All In The Name Of...

Lady Stardust

[A/N: Any musical opinions here don't necessarily reflect my own; I practically worship the artist here.... Also, excuse the in-chapter rambling, hah.]

Fast Forward to October 15th

"And you're sure you don't want to go with me, babe?" I asked one more time in a sing-song tone, watching Axl watch the television. Whether he liked it or not, I was definitely going to go, at least to have a good damn time. "This is your last chance, y'know." I picked up the plate next to him and placed it in the sink, cracking my neck.

Axl glanced up at me, seemingly annoyed. "As if I'm gonna waste my time with a bunch of idiots singing shit music. It ain't a dig on Trixie, but I just can't stand that stuff. So no, Stella, I don't want to go with you." I rolled my eyes, sighing. Whatever his problem was, I wasn't going to let it bother me. I had my own agenda to worry about.

I wasn't exactly a goth girl, at all. Even so, goth had changed drastically since I last knew Trixie Belle. So, I was going to do the best with what I have; I didn't need to blend in, anyway, but I also didn't want to be so obviously uneducated that it was shameful. So, I'd gone shopping and picked up a few things.

First, I put on a regular short black dress; I could have gone with the corset dress, but I refused to suffocate to death, especially in a crowd of people. I found some fishnets, used my more clunky combat boots, and added a ton of jewelry. My hair was sticky with Aqua Net, and my makeup was a little blacker than usual, except for the lipstick; that was still red.

When i saw myself in the mirror, I actually laughed a little bit. I was twenty-five, and generally young-looking for my age anyway. Looking at myself now, though, I felt so old. I could be young forever when I lived in the world of 80's metal, no matter what year it was. It was that culture that made me young, though; this was ridiculously modern.

My husband snorted as soon as he saw me. "Is this seriously what people dress like? What the hell happened to leather, jeans, and an Aerosmith shirt?" I laughed again, shrugging. 

"Do you realize how old we sound?" I asked. Axl rolled his eyes, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

"Babe, I'm all for keeping up with the times- that's what broke my damn band apart- but Rock N' Roll is immortal the way we made it. I think this new shit's just trying too hard."

"Wouldn't that mean you're also trying too hard, then?"

Axl held up his middle finger, and I rolled my eyes, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Love you, Axl," I told him, smiling. He gave me the same reply, leaving even more of a grin on my face as I walked out the door.

It became apparent, as soon as I got to where I needed to go, that I was severely under-dressed. People with more piercings than skin, gigantic shoes, and clouds of black and white on their faces were everywhere. Everyone in general looked angry or sad, which I assumed was just a regular part of the culture, because I doubted that that many people had so much bent-up angst. Cigarettes and joint roaches were littered all around the outside of the venue, and every single one of them was there to see Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids.

No one there seemed to realize that I was who I was, and if they did, they certainly didn't care. It didn't bother me in the slightest considering that if someone did make a deal about it, it would be more than an awkward situation. It was one of those things where the best I could do was act like I was there more for Marilyn Manson than his wife.

Luckily, I was one of the first ones to actually enter the building; a lot of people were busy tailgating, or at least brooding together. Quickly, I slid up to the far left side of the front row, not really seeing the need to try to shove up to the dead middle. I wasn't there for long, though, when a member of security walked up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "Ma'am," he told me, "Would you mind coming with me for a moment?"