Dead on High Heels
Epilogue
Think forwards say four years.
"The fucking awards start in an hour Morbid, what the fuck are you doing?" Nikki says banging on my hotel room door.
"I'm fucking coming you whinging old fuck!" I shout before tearing the door open.
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just looks me over,
"You polish up all right Morbid" he smirks
My 'atonishing' transformation involves a simple black dress…well…a floor length satin halter neck dress with diamonds in subtle star and swirl shapes around the low cut front and a few inches down the sides.
My hair isn’t back combed for once, it's in loose curls, with a side parting so a lot of it is over my face, but it still has a good deal of volume in a cross between 30’s starlet and 80’s nut ball. I add a strategically wonky tiara placed firmly though, sucker aint' coming off. My makeup is black and red and I have fake eyelashes on. My shoes are silver three inch heels covered in beautiful tiny silver sequins; sling backs of course.
"Like you mean it" I roll my eyes "I think you meant to say 'Morbid, my dear, you look fucking stunning' anyways" my red lips find their way into a smile.
"I wouldn't go that far" he replies.
"Cunt" I snap and hit him with my clutch bag.
"Come on, everybody's waiting in the limo downstairs. Always the last to finish aren’t we"
I take his arm and we stride to the elevator, down to the ground floor, and out to the black stretch limo that’s taking up a lot of space outside the hotel.
Wrath is modelling a floor length bright red dress in satin and four inch heel court shoes in black and white zebra print, they compliment it perfectly without being tacky.
No matter how fucking smart we look, Wrath and I end up drunk as mother lickers, Andy hasn't kept very good grip on the situation and has decided to sit back and sip wine in an attempt not to care, Nikki fucked off to his hotel room with a model...good old Nikki. And Pussy Cat is just about ready to puke over the nearest pop star. Shit there goes Cheryl Cole's dress.
"Morbid, Morbid fuck off" Wrath shouts while giggling.
"I'm gonna get youuuuu" I sing and pull the safety tab out.
"Not again"
"Again!" I squeeze the handle down and manage to catch her hair with fire extinguisher goo, while she's running away.
"Morbid you fucking ball sack!" she runs up behind me [being very drunk its hard to know what’s going on], takes the extinguisher and that’s me on the floor in a laughing heap.
Just like old times.
Epilogue;;
Life went on, music went on, drink and drugs went on. But somehow, amidst the caper, Wrath and Andreas managed to tie the knot as promised. Cat and Morbid ended up staying together, partly because nobody else could stand their immense narcissism and conceit they had for themselves, and partly because they just fit faultlessly together. However they did get sick of fighting over the mirrors every day and had two huge ones covering the walls of their apartment and the fights stopped then. At least over that. Morbid wasn't too happy when she discovered that their bedroom ceiling was also covered by another mirror, in which Cat often looked at when having sexx, we're not quite sure why.
Fame could only grow for Morbid and Wrath after that. Lets say they became the equivalent to Motley Crue in their drunken, drugish antics and sex sense, and Marilyn Manson in the tearing up the stage and frightening the world way.
Before Morbid hit twenty nine, she died four times from coke abuse. Finally, five double platinum albums later, a week before she turned this age [29], it was partly the coke, partly weed, and partly vodka that OD'd her for good. She stayed on the gurney this time.
But that’s not to say she didn't do it with style. Her last words were "Wrath you fucking cunt, where's the vodka". And just for the press she purposely posed in a very Playboy style for rigor mortis to set in and upset members of the community. Not only that but they found a post it note down her Agent Provocateur knickers that said;; "Now now lads, I'm dead so it's necrophilia not rape. Down boy!"
Never one to disappoint was Morbid.
With Morbid gone, and all the drugs, sex, and booze in the world left for Wrath, she began to party harder than Morbid ever did, in her memory.
It all got too much for Wrath when she woke up in Mexico after drinking nothing but vodka for a week, wearing a tuxedo and a Mexican hat. She had to get Andy to come and get her, and he wasn't too pleased.
He told her that if this excessive partying didn't stop then he would leave her, so she did the only thing she knew how to; she partied even harder.
With Andy gone, Wrath went back to her original whoring days, and ended up pregnant by an unknown rock star, at the age of thirty. She gave birth to twin girls that she named Roxxie and Reagan. Surprising eh? Not quite the motherly type, is Wrath.
"The fucking awards start in an hour Morbid, what the fuck are you doing?" Nikki says banging on my hotel room door.
"I'm fucking coming you whinging old fuck!" I shout before tearing the door open.
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, just looks me over,
"You polish up all right Morbid" he smirks
My 'atonishing' transformation involves a simple black dress…well…a floor length satin halter neck dress with diamonds in subtle star and swirl shapes around the low cut front and a few inches down the sides.
My hair isn’t back combed for once, it's in loose curls, with a side parting so a lot of it is over my face, but it still has a good deal of volume in a cross between 30’s starlet and 80’s nut ball. I add a strategically wonky tiara placed firmly though, sucker aint' coming off. My makeup is black and red and I have fake eyelashes on. My shoes are silver three inch heels covered in beautiful tiny silver sequins; sling backs of course.
"Like you mean it" I roll my eyes "I think you meant to say 'Morbid, my dear, you look fucking stunning' anyways" my red lips find their way into a smile.
"I wouldn't go that far" he replies.
"Cunt" I snap and hit him with my clutch bag.
"Come on, everybody's waiting in the limo downstairs. Always the last to finish aren’t we"
I take his arm and we stride to the elevator, down to the ground floor, and out to the black stretch limo that’s taking up a lot of space outside the hotel.
Wrath is modelling a floor length bright red dress in satin and four inch heel court shoes in black and white zebra print, they compliment it perfectly without being tacky.
No matter how fucking smart we look, Wrath and I end up drunk as mother lickers, Andy hasn't kept very good grip on the situation and has decided to sit back and sip wine in an attempt not to care, Nikki fucked off to his hotel room with a model...good old Nikki. And Pussy Cat is just about ready to puke over the nearest pop star. Shit there goes Cheryl Cole's dress.
"Morbid, Morbid fuck off" Wrath shouts while giggling.
"I'm gonna get youuuuu" I sing and pull the safety tab out.
"Not again"
"Again!" I squeeze the handle down and manage to catch her hair with fire extinguisher goo, while she's running away.
"Morbid you fucking ball sack!" she runs up behind me [being very drunk its hard to know what’s going on], takes the extinguisher and that’s me on the floor in a laughing heap.
Just like old times.
Epilogue;;
Life went on, music went on, drink and drugs went on. But somehow, amidst the caper, Wrath and Andreas managed to tie the knot as promised. Cat and Morbid ended up staying together, partly because nobody else could stand their immense narcissism and conceit they had for themselves, and partly because they just fit faultlessly together. However they did get sick of fighting over the mirrors every day and had two huge ones covering the walls of their apartment and the fights stopped then. At least over that. Morbid wasn't too happy when she discovered that their bedroom ceiling was also covered by another mirror, in which Cat often looked at when having sexx, we're not quite sure why.
Fame could only grow for Morbid and Wrath after that. Lets say they became the equivalent to Motley Crue in their drunken, drugish antics and sex sense, and Marilyn Manson in the tearing up the stage and frightening the world way.
Before Morbid hit twenty nine, she died four times from coke abuse. Finally, five double platinum albums later, a week before she turned this age [29], it was partly the coke, partly weed, and partly vodka that OD'd her for good. She stayed on the gurney this time.
But that’s not to say she didn't do it with style. Her last words were "Wrath you fucking cunt, where's the vodka". And just for the press she purposely posed in a very Playboy style for rigor mortis to set in and upset members of the community. Not only that but they found a post it note down her Agent Provocateur knickers that said;; "Now now lads, I'm dead so it's necrophilia not rape. Down boy!"
Never one to disappoint was Morbid.
With Morbid gone, and all the drugs, sex, and booze in the world left for Wrath, she began to party harder than Morbid ever did, in her memory.
It all got too much for Wrath when she woke up in Mexico after drinking nothing but vodka for a week, wearing a tuxedo and a Mexican hat. She had to get Andy to come and get her, and he wasn't too pleased.
He told her that if this excessive partying didn't stop then he would leave her, so she did the only thing she knew how to; she partied even harder.
With Andy gone, Wrath went back to her original whoring days, and ended up pregnant by an unknown rock star, at the age of thirty. She gave birth to twin girls that she named Roxxie and Reagan. Surprising eh? Not quite the motherly type, is Wrath.