Post by gabbie on Jan 10, 2012 22:11:12 GMT -5
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Surprisingly, tonight it had only taken eight drinks to get here. Not that this happened often-- sure, more often then for your average person-- but it had certainly happened before. Last time it was after the tenth shot line that everything became sort of blurry, and Marilyn had a self-proclaimed "epiphany." Tonight was rather different but the same. After the show, a couple of guys had thrown a party (pretty standard around tour), composed of some crew members, band freaks, and the like. It had turned out to be mostly guys, who'd invested in a gluttony of beverages. Green apple vodka, Bacardi rum, Smirnoff Ice, Keystone Light, and Jack Daniels. Marilyn had ended the show on a bad note, mostly literally and figuratively. Earlier, some girls had noticed her arms, badly scarred, while she was signing autographs and a few fans had the audacity to say things. This infuriated her. And, in the final song Barbie the Dyke performed, Marilyn fucked up the last note. It wasn't too bad, but she nearly burst into tears over it, sensitive from her lack of sleep and constant purging and cutting as of late.
Of course, once Marilyn saw the stash, she was in a bad enough mood that she couldn't help but to help herself to a little bit of everything. A mango Smirnoff to start, downed fast, followed by a bit of rum&coke, then two shots of vodka... Needless to say, it went on. Marilyn was getting relatively trashed when the same epiphany came again.
She needed a new tattoo. Needed. Not want, but needed as in, it was an absolute necessity at that moment. She disappeared without saying a word to the guys, grabbing her bag and heading downtown. She wasn't precisely sure what city she was in at that moment; she was far too gone to figure that out. Instead of bothering to find out where she was, she merely walked up to the nearest guy (still clothed in her stage outfit), who recognized her and pointed her along to the nearest tattoo parlor. At that point, she was swaying and giggling to herself. She pulled out her phone and texted the first friend who came to her mind: Chelsea.
Chles, meet me @ Piratecity tatoo!! lil drunk xx
Knowing her message might be riddled with spelling mistakes but not given a shit, she pushed send and swung open the doors to the tattoo place. As a budding alternative star, she got a lot of recognition. Plenty of people didn't recognize her, still, but even then she had that look of fame that was so obvious and peculiar. Eyes glued themselves to her as she made her way to the receptionist, a girl who was obviously a fan; before Marilyn could say anything the girl pulled out a paper and pen and geekily asked for an autograph. Marilyn obliged; drunk, she loved attention. Then she told the girl what she wanted, sat down on a waiting chair, and drunkly stared around her and hoped Chelsea would join soon.
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words: 510
outfit: clickclack