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alias: Twin
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Roger Davis

Mysterious Islands

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May 9 2017, 02:59 PM
Roger had been living a fairly sober life for quite some time. Back in his realm's version of New York, he had gotten AIDS because of a dirty needle, and after that had vowed to get himself clean. It only took a life-threatening disease and the suicide of his then girlfriend to do it, but the decision had ultimately been made. He had spent a long time after that doing his best to break the curse of addiction, dealing with the fallout of withdrawal and everything else that came with giving up drugs.

During that time, he had sought to give up all temptations, just to keep himself from thinking one urge could replace another, so he had stopped smoking and had given up alcohol, too. For a long time, he had been one of those people who didn't do much of anything except sit in his apartment, sober, and write songs.

Maybe that part hadn't been so good, but he hadn't hated himself for giving everything up. Eventually, though, he allowed himself some pleasures again. As he started to open himself up to the world once more, he also started to have drinks with friends from time to time. It was a small concession, but it had allowed him to feel so much more like a normal human again.

There was a balance. You didn't have to shut everything out, but you didn't have to go completely wild, either. It had taken him a long time to forgive himself enough to remember that.

He was sitting in the bar, having a beer and thinking about his situation. He had come a long way, and while he wasn't in his New York anymore, he wasn't entirely unhappy, either. He sighed faintly to himself, looking around the bar. It was fairly crowded, perhaps not as busy as it could have been, and it looked like most of the people there were either in great spirits or drinking all their troubles away. There seemed no room for a gray area. He noted a small stage at the side of the bar, probably for whenever they had live music in the house. A piano sat idly by, and he noted the mic stand still set up. Had there been a performance earlier?

He was so tempted to get up and sing, but he wasn't so sure it wouldn't disturb some of the people, so he looked down at his beer again, remaining thoughtful, but silent.


Phoebe Bennett
Mar 25 2017, 02:38 PM
Roger hated to admit it, considering he had basically been stolen from his home and had no real way of returning, but he kind of liked Storybrooke. It was quiet and peaceful, except for the zombie thing, and generally it was a pretty nice place to be. Sure, the magic thing could be wild at times, but that didn't mean it was bad, exactly. Once the zombie thing was fixed, which he assumed the people in town were going to deal with since most of them could use magic, it could prove to be an even better place to live than his old city.

Magic could be scary, but so were the people who lived around his old apartment building. Sure, they used guns and not fireballs, but still.

He was used to danger... kind of.

Today, he found himself by the docks, strumming his guitar contentedly as he looked out at the waters. This was something else he hadn't really had where he lived- a beach that was really close by. It was lovely, and beautiful. Something you could definitely write a good love song to. He wondered if he could make some music for the people of Storybrooke. Maybe he couldn't become famous in a small town like that, especially since it was blocked off from the rest of the world, but he could still make the people who were there happy.

He smiled to himself, picking some notes to play on his guitar. He hadn't made a really concrete melody yet, but he was working on it. Just being out in the fresh air, watching the water, seemed enough to help him out a bit. He soon drifted away from making a new song, though, and started singing one he had written a while ago.

Your Eyes, a song he had written for a lost love. It wasn't that they had been separated when he fell through that portal, she had died. Died of a disease he also carried. That would one day kill him, too. Then again, there was magic here. Maybe it could heal an otherwise incurable illness?

He continued to sing, the notes growing a bit more pained.

Cole - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-9pvtRwaKHY The song!
Mar 16 2017, 12:56 PM
Roger sighed to himself. It was early in the morning, very quiet, but he didn't mind that. He wasn't at the docks to sing for tips today- he was there to do a bit of fishing. True, he didn't know what the rules on fishing were in this town, but did it matter? This place had magic and everything like that, surely they didn't mind someone taking a couple of fish so he didn't have to feel so bad bumming food from the Dragonfly, right? If he needed some kind of permit, well, he just hoped the officers here weren't crazy unicorns or something like that and it could all be worked out without the use of magic.

That whole thing was still weird to him.

The man sighed softly to him, sitting at the end of the dock with a fishing rod in both his hands. He had a small container next to him, filled with water to store any fish he caught. Right now, though, it was peacefully empty. He also had a tackle box and a bottle of water, but no guitar for a change of pace. It was too much stuff to bring with him, he had found. Especially since he didn't currently have a car. One more thing to be annoyed about when it came to living in this place. Then again, it wasn't all bad. Free room and board, friendly people, hell, even some of the magic was kind of cool.

As much as he wanted to go home... he also kind of didn't. What did he have waiting for him? Just his heating-free apartment, his illness, and his friends who all had lives that seemed to be moving forward while his remained in place.

It wasn't something he wanted to be thinking about- he was supposed to be fishing.

Just then, his thoughts were distracted, the man noticing his line dipping into the water, a heavy tug on the rod making him grip the handle quickly. "Whoa!" He gasped, pulling on the rod and trying to reel in the line. He hadn't expected to sink a giant fish right off the dock- normally you had to be out in the middle of the water after waiting for hours to get so lucky. Well great! He was going to eat well, then!

As he pulled the line in, though, he started to see that, well, it wasn't actually a fish he had landed. He stopped trying to reel it in altogether when a long, boney hand stretched up out of the water, clasping strangely at the line. His eyes widened, the man letting go of the rod entirely, letting it collapse into the water. He took a couple steps back, breathing heavily. "W-what?!" He gasped. watching in horror as a couple undead men pulled themselves up from the water, climbing up on the docks slowly.

The scream he let out was probably the loudest note he'd ever hit. Too bad it was riddled with fear.
Mar 15 2017, 10:23 PM
Roger wasn't homeless anymore. The nice woman at the Dragonfly Inn had helped him get a room and settle in, even though he didn't have much money to pay her with. Or really any money, in fact. He had come to town without a penny to his name. But it seemed people were aware of how many people were popping in without any means to sustain themselves, and they were all very accommodating. It was nice not to be completely on his own, though he did feel a little guilty that he couldn't pay her back for her kindness.

He hoped she wouldn't mind him asking for a job- he had noticed she had a lobby and it could do with a bit of music. He would have to ask her if he could play for her. Maybe not for money, but as a way to repay her for having the room and food for free. It was small, but the best he could do until he could find a proper job.

Which were hard to come by when your only talents happened to be singing, writing songs, playing guitar and brooding. That last one, particularly, was a turn off for most places. Not to mention the fact that a lot of people had been looking for jobs long before his arrival there.

The competition was thick.

That didn't mean, though, that he had no means to earn at least a little money. Playing on street corners always happened to be a good way to earn a few extra bucks. Plus, it was actually kind of fun going out every day and singing to people as they walked by- he almost felt like the town troubadour. Was that a job he could actually claim? Just being the guy who stood there with his guitar case opened and played for tips?

It was certainly better than nothing.

Today, he was singing a more rock and roll collection of songs, arranged to work with his acoustic guitar. He was having a lot of fun blasting out the chords and just enjoying his music. How long had it been since he could just... play something? He hadn't even thought about his illness. Something else he needed to thank the people of the town for- the doctor over at the hospital, Dr Whale, had given him a prescription for his medication without so much as batting an eye about the payment.

How this town could even exist, he had no idea, but since he couldn't go home anyway, he wasn't going to knock it. He had it better here than he had ever had it back in New York.

Maria Posada
Dec 7 2016, 10:13 PM
Well, he was trapped in a town he knew nothing about, away from all his friends and everything he had once loved. He had been living in a bustling, big city where no one had time to care about one another and no one knew anyone else's name. Now he was in some small town hell where everyone was overly friendly and he had no idea how to socialize with them. He felt like an outsider. Like he had been pulled from his habitat and placed in something entirely contrary to his former life. Which was entirely true, he supposed.

More than that, he had even LESS money in this town than he'd had in his own, and that was saying something- he had been a broke artist back in his realm. Now he had nothing but his clothes, a small supply of medicine, and his guitar, the latter of which was luckily at least enough for him to potentially get some cash with. And not by selling it again, though he was tempted to. He knew the town had a pawn shop.

First, though, he might as well try using the instrument first.

He had set himself up on a street corner, leaning against a large mailbox that seemed more a blast from the past than anything else. There was a diner, Granny's Diner to be exact, behind him and various other shops all around. It looked like the busiest part of town, so it was likely the best place to try and play for some tips.

Pulling the strap of his guitar over his shoulder, he situated the instrument in front of him. It felt like second nature- it was so normal for him to get ready to play, even if the stakes were a good deal higher now than back home. Now he needed to get at least a couple bucks if he wanted to eat. Which he did- he hadn't had anything, really, since getting there.

So he started to strum on his guitar, tuning it slightly before finally starting to play a gentle song. He wasn't sure he could bust into the rock and roll right away, so he started with something a little lighter- a love song. A song he had written for someone very important to him.

A song called Your Eyes.

(OoC: This is the song, if anyone is curious!)
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