Stigmata

Prison. Avenged Sevenfold’s tour bus was beginning to feel like a prison for the captive young vampire that Vivien Hopwood had become; the ginger spent her days gazing out the window at countless humans who’s blood she was told not to drink while watched by the tabloid-reading, crazy blond bitch who had tried to rip her throat out. Oh, sure, most people would try to make amends with the woman they had to spend most of their days with for the next two months, but Vivien felt her situation to be something of a special case in the world of grudges. Valary had, after all, tried to drink her blood. In public.

Vivien sighed and shifted on her couch, snuggling into the plethora of pillows behind her and drawing her thick, cream-colored (but for a small, strangely-shaped bloodstain) blanket to her chin. She suppressed a shiver despite the heat - the redhead’s new body temperature took some getting used to, the guys said, but get used to it she would have to, because it was quite permanent. Like, all of eternity permanent. The thought caused her to shudder from dread rather than the hypothermic temperature of her body; she wasn’t certain if she would have chosen this fate for herself. If Valary hadn’t gone after her rare blood type backstage, and later on in her life one of the boys had offered to change her into a vampire, Viv would have first tried to admit them, and then herself, to the nearest facility with padded walls and jackets with interesting sleeves.

Three days after Haner had forced his coppery-tasting blood down her throat (what had felt like one solid night‘s rest to the dancer), Vivien had awoken to six anxious faces hovering above her, each wondering something different. How did she feel? Was she hungry? Thirsty? Any numbness or tingling in her limbs? Could she sense anyone’s thoughts? Did she have any prophesizing-type dreams while she was asleep? Did it hurt when Johnny did that - the vicious pinch had gained the bassist a slap upside the head, and Brian had declared her completely and utterly… dead.

Dead was a good thing to be, according to the six vampires Vivien found herself living with. Since her first day, the men had taken turns teaching her about her new race, though they preferred to call it her new life. Apparently, she had been informed that she was now a Vampire and was part of this strange underground community of creatures she had once believed to be myths - Jimmy called it the Night World. It was a lot to take in all at once, and if she had an ounce of sanity she wouldn’t have believed it, except for the very real craving for blood that she had, the fact that “people food” didn’t appeal to her any more - oh, and the fact that she could hear the boy’s thoughts and human blood tasted like Peppermint Schnapps. It was quite surreal.

Absently, as she watched a punk couple with matching mohawks and skin cooked to a medium-rare by the sun (the human part of her brain screamed that this thought was more than a little wrong), Vivien wondered when the boys would return from their show. She could hear the screams from various stages at the hot California venue, but since she was no longer allowed to participate in ritual three or allowed to leave the tour bus at all, Viv had no choice to sit in the bus and stew. That, or she could ask Valary what time it was, but she would rather eat a cheeseburger - a pretty big statement coming from a person who was nauseated by any semblance of human food.

Relief from Valary’s piercing, bland stare didn’t arrive for another painfully long half an hour, which Vivien spent staring out the window. The sun made her feel too weak to consider any other activity (not that there were any); Zachy had said that this was because she was a young vampire, she would eventually get used to the sensation of sunlight but her “powers” would never be at their full capacity during daylight hours.

The boys piled onto the bus, stinking, sweaty, and rowdy, fresh from their show. Matt paused long enough to spare Vivien a pat on the head before he swept Valary into the back room; Johnny proceeded directly to the small tour bus bathroom to shower, do not pass go, do not collect $200 - because the boys swore that he could kill someone with his stench if he didn’t shower daily. Zachy perched on the dinette behind the lithe redhead, watching warily ass Jimmy poured mixers at the kitchen counter as if her were liable to screw them up, and Brian sat at Vivien’s feet on the couch. The brown-eyed guitarist was always the first to ask how Vivien was feeling, to inquire if she had experienced anything strange while the boys were playing their set (strange like being able to control the minds of animals, not strange like a stomach bug), and was usually the one patiently sat with the ginger dancer and tried to teach her the bare necessities of Night World life. Viv was a quick study, which suited Haner’s hairpin temper nicely; she rarely screwed up or forgot any lessons she had learned, so there was no need to re-teach her anything, which would have really put him through the roof.

“How do you feel, Viv?” The guitarist’s concerned brown eyes surveyed Vivien’s face, as if looking for a sign or symptom of some illness.

“The same? I mean, it hasn’t changed for three days. I feel cold. And no, Jimmy, I can’t hear the thoughts of animals, but I can hear yours, thank you very much.” The buys had been attempting to “diagnose” Vivien’s vampire superpower for three days, unwilling to believe that perhaps she was just a failure at vampirism as she did. They claimed that every creature of the Night World (she was a creature now, she remembered awkwardly) had some sort of latent power.

“It will manifest itself eventually, Vivien, don’t be so nervous about it.” Zachy’s Southern Gentleman drawl sounded, as he passed solo cups down the line to Haner and Viv.

“Thank you, Jimmy.” Vivien sighed into her drink; she was doubtful that anything like that would ever present itself. As a vampire she would be as she was human - boring. “Yeah, well. It will probably be something useless, like predicting the future of rock formations.”

“Or predicting the future,” Brian chimed helpfully in his pompous French lilt, proud of his own talent. “Maybe it will be something really cool, like levitation. I knew a vampire who could do that once… of course, in Salem they thought he was a witch and burned him, but he’s still kicking somewhere in Washington I think.” The redhead rolled her eyes and drained her cup.

“Well, you probably won’t have to worry too much longer after tonight,” Jimmy said pensively in his heavy Slavic dialect, as he perched on the kitchen counter beside the bottle of what Vivien now understood to be some sort of blood concentrate. The first thing the boys had explained to her (after telling her she was a vampire now, of course) was the reason she now needed to drink blood - her own red blood cells didn’t carry oxygen any more, and therefore she needed the O2 in human blood in order to “breathe,” and so that she didn’t die of starvation. While she could eat “people food” for nutrition, blood was the best source vampiric nutrition.

“Uh, why?” The only female present dragged her hair over her shoulder and began to plait it, a nervous habit of hers. It was a little strange, but it beat the hell out of biting her nails - maybe her talent was super braiding?

“Because.” At Vivien’s raised eyebrow, Jimmy emptied his solo cup and continued his thought. “Since we’re in Long Beach, I thought we might take you to the Black Iris Club here. It’s one of the larger ones outside of Los Angeles or New York City, and I believe that - if she still lives - there is a woman there who can help us.” The little redhead’s eyebrow didn’t lower itself at all, but Jimmy was unwilling to bend any more to her incredulous facial gestures. Her raised eyebrow didn’t seem to have any effect on Zachary or Brian, so with a small huff, the dancer passed her cup back through Zachy to Jimmy for a mixer of an alcoholic nature.

“Brian, we will require a vehicle large enough for the seven of us.”

“Or two vehicles…” Zachy murmured darkly, as he regarded the back area of the tour bus, which had been mysteriously partitioned off from the rest of it for quite some time. “Did Johnny go to sleep?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Beside Vivien, Brian was engaged in some sort of staring contest with Jimmy, the kind she had witnessed countless times before she had become a vampire - a staring contest that Vivien now knew to be a private mental conversation. She looked over her shoulder at Zachy, who shrugged as he accepted the mixers Jimmy absently handed him.

“You know what’s weird?” She asked Zachy, as she swirled her index finger in her drink to mix it a little better; she sucked off the liquid before she continued. “I really, really crave pineapple. But not actual pineapple, I want to smell it. Is that normal?”

“Well little lady, I don’t think you’re normal, so nah.” The blue-eyed guitarist smiled wryly as Jimmy moved to sit in the swiveling armchair that served as a front seat, his blue eyes still locked on Brian’s caramel browns. “You know what I want to do?” Baker asked, as he calmly sipped his Jack and Coke; Viv shook her head, no she hadn’t a clue, because her talent wasn’t mind-reading like Matt’s. “I want to watch Scooby-Doo.”

“Really, Zachy?” The slight redhead grinned as Zachy abandoned his drink in favor of popping in his favorite Scooby-Doo Movie - Scooby-Doo and the Witch’s Ghost. “You’re a trip, Zachy,” Viv smiled kindly as Zachy leaned between her body and Brian’s to draw the window shade; once the sun was blocked, the small dancer felt suddenly stronger.

“I try.”

“So what is this… Black Iris Club?” Viv asked, feeling decidedly out of the loop. Brian and Jimmy’s conversation had definitely turned into a mental shouting match, if the ginger judged their expressions right; seeing as Haner’s brows were knit together, his eyes almost closed they were so narrow and his mouth turned in a sneer and Sullivan’s face was absolutely blank, a sure-fire indication of anger, she supposed that she couldn’t be too far off. “More importantly, what do I wear?”

That could be a problem, Vivien mused as Zachy answered her question with a single finger, begging for a moment to work with the “new fangled technology” (as he was referring to the DVD player as he pushed random buttons in frustration) in front of him. Viv let her head roll back against the couch, and stared at the ceiling languidly. This vampire crap was boring as hell, she mused, it was all sit around and wait. Like she had all the time in the world… oh, right. She did have all the time in the world. It was a strange train of thought to jump on, and she felt like she kept falling off.

Better learn to hang on quick, girl. Train’s leaving. She sat bolt upright, her grey eyes wildly searching for the source of the voice that had sounded so much like Matt’s; she knew Matt was probably engaged in the throes of passion with Valary, or at least wasn’t close enough to the redhead for his voice to have carried as clearly as it had. So it must have been in her head.

It too the new Vampire a moment to find her mental amplifier - she still wasn‘t used to being able to actually communicate to people (vampires) with her mind, which wasn‘t too surprising - but she shot back; Are you going to stop screwing your girl so I can get dressed?

Easy, tigre. We’ll be out in a few. Vivien’s eyes grew wide as she realized that she was probably having a mental conversation with Matt while he was having sex with Valary - the revelation almost made her retch as Zachary sat down at the dinette behind her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing that the ginger looked like she had just been told that the bus was infested with cockroaches and she had been eating off things they had crawled over for weeks. She gave a start as Zachy’s Southern Drawl broke her disgusted trance, and hastily answered;

“Oh, uh, nothing. I just wanted to know about this club,”

“Uh-huh…”