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~Interview Thirteen~

"I was always at odds with her father. He hated my fucking guts since the beginning, which I personally found unfair. I mean... he wasn't there for ten years of her fucking life, and he has the nerve to mandate who the hell Junior dates? I was the person she called on for help, I was the one who held her went she went to sleep at night. Not him. So he can fuck off with his preconceived ideas of who I am. I was the one she ran to first and told that he was coming back." Axl finished his red faced rant, while the rest of the band-as well as the interviewer- was silent.

"No," Slash added quietly, "I'm the one who holds her when she goes to sleep at night."

****

"Monkeys in suits," Slash chuckles with amusement, pushing my shoulder playfully to assure that I'm paying attention to him. "That's what they are."

"Don't be so mean," I reprimand him as we traipse up the long driveway leading to Daddy's house. The golden light of dusk shines down on the elaborate mansion, a beautiful sight. I have the sickening feeling growing in my stomach that the evening won't be beautiful for much longer, especially after Daddy realizes what I've done. That doesn't mean I'm forfeiting the plan of rebellion though.

"How the hell did you talk me into this?" Rosie complains, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. Slash was correct when he pointed out how out of place they look wearing clothes that aren't shredded or torn; I think it's a decent change.

"We've got one mission guys," I turn to them and say as we stand on the porch, prior to ringing the doorbell. "And that's to crash this mother."

Steven looks like a Parkinson's Disease patient, vibrating nervously and averting his eyes back and forth, while Izzy and Duff look ready to spontaneously implode from being subdued for so long. Slash is well... Slash, unless we've been drinking, and Rosie looks like he wants to slaughter someone. Perfect.

I contemplate ringing the doorbell before remembering that I lived here for three years, and simply push open the door. We file into the foyer, which is oddly quiet, and quickly realize that everyone is already seated in the dining room. We are fashionably late, a key part of the rebellion.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, I point animatedly toward the dining room. "Alright Izzy, did you bring the camera?" He whips the tiny camcorder out of his pocket with a goofy smile, "Is the sky blue?" Steven shrugs, "It depends on what time of day, you know-"

"Alright alright, let's just get this show on the road. Go in there like you were invited, and nothing strange is happening. Play it cool, you know?" I give them all a once over with my eyes, messing their perfectly prim suits for the perfect lack of coordination to piss Daddy off.

"Follow me." They do as they're told. I feel butterflies flapping around rapidly in the pit of my stomach, as it's been a long time since I've done something deliberately subversive.

We emerge into the dining room, flooded with a soft golden light and decked out in a long table with enough food to satisfy ten families. I could see that the chefs went pretty in-depth, setting the great table with unidentifiable silverware, wine glasses and fancy cloth napkins.

"Aw, fuck yes! Is that turkey?" Duff exclaims. Daddy must've really had the desire to feed his guests, if he had the chefs prepare meat. I make immediate eye contact with him. Michael and Diana are also seated at the table unfortunately, along with some movers and shakers from the entertainment business that I don't recognize. They look just as surprised as Daddy does, just not nearly as angry.

Michael looks purely amused, stifling his laughter into a napkin as we all rowdily find seats at the table, settling in. "What the fuck's that?" Duff points at the tiny salad fork next to the plate at his spot. "It's a salad fork." I tell him loudly, reaching across the table and messily plopping random foods down onto my plate. "Gross," he later remarks, and literally throws the thing across the room. Michael again suffers from fits of laughter, before Diana subdues him with a quick slap to the arm.

She makes me so damn sick.

Daddy's eyes look about ready to bulge out of his head, and if he grips his knife any harder it will surely snap in two. His face cheeks are flushed a deep crimson, only worsening at the sight of Rosie sitting close beside me. Nobody really says anything, so I clear my throat and take the initiative.

"Good evening." I grin formally, placing the cloth napkin in my lap.

Daddy's eyelids fall closed as he takes a deep breath in, and expels it slowly. "I see... you brought.. some guests." I nod with another smile, using my salad fork to pick at the vegan lasagna. "Yeah, is that a problem for you?"

"Well I suppose it's too late now, isn't it?" He gives a tight lipped smile to fool the guests, which I know means I'm gonna get a whole lot of hell when everyone goes home later.

"Yeah, well, you never said I couldn't bring guests, and well... everywhere I go, they follow."

"It's true," Izzy says, thoughtfully inspecting his turkey leg, "Our lives are rock n' roll, and her luxury penthouse apartment." Daddy angers even further, causing me to smile deeply. "Don't be rude, they're humans too."

Daddy turns his head slightly to address his guests, "A little advice for the future: don't have teenage girls. And if you disregard this, and you do have them, make sure they aren't attractive. If they are, keep them on lock down." This earns him polite laughter from the movers and shakers, as well as acute irritation from me.

"Oh, that's funny! Maybe you should take your own advice. After all, I did get preg-"

"Okay, how's everyone enjoying the food? Did the chefs impress you?" He shoots me an intense glare, one which I respond to with a smug smirk.

"Yes, I am enjoying it," Slash says with genuine appreciation. He doesn't tend to eat sloppily; I notice that his plate looks rather organized and logical. It's strange that he also seems to know which fork is which, and that his table manners are exquisite. It's disgusting.

Daddy observes all of this, and gives Slash a decent nod. "I'm glad, son."

"Gag," Rosie mutters in my ear. I roll my eyes and giggle, looking down the table at Michael. "Hey, Michael! I see you brought your house-whore with you, how's that going?"

I guess you could say that I have absolutely no filter tonight.

Diana also angers, while disgruntled coughs and smothered snickers are heard from others at the table. "Skipper Nelson! Where have your manners gone?" Daddy's eyes are angry slits, he grips his fancy napkin tightly.

"Manners? When have I ever had manners?"

"I apologize for her tonight, she's eighteen, beautiful, and restless." The comment reminds me of the very thing every parent ever to exist on this globe has said about their spoiled child, and again, it irritates the living hell out of me.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much a bitch either way. Surgeon, rock junkie. However you spin it."

"I like it that way," Rosie smiles at me.

Little does he know that he's knocked down a domino of anger, and the chain reaction cannot be stopped. He should be fully aware of the fact that Daddy hates his guts with an unnatural passion, and he probably is; he just chooses to merely fly in the face of authority and openly flirt with me regardless of any repercussions.

"Of course you do." Daddy's plastered on smile reminds me of that of a high school female: so very fake, so extremely filled with bullshit.

"She's out of control, that's all," Diana decides to chime in, daintily wiping her mouth with the napkin. "It's a phase all children go through, she'll grow out of it."

"Child?!" I exact, throwing down my silverware boisterously. "I have more money than all of you! I make more money than my own father! AIDS royalties? I'm the breadwinner here! What child has made on her own more money than anyone could spend in a life time? I could buy a fucking spaceship, while you sit around twiddling your damn thumbs and doing Michael's laundry!" Izzy and Duff laugh openly, while Slash's mouth twitches as he attempts to conceal a smile.

That shuts her up quickly, instead of responding she gives me a quick glare of contempt before making puppy eyes at Michael and feigning hurt feelings. "Michael! What is wrong with her? She's crazy," she whimpers, leaning into his shoulder. He halfheartedly pats her arm, and glances at me with stifled humor.

"That is a very valid point," says Steven through a mouthful of food. "She's fuckin' rich as all hell."

"This is ridiculous," Daddy's head drops into his hands.

"Hey," Slash suddenly whispers into my ear, "I've got an idea." I turn my head slightly and notice the pleasure dancing in his eyes. "If you really wanna piss him off, I dare you to say... you go, 'Daddy would you please pass the salt' and see who reaches for it!" He snickers like it's the most hilarious thing in the world, leaving me to wonder where the hell his chill went in the last five minutes.

"Totally," I agree nonetheless, and clear my throat loudly.

"Daddy, would you please pass the salt?"

It takes everything in me not to reduce to a puddle of laughter on the floor when Rosie, Michael, Daddy, and Steven all reach for the salt shaker in the middle of the table at once. Slash simply lets himself go, banging his fist against the table top with such extreme joy. "Damn, that's fucking classic right there!"

I laugh along with him, and so does Steven-having no idea what the hell just happened- while Daddy, Rosie, Michael, and Diana engage in a glaring match. Diana at Michael, Michael at Rosie, Rosie at Daddy... Daddy at all of them.

"What is the meaning of this?" Daddy groans with exasperation. The other guests finally look purely amused.

"Well, I don't know, since you're the only person I've ever used that name with," I shrug, putting on an act of innocence.

Slash wipes away his tears of laughter, "Well, I have been entertained for the night. What's next?"

"Fuck off," Rosie snaps at him, crossing his arms stubbornly. "I know!" I pipe up, ignoring Rosie's angst, "Now that we've thoroughly ruined this dinner party, let's go into the music room. There's some stuff in there. I want you to play me a song."

"But this food is so good," Izzy complains, hurriedly shoving his face with more turkey.

"Come on, lets go now." I stand, as does Slash and Rosie, and eventually the rest of them. I bow with grace, giving a goofy grin. "I hope you all enjoyed the show."

With that we pound down the hall noisily toward the extremely large music room. It's not really a room, to be quite honest, it's more of a small auditorium with a lifted stage and several seating options. Upon the stage there is a variety of instruments, including an assortment of guitars and a drum set.

As soon as we reach this place they run wild, set alight by the sight of musical instruments. "Fuck yeah!" Duff exclaims, kicking off his dress shoes and running like a wild idiot up to the stage. The rest of them follow suit, excluding Slash, who simply glances around with a neutral expression before pointing to an adjoining room a few feet away.

"What's that?" "Oh, that's just my dad's guitar gallery. He has a shit load of them in there."

His eyes glaze over with wonder. I suppose for a moment I forgot who I was speaking to.

"Guitar... gallery?" "Yup," I laugh at his childlike reaction, while cringing from the sound of feedback from the mics onstage.

"Take me to it." His large hands grip my wrist almost painfully. "Alright, alright, just don't kill me. Jeez." He seems to quiver with anticipation as we make the short trip over to the gallery, push open the floor and flip the light switch.

"Wow," he breathes at the sight of all my father's guitars, shiny and new looking, mounted up on the walls in all their glory. "Look! That one's a Les Paul, like mine! Oh fuck, look at that one, that's a beauty! The strings... they're made out of pure titanium!" He clasps his hands, spinning in tight circles as if he can't give each guitar an equal amount of his attention.

"Kid in a candy store," I remark with happiness.

Slash will turn twenty-two tomorrow. Now I know what to get him. Truly, it shoud've been obvious before.

"Come on now, we can't stay in here forever." I gently take his hand, and lead him to the door again.

"But... but! They're so beautiful, and..." he sighs, and turns to face me.

"Sorry," he regains his usual facial expression and adjusts the collar of his sport coat. "I lost my cool for a second there." More like a few minutes, but I respect his pride too much to point it out.

"Let's join them, alright?" "Fine," he whispers with a note of sadness, and I close the door to the gallery after us.

****

"Okay... now play Bohemian Rhapsody."

Rosie groans, wiping beads of sweat away from his forehead with anger. "We've played Bohemian Rhapsody like... three fucking times already." I sit in the front row of the auditorium seats, right up close to the stage. We're playing a game that's become a regular habit of ours: I call it 'jukebox.' They know quite a surfeit of the music I like, so I choose a song they know how to play- it doesn't necessarily have to be theirs- and they play it to my liking.

"Mr. Brownstone?"

"If I play the drum track to that one more time, my arms will shrivel and die," Steven moans, jittering uncontrollably.

"Okay... how about... You're Crazy?"

"Pick something else!" Duff rolls his eyes. "I could be fucking Angela tonight, I came here instead." I suppose it's that blonde girl he pissed off from the bar last month, they've been on and off ever since.

"Play Purple Rain." I sit back, waiting for their performance but nothing happens. They all exchange confused glances and whispers. "What's wrong, girls? Got your undies in a wad?"

"No," Izzy says with exasperation, "We don't know how to play that. It's not rock."

I gasp exaggeratedly, and cross my arms. "What the hell! Here you are in Prince's mansion, using Prince's equipment, and eating his food too. Running around the damn town with his daughter twenty-four seven, and you don't even know how to play Purple Rain?"

I am met with silence.

"Shameful, you're all shameful!" Slash looks a little like he wants to say something, but he only drops his head.

"Skipper!" A loud yell issues from the entrance to the auditorium, scaring the rest of us out of our minds.

I turn to find Daddy, looking even angrier than he did when we left the table. "Oh shit." I knew it was coming.

"Okay..." Rosie says, switching off his mic and exiting the stage slowly. Slash does the same, then so does Izzy, Duff, and Steven. "This looks like it's a personal matter. This has been fun and all, but we are gonna excuse ourselves to wait in the car."

They all file past me, all intending to leave me here with the angry lunatic who birthed me. "Wait! Slash!" I grasp his wrist as he comes to pass me. "Don't leave me here?"

He gives one look at Daddy, and shakes his head abruptly. "Sorry, Curly, I don't do angry dads. We'll watch a movie after, though?" He swipes his fingers across my cheeks and gives a reassuring nod. "Slash!"

He holds up a peace sign before following the others out and shutting the door behind him.

Okay, super long chapter because I haven't updated in a while.

Skipper is a straight savage though, I wouldn't ever pull that shit :')

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