a half-hearted smile, placing his hands in his pockets. I was astonished that his pants could have pockets when they were that skintight. Then again, I’ve seen Manson fit his ass into shit that wasn’t meant to hold a package. I’ve seen it, done it all before. I’ve been away far too long, that’s all.
“It’s just not the same,” He continued, almost as if he were forcing me to make eye contact with him. “It’s causing me more stress than when I was with Manson.”

“You should’ve taken some time off.”

“I can never take time off from something I’m so in love with. I’m full of so many fucking ideas, Twiggy. I just don’t think I can do it alone.”

People were calling him from all different directions now; for photos, autographs, and upcoming magazine interviews. I could hear all the same questions that I have been asked after the Manson departure, being asked to him.
“But you know what,” He tuned them out, “I’m here to have a hell of a good time.” John winked, referring to the dance floor vibrating with people, most of them half-naked.

“I—think I’ll have a drink. Nothing personal, really. I just need to clear my head.” I ran my fingers back through my hair.

“Naa, we don’t need you screwing yourself over now. Not tonight when I haven’t seen you since crap-knows-when.”

“Right. But…uh, why not?” I pointed to the bar that had a bottle of Whiskey with my name written all over it.

“Glad to know that you’ve only changed on the outside…”

“I just need it to relax a little more. Once I’m loose I’ll catch up with you and some chicks later.” Because right now I was completely uncomfortable, and If I’m drunk, I’ll not only feel relaxed, but if I say anything wrong, no one’ll give it any second thought, because I was so smashed.

“You need to get relaxed to get laid now?”

“Hmm. Pretty much. It’s the whole dirty-clean thing, you know.” I didn’t make any sense at all, but he knew what I meant. He knew me long enough for him to understand me, sort of. Well, at least I hoped. John looked at me blankly, like the face of a mannequin staring back at me from within a closed shop.

So I turned to walk to the bar.

However, once my back was to him, this time it was he who nudged me.

“Hey,” he said,

Follow Me.”
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Lest we forget our friends