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First Encounter
By : CherubChild
Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Marilyn Manson
Views: 2374 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Marilyn Manson. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
[Disclaimer: I don't own Marilyn Manson. This is only a longer fairy-tale version of what Mr. Manson had briefly
mentioned of his relationship(s) in his autobiography, "Long Hard Road Out Of Hell". So it's not real, it comes
from my twisted imagination... except for one little sexual incident. XD ]
“So this new guy is his permanent replacement?”
“Pretty much.”
“Yes or no?”
“Mr. Gein’s taking a break for a little while. He has my sympathy, however. He has a great mind, beautiful art, with ideas so closely related to mine, that there was never a problem between us. I love—loved, working with him… but he’s a fucking fuck-up. A junkie… There’s no way I’m taking back a full-blown drug addict, that’s letting something so irrelevant take control of his life.”
Daisy nodded, listening to the other speak. Bringing a cigarette to his lips.
“So yes. The new guy, I’m keeping him, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d rather not refer to him as the new guy, since I’ve renamed him… Ah… and here’s a good question for you, Daisy… Are you a permanent replacement?” Marilyn spoke defensively, and then smiled, smacking Daisy hard on the backside. A sting sent up Daisy’s spine had made him cringe. He didn’t reply.
It was rather cool that night in Miami, which was unusual. In actuality it was the perfect weather, since it attributed to drawing in a large industrial-goth crowd that night. Manson accompanied Daisy in leaving parking lot after their smoke, both drenched in sweat, fake blood, other gore, and smeared make-up. It was the first night he could call his band complete, aside from the fact that Pogo had forgotten to pack his keyboard in their sorry excuse for a tour van. For months Pogo didn’t have enough money to afford a keyboard, and when he finally purchased one: It was forgotten. Luckily, by the time Marilyn Manson had made it to the stage, the crowd was so intoxicated that no one noticed the band was lacking that certain sound.
Inside the club, there newest acquirement to the band was at the bar talking face to face for the first time with Pogo.
“So…what is your job in the band?”
Pogo rocked slightly from side to side, then looked up at him, with what looked like; ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ spelled out on his face.
Strolling in past Pogo, Manson noticed the confusion on his band-mate’s face, “Oh, him? He just hangs out on stage. Plays in a cage, with little green army men as his company. Stacks up and reads his science books, feeds the children. That sort of thing.”
“It’s fun.” Muttered Pogo.
“He’s our key-less keyboardist.”
“Stephen Bier. S-t-e-p-h-e-n.”
“Madonna Wayne Gacy.”
“Pogo.”
“Pogo, mostly. Call him Steven, with a ‘V’, and he’ll rip your heart up out of your throat and piss on it. As much as what goes on inside his mind frightens me, I don’t always take him seriously.”
“I won’t. And uh, I hope you won’t regret that.” Jeordie blinked, pulling down on his dress that was riding up to far above his knees.
“Me too.” Manson watched, chuckling at him fighting with keeping the tight checkerboard dress at a reasonable length. “Why so conservative all of a sudden?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. I guess… it’s starting to bother me that I’m being looked at as a girl. I’m being hit on, for fucksakes. No one believes that I’m a guy. Everyone’s so stoned.”
“You could try, ‘Hi, I’m Twiggy and I have a penis.’ It’s always worked for me.” Pogo suddenly cut in.
“Pogo’s like the professor on Gilligan’s Island. Smart enough to build a TV out of coconuts, but can’t think of how to build a boat to bring us all home…
C’mon, let’s see if the crowd wants an encore.”- You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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