The Primadonna Empress

"No, no, no, no and no," this was the third time Lara was facing the same argument with their new backstage intern in one night, and this was only the first leg of their tour. The zit-faced teen with the fluorescent green mohawk was somewhat gender-neutral in appearance, though Lara was going to refer to them as 'her' for now.
"Look, mate, I've been doing this job for eight years and every night we've been on tour I've had to go in there to babysit the Princess of Darkness or whatever she's calling herself these days. Now I'm not-" Lara facepalmed. The teenager was shaking in her platform Doc Martens and looking as if she would sell her soul to the Devil in order to get out of going into the dressing room of a Ms Marilyn Manson.
"First of all, it's Queen of the Damned - the Prince of Darkness was Ozzy Osborne-"
"Who the hell is that?"
"Frontman of Black Sabbath."
"You're pathetic. Nobody gives a shit nowadays about anything pre-Swagger, forget about before World War III. It's a miracle we sold more than ten tickets for this bloody show."
"I know but I don't care. Second of all, you're getting paid for this. I'm not. So when she stabs me in the eye with a high heel, I'm not insured for it. You are."
"You know the reason that I wanted someone like you hired in the first place was so that I wouldn't have to go and do this every night of my bloody life."
"Should that bother me?"
"It doesn't seem to bother anyone else, so I suppose not."
*

"MARILYN!" Lara stopped just inside the door, muttering something into her headset before looking up again to the six foot whatever of feline Antichrist rock star sprawled across the leather chaise lounge against the wall, cigarette in hand and the remnants of a bottle of vodka spilled on the carpet beside her. "Okay, first of all put that out. Between the fact that you can't sing anyway and the fact that what you do isn't so much singing as growling and screaming profanities into a microphone, your vocal chords need no more help crapping out than they're already getting whatsoever."
"Meh," Marilyn stood up, outing her cigarette by means of impaling what was left of it on one of the studs on the shoulder of Lara's jacket. The brunette brushed it off, stony-faced. "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Bit like you, really."
"Cheers. You know I actually used to look up to you."
"Well, you were young and stupid back then, just like all the kids in black with stupid hair waiting out there to see me."
"And you wonder why I hate you," Lara sighed as the singer wandered absentmindedly off into the bathroom, tripping and falling in her twelve-inch heels. "Marilyn, contradictory to what you seem to think, you aren't the centre of the universe, nor does the sun shine out of your ass. Now, outfit on; bathroom if you need it because we really don't need another urine-related lawsuit...are you even listening to me?"
"Not really," Marilyn called from the bathroom, following the sort of farting noise that was presumably her attempting to force herself into latex hotpants.
Lara squatted on the sofa that the arrogant celebrity that happened to be her boss had occupied a moment ago, going to pick up the bottle on the floor, then going with her better judgement and leaving it be. It was already just about midnight; she had been sleeping in either shitty hotels or the tour bus for several weeks now. Much to her surprise and chagrin, every venue from Ohmtown to Nuke York that they had booked had sold out in a matter of minutes, meaning that no matter how much the backstage crew hated Ms Manson, they would have to stick out three months with her; they were playing two nights at each venue with one day in between each, the tour culminating with a joint one-night-only concert with Mok Swagger. And-
"For god's sake, are you in the SHOWER?" Lara's ears pricked up as she heard what she assumed was running water coming from the bathroom.
"None of your business!"
"You're ten minutes late already, and you've got your bloody makeup on!" Lara sighed, not even getting the opportunity to look down before having to bark at Marilyn to put the electric razor she had just plugged in down.
"I haven't touched up in days: my hair looks like shit!"
"It always looks like shit; just get fucking dressed!"
*
"Lara?"
"If it has anything to do with her, I don't care," Lara was leaning against the side of the tour bus, cigarette in hand and face like thunder. The person who had spoken was the frontwoman of one of the support bands called Forgetting The Angel or something who she simply knew as Prosper, though it was blatantly obvious that this was little more than a stage title.
"You might have to make yourself - on a side note, I didn't know you smoked."
"I haven't in seven months, but there's gonna be murders if I'm not intoxicated in some way when she gets backstage again. What the hell is it?"
"Yeah, um...humour me, come back inside and just take a look onstage."
"Look, I refuse to have anything to do with her or any of her shit music or shows, now could you please tell me exactly what she's done now that requires my immediate attention."
Prosper or whatever you wanted to call her leaned against the side of the bus, tugging the heelless wedges she was wearing off of her feet as she spoke. She had some sort of British dialect - probably Scottish with a tiny element of upper-class English - and was dressed in a black sleeveless latex catsuit with blonde hair dipdyed purple and blue and makeup that made her look like some sort of KISS reject. "Well, first order of business is she's snapped a heel, there's blood all over the place and I think you may want to call an ambulance. Secondly, she's lying on her back singing that Rammstein song with the title I'm not gonna say that pretty much everyone told her not to."
"Firstly; not my problem. Secondly; she doesn't do authority, so frankly I'm not surprised," Lara for some reason decided to show some kind of concern. "Does she appear to be okay?"
"To be fair, I don't think she knows. Exactly how out of it was she the last time you checked?"
"Totally."
"Okay, that'll explain why she just looked down and went 'oh, okay then' when she fell. Now, about the song..."
"I don't care, she doesn't care, the people watching her don't give a shit as long as it's her; just leave it."
"Are you gonna do anything though?"
"Eh. If she's happy then I'm good back here. Actually, leave it 'till she comes down from the high; it'll be funny."
"You have no heart whatsoever, do you."
"Not really,
*
"Too big, too small,
size does matter after all.
Zu gross, zu klein,
er könnte etwas grösser sein.
Mercedes Benz und Autobahn
alleine in das Ausland fahren.
Reise, Reise, Fahrvergnügen
Ich will nur Spass, mich nicht verlieben.

Just a little bit, just a little bitch.
I've got a pussy. You have a dick.
So what's the problem? Let's do it quick!

So take me now before it's too late.
Life`s too short, so I can't wait
Take me now, oh dont you see?
I can't get laid in Germany.... What the fuck does half of this even mean? Anyone here give two fucks? Nah, me either. Foreign lyrics are always a steaming pile of crap that nobody would touch with a ten-foot pole if someone did 'em in English. Right, whatever it is I'm doing, I'm sick of it," Marilyn was giving what was simultaneously one of the best and worst performances of her life, on her arse with what looked like some sort of compound fracture to her ankle - being off her tits on booze, acid, heroin and god knows what else, she probably hadn't noticed it yet. Turning as best she could to her long-suffering bassist - he was always the one standing closest to her, meaning that whenever anyone got spat on, urinated over, lit on fire or stabbed with a shoe, it was more often than not him in the direct line of firing - she spoke into her microphone in a way that was obviously directed towards him. "Something hard and fast, whatever-your-name-is. If anyone here goes home with the ability to hear anything, we've not done our fucking jobs."
As the bass riff that started off her rendition of This Is The New Shit blared over the loudspeaker, Lara and a barefoot Prosper took the stage, Lara pulling the plug on the mic amp before Marilyn could actually start singing. "And you are here because?"
Lara facepalmed, kicking Marilyn in the face halfheartedly "Oh I don't know, take a wild guess!"