Stigmata

“Everything that woman said was bullshit.”

Seated on her couch in the tour bus, Vivien strummed a twanging country tune on the acoustic guitar Zachy had dug out from one of the compartments underneath the tour bus before they had embarked toward their next destination - San Francisco. Jimmy had requisitioned the necklace as soon as the group had returned from the Club (she had been more than happy to give it up - while beautiful, Viv understood that the thing was fucking weird, even by the standards of her new family), and currently paced back and forth in the narrow hallway of the moving tour bus in front of the boys, Valary and Vivien, visibly enraged. Vivien looked toward Brian, who sat on her left; the brown-eyed guitarist shrugged.

“James, why don’t you sit down? Here have a drink.” Matthew practically pushed the drummer into the dinette while he simultaneously forced an alcoholic beverage into his hand. “Why are you so upset, it was just a Crone. She‘s not even the Crone.” Vivien looked at the singer with knitted brows, wondering what a superior Crone would look like - the one she had met was definitely on death’s doorstep, if there was a more crone-y Crone, she figured it must be the Grim Reaper.

“Vivien, do you want this?” The redhead was so startled she almost knocked the Jack and Coke out of Johnny’s outstretched hand; she had been watching the usually calm (well, in private) Jimmy pace back and forth. Tentatively, she accepted the drink while murmuring her apologies and thanks.

“You know, I’m fucking tired of Jack and Coke.” Haner murmured into the solo cup Johnny had provided him with, before he socked the entire concoction back in one single chug.

“I would have never known,” Zachary quipped dryly from the armchair he sat in, his eyebrow raised as Johnny stood to replenish Matt’s drink.

“Then why don’t you guys buy your own alcohol for once and stop making your chauffer do it for you?” Beside Matt in the dinette seat, Valary sat with her head in her hands, completely ignoring the cup in front of her.

“What a wonderful idea, Valary. Why don’t you and Vivien just beam yourselves into an ABC somewhere?” Jimmy looked like a complete and utter mess, his hair scrunched up into little pieces a la Albert Einstein… or Russell Brand.

“What are you so worked up about, man, it was just an old lady. You don’t have to try to solve every puzzle, Jimmy,” Zachy called from the armchair; the lanky drummer scrunched his nose and focused on guzzling his drink. Meanwhile, Valary and Vivien were having their own private conversation - Vivien’s face was contorted, proving she was in deep mental concentration (she was still new to the whole ‘I can talk to people with my mind’ thing).

“Uh… yeah… Maybe that would be a good idea, Valary…” The redhead stopped strumming and handed the guitar to Brian, who unconsciously began to play his own tune. She stood to relay her thoughts to the driver, who murmured something about how difficult it was going to be to find a liquor store that was open at one in the morning.

“Well we’re on the motherfucking interstate, there’s gotta be a 24-hour liquor store somewh… look! Take that exit!”

Five gut-wrenching moments of near-death experiences later, Valary and Matt vaulted out of the bus, dragging Vivien by the arm as the driver was screaming at the redhead at the top of his lungs in a language she didn’t understand, and she was screaming right back in Gaelic.

“Great, we’ve already caused a scene and we’re not even in the store yet…” Matthew murmured, holding the door open for the girls. Once inside, however, Vivien sang a different (read: subdued) tune.

“Do we have a budget for this outing, or can we…” At Matt’s scowl, Vivien stopped talking and started surveying and selecting bottles, which she deposited into the cart that Valary had picked up at the entrance.

“I didn’t mean buy the entire store!”

“Well, I need the entire store.” Frozen with a blue bottle of UV Vodka in her hands, Vivien fixed Matt with her best “try and stop me” glare, which was less than intimidating. “Apparently there’s something seriously wrong with me.”

“What better way to fix it than with my best friend, Alcohol!” The blond vampire had an armful of assorted types of rum, and a two liter bottle of Coca-cola. “Honey, do the world a favor and go get us more mixers.”

It took them a half an hour and nearly a thousand dollars (which Matt paid for with a mysterious black American Express card that the girls had practically salivated on as soon as they realized what it was), but soon Valary and Vivien relaxed and watched as the men carried armloads of liquor, soda and fruit juice onto the bus. The Boys had been surprised by the extent of the redhead’s alcohol craving, and the fact that she didn’t try to drink the cashier’s blood - the latter was met with more speculation than the former, especially by Jimmy, who had taken to eying the dancer suspiciously whenever she did something out of the norm for a young vampire. As they oversaw the moving efforts of alcohol from cart to bus, Val nudged Viv with her elbow, and murmured in her ear;

“We’re going to take that card and go shopping with that card. Soon.” The sentence set Vivien’s heart aflutter - the spending limit on the black AmEx had to be enormous, more money than she had ever been held accountable for in her life, and Val was going to take her shopping with it! Absently, the ginger wondered how the boys had managed to amass so much money (she knew for a fact that in order to get that card that now resided in Matt’s back pocket, one had to spend at least $21,000 per month for a year, at the very least) - but then she remembered that they were a) each hundreds of years old, and b) Brian could predict the future. Oh, and c) Matt could read minds and d) Jimmy was some sort of Jedi master in vampire form. It all made perfect sense.

“When?” Vivien asked, as the pair boarded the bus, the mega move of alcohol finished.

“I’d say tomorrow. I mean, we’re going to be in San Fran, right?” The blond murmured, as she sat down on the couch next to Viv, blocking Brian from his usual seat.

“What are you two planning?” The guitarist asked, as he surveyed the rums, which had been stashed in an overhead cabinet, then moved to the vodkas, which were stuffed into the freezer, the microwave and the oven (which had never been used, as far as Viv could tell). The women exchanged looks before they simultaneously said;

“Nothing!” Pouring a shot, Brian raised an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh. Because suddenly I see a really big credit card bill in my future.”

“Okay Miss Cleo,” Vivien shrugged, and grinned at the blond beside her before she commanded; “Pour me a shot, monkey.”

The dark eyed guitarist was more than happy to oblige.