New chapter!~
It was after their last show in the west, and Manson was pulling his usual after-show antics. He was outside of a gas station with the others, as they had stopped in the middle of their trip. The curvy but surprisingly innocent-looking cashier had access to almost everything at the station, so Manson had thought of what he could use his power towards. So far, she was bent over with the top of her uniform unbuttoned, a hose pushed up her shirt with the water sprouting out from her bosoms.
“Look, guys, we’ve got our own Aphrodite fountain!” he laughed, but when he turned, Ginger was pulling John away to the washrooms.
In the dim light below the partition around his friends, he could see feet scrambling in the small corner. Curious, he shouted out to them, but they were in too much of a frantic state to reply. There was a lot of shouting going on from what he could hear. Instantly, hearing the racket, the cashier dropped the hose and hurriedly tossed her apron back on, rushing inside. If anything was going on, it wasn’t going to be her responsibility to take care of. The group of them were adults, and if she had to call the cops on Marilyn Manson’s troupe, the whole town would be pissed off at her.
Not bothering to shut the hose off, Manson walked briskly in his seven-inch platform boots towards the others. From the looks of things, they were trying to get into the washroom, and someone was locking them out from the inside. They banged on the door, screaming the name, which obviously belonged to the one inside: Twiggy. Ploughing through the three of them, Manson knocked on the door. The others were still being rather noisy, so he snapped at them to shut up.
“Jeordie, it’s Brian; what’s going on?” he asked with his voice raised, his ear up to the door.
He couldn’t hear much other than incoherent crashes and bangs from inside. Tugging as hard as he could on the door handle, Manson twisted his head to his band mates.
“What the hell is he doing in there?”
“I don’t know; I heard him throwing up in there, so I asked if he was okay, and he just started freaking out,” Ginger said, shrugging.
Nodding at Pogo, Manson only had to give him one look. He knew Pogo would go do what they had all thought of at one point or another, and that was to get the key to the bathroom.
“You guys stay here; I have to check something on the bus,” Manson explained, about to leave.
“What, you’re just going to leave him in there?” John taunted.
“Shut up, John; I have to see what the hell he’s gotten into.”
While Manson rummaged through the bus, tearing through Twiggy’s drawers, he felt himself becoming increasingly pissed off with John. If he knew what was good for him, he would keep his fucking mouth shut, but apparently he wanted to fuck around. He continued to hear the others shouting for Twiggy to come out, but he couldn’t focus anymore. What had Twiggy done? Was he just having a breakdown of some kind? Was it a bad trip? There were too many things that could’ve been fucked. All he wanted was to just take a break from the tour until things felt slightly less hectic again. It was going amazing and all, but the conflicts weren’t making the ride as smooth as it could’ve been.