Maggie<br/><br/>She should have been watching Davis. She should have been paying better attention. However her eyes were only for Aurora, and the image of herself returned by the dark glare of the guitarist's glasses. If only she could break off a piece of that compelling mystique and claim it for her own - maybe not to wear on a permanent basis, just to whip out in moments where it would be handy - like when dealing with venue owners. That would definitely be easier from behind the wall of a pair of black shades.<br/><br/>She was torn from her inner tangent by Aurora's unexpected advice. Maggie's eyes followed the direction of her chin tilt toward Boston's bunk. She blushed furiously, knowing there had been at least one witness to one of her least proud moments, though her eyes lit with curiosity at the mention of 'baggage'. Aurora was right. She should seize that anger brewing in the pit of her stomach and ride it until the end of the tour, but she couldn't help but wonder. Now wasn't the time to ask, and she doubted it would ever be. Whatever transpired in that bunk would remain a painful and best forgotten mystery.<br/><br/>Speak of the devil with drumsticks.<br/><br/>Maggie seized slightly as Boston emerged, picking a spot on the bus floor and staring at it. As he disappeared into the master bedroom, assumedly to shower, Maggie was overcome with the uncomfortable realization she likely wreaked of sweat, sex, fire and pot.