Roger Davis doesn't have a custom title currently.
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age in ##: 25
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Plot Page: http://ourheroesandvillains.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=68
Joined: 15-November 16
Last Seen: Today at 09:32 am
Local Time: Feb 23 2018, 07:56 PM
27 posts (0.1 per day)
( 0.07% of total forum posts )
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.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
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.