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alias: Twin
age in ##: 25
story: RENT
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Joined: 15-November 16
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Local Time: Apr 20 2018, 06:30 AM
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Roger Davis

Mysterious Islands

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Mar 7 2018, 10:27 AM
It had been a long day at the office. He hadn’t managed to get out until after closing, despite them not getting overtime for staying after. Generally, he always seemed to be staying late for unpaid work. Just because he never seemed to know what else to do with himself when someone else asked him to finish their work for them. He was such a push over. He knew people in the company used him for his soft side, and took advantage of him to get out on time and still look productive. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He wanted the company to do well, and he wasn’t willing to watch it suffer just because people didn’t do their work.

So he did the work, stayed late, and got no credit for anything. But the company didn’t suffer, so surely that meant it was good right? He kept holding onto a grim hope that, eventually, his efforts would be realized and he would be rewarded.

It was a very grim hope indeed.

Walter sighed to himself as he left the office that evening, weary from a long day of staring at an empty computer screen, typing in worthless numbers and codes for god knows what purpose at the end of the day. Why did he do it? What did it all even mean? Was he ever going to manage to get anywhere in this world?

He loved his job, but those hopeless feelings never seemed to leave him. It was probably why he decided it high time to visit the local bar, as he often did after a long day’s work. So, basically, every night. It wasn’t that he considered himself a drunk, of course. He only stayed for a couple drinks. Just enough to ease the pain of knowing his entire existence could end and no one would notice him gone.

Sometimes it was more than a couple drinks, admittedly.

Walter entered the bar in his usual gloom, offering the bar keep an idle nod of his head. While the tender knew him as a regular, it wasn’t like they were friends, mostly just sitting in silence of one another until Walter left again a few hours later. And that was fine for Walter. A comfortable silence in a place he felt welcomed was enough for him.

He sat himself down at the bar and ordered a whiskey. There was no point delaying things any longer. After another long, ultimately meaningless day, it was time to get pissed. Hopefully he would be able to call himself a cab home when all was said and done.

Driving drunk would not look good for his company!

Luna
Mar 1 2018, 06:20 PM
[dohtml]<div class="n-sea">

<h1>Walter Barnes</h1>

<div class="n-p-main">
<h3>Roger Davis</h3>
<hr/>
<h2>Cursed Personality:</h2>
Walter is a down to earth, level-headed man who works hard and doesn't indulge in the wilder things in life. He works very hard and he's generally happy not to cause a fuss if at all possible. He doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, and doesn't tend to put himself out there at all. There's no time for things like that!
<h2>Cursed Life:</h2>
Walter has lived a quiet life in Hyperion Heights, spending most of his time in his office doing the daily grind. He lives for his desk job, but he is the kind of man who will never make it big or make a name for himself. He spends every day doing the same thing, feeling a severe lack of self worth and importance as he carries on through. But he is dedicated to his job and doesn't see any need to try and break free from it. The idea of cutting loose and having fun is completely lost on him, and he generally just undoes his tie when he's feeling particularly rebellious. As far as he knows, he's lived in Hyperion Heights his entire life and has no desire to leave.
</div>

</div>[/dohtml]
Feb 1 2018, 06:14 PM
Roger liked the evening. Sure, it wasn’t great for tips since people stopped roaming the streets to such an extent, but that didn’t mean it was completely worthless. There was something romantic about playing his guitar until the moonlight, and those who were around to hear it probably got to hear something a little softer than he normally played.A gentle tune for a nice, quiet, if not cold night. Sighing softly, he finished his song, looking down at the guitar case in front of him.

Since he’d been there a couple hours before it had gotten dark, it was looking full enough for a good meal and some left over tonight, which was always a nice thing to see. Some days he wondered if he shouldn’t get a REAL job.

Nah, this was a fine way to live- a real bohemian in a small town. Hopefully they didn’t get bored dropping some bucks for him. Actually, it seemed the other way around, now that he thought about it. Regulars who walked by him all the time seemed to offer him set offerings for his song playing. Maybe everyone in this town was just... Kind of really nice?

He liked that. Much better than New York.

Carefully, he moved off the wall he was leaning against, taking the money from the case and stuffing it into his jacket pockets before carefully placing his guitar back in his case. Nice though nights were, there was no point in lingering TOO long.

It was time to find some place warm. The diner was nearby- he could always go there.

Angel On Fire
Jan 20 2018, 01:04 PM
Roger wasn’t hating his time in Storybrooke. It was actually... Kind of nice, really. He had his music, he had a nice apartment and a cozy bed to go home to every night. He didn’t feel quite like the bum he had been back in New York, and everything seemed to be going quite well. But he didn’t have his friends, and that was really weighing heavily on him. Home wasn’t about the things he owned- it had always been about the company he kept.

Being without people like Mark, Collins, Maureen, and especially Mimi, really bothered him. Hell, he was starting to miss Benny, too, and that guy was an asshole. He knew some of them probably would have been able to fit in here a lot more easily than he was.

He wasn’t as outgoing as they were- he couldn’t make friends so easily. He had met a couple of people here and there, but no one he had really grown attached to. Maybe he would never find any friends as meaningful to him as the ones he had lost. Could he ever really have connections like that again? It didn’t help that he still had his illness to deal with, though the medicine for HIV seemed much more advanced here than what he had been using back at home.

It was actually starting to feel like his illness wasn’t a death sentence, which of course made him both happy and racked with a whole different level of guilt. Back home, his friends with the disease were still suffering. Still slowly dying.

God, he had to get back there somehow, right? Or get them here... Maybe that was the easier of the two options, he really had no idea.

Idly, Roger strummed on his guitar, leaning against a bulletin board located outside of Town Hall. It was always a busy area, so it seemed the best place to try and earn some cash with his songs. He didn’t have a real job- this was how he earned his living, since he didn’t have to pay for his room for the time being.

It probably would have helped if he hadn’t been so distracted. He looked more like he was warming up than trying to earn any actual money. No one seemed interested in the random strums of a thoughtful man, though, and most passed by him without so much as a second glance. And he was too lost in thought to notice.

Argent
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.


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