God Save a Poor Wretch Like Me (Roger/Joan CASUAL)

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"So...." Joan chewed her lip. "Why were you in the cemetery?" She looked up at him. "You don't look like the type to be hanging out in graveyards for the fun of it." Not that I do either she thought. "I mean, I'm just here because it's dry and it's a church and I was praying and..." She trailed off, heat filling her face. She'd done it again. Babbled. Just because she was nervous, she didn't have to act like a complete idiot. “I know what you mean," Joan added, "About people not understanding you. I get weird looks all the time." She tossed her hair. "You just have to learn to ignore them. That's what I do."

Joan hummed under her breath as she walked, waiting for Roger’s answers. She wasn’t going to push him; she didn’t want to upset the first friend she’d made in ages. Besides she was used to her own company. She’d kept to herself so often that it was odd having someone else around. Not that she minded. Not at all. But still, it was odd. “I’m excited about meeting your friends,” she said, to fill up the silence. “I don’t have a lot, myself, so…I hope they like me. I know you said that they’re understanding, which is good. Sorry, I’m rambling again. I do that when I get nervous.” Joan stared at her feet. Stop it, she told herself, you’re going to scare him off. And she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t fail her Voices. Not this time. Not again. She wouldn’t fail her Voices. They were all she had left.

[ROGER DAVIS]

So...why were you in the cemetery?

Roger pursed his lips, knowing that sooner or later, she was going to ask. He had wanted it to be later, but normally, people that didn't know always asked. People were just that interested. He looked down at the ground before looking up. "Why do most people visit cemeteries?"

Way to be a dick, Davis, he thought to himself before he felt his eyes close and then open. "Sorry." he muttered, and then lifted his head up, staring at the gates in the distance as they walked. "My girlfriend died." His voice was almost alien, trying to seperate the words from himself. "...three years today, actually." He felt himself swallow, and he looked from the gates to Joan. "She had AIDS and...she just...couldn't take it."

Maybe that wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough. It was partly the truth. April couldn't take it. They hadn't talked about it or anything, but it was obvious. She couldn't take what she had done to him and what she had done to herself.

"She killed herself."

Maybe it was easier telling someone like Joan, because Joan had never met April. She hadn't know April and how wonderful she had been; she also hadn't know how destructive Roger and April had been. How violent. How passionate.

The relationship mirrored he and Mimi's in many ways, without the drugs, of course. They were both violently passionate, but there had always been something different with April. Joan hadn't known this, so was it easier? He wasn't sure. Had time simply made it easier? He wasn't sure of that either.

When she spoke of is friends, the frown turned into a slight smile. "My friends...I mean, they're great people. But they take...getting used to?" Roger offered. "I mean, if you've never been around them, they're a little...crazy. But they're good people. Good honest people." Roger finished with a nod.

"But um, I'll just let you know now that...well, one of my friends...she's a drag queen. I know some people are all," he made a freaked out motion with his hands. "about it, but she's a nice person. She's very kind. She's like the Mom I never had. She's also my girlfriend's best friend and my best friend's girlfriend, so I sorta have to like her." He paused, looking over at her for any sign on her face. "My friends...we're all different. That's what brings us together. Some of us are sick. Some of us are okay. Some of us really screwed up in the past. But we're all family."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan nodded. Of course he'd come to the cemetery because he'd lost someone, idiot, she thought, scolding herself. What could she say to his explanation? I'm sorry? Bu then he'd probably bite her head off. As for his friends....well...Joan wasn't sure what to think. She'd never met anyone like the people Roger described--she tended to avoid them. They made her uncomfortable; she was never quite sure what to say.

But now, here she was, about to go to dinner with a guy she barely knew who clearly didn't share her religious sentiments, and hang out with people from whom she normally would've run the other way. Her parents would be horrified, and she couldn't bring herself to think about what her priest would say, though she could imagine it well enough. Joan shook her head. None of them were here now and she had decided. Besides, if the situation got too awkward, she could simply leave.

"Family,". The word echoed in Joan's brain. She missed her family. She missed the priest, who was truly like a second father. What would they say if they could see her now? What if she had told them of her Voices, of the great and terrible thing they'd commanded her to do? Joan had tried to tell the priest, once, but in the end she could not do it. Fear had rendered her mute. Suppose she had.....would she be here now, standing in a cemetery thousands of miles away from those she loved?

'No,' she told herself, 'You wouldn't, but you wouldn't be with your family, either. You'd be stuck in an institution, doped up on so much medication that you couldn't recognize your own face in the mirror, let alone anyone else.' Joan blinked sudden tears out of her eyes. 'Stop it,' she scolded herself, 'You're being morbid.' Perhaps dinner would be fun, after all. Besides, she was on a mission. Two missions, now. And she needed new recruits. Perhaps these friends of Roger's would believe her about Canada. Not that she planned on telling them right at first. That would be stupid. But later, if they were trustworthy....Joan smiled to herself. Perhaps she'd found her army after all.

[ROGER DAVIS]

He wasn't sure if he had offended her, because her silence made him frown slightly, but he chose to break the silence. "Look, I know that--I know not everyone agrees with how my friends decide to live their lives." Roger said honestly, looking over at her. "I know alot of people think that we're just a bunch of freaks and just a bunch of disgusting low-lifes...but we're good people." he told her, looking over at her.

"I mean, if you looked at me, what would you think? Would you think I was...was some well-rounded young kid? Maybe a school kid or something?" Roger asked, and then lifted his shoulders slightly in a shrug. "Would you believe that I was addicted to heroin and cocaine for two years? Like, hard addicted, to the point where I didn't give a shit about anyone or anything, even my best friends?" Roger asked, and then shook his head, scoffing slightly. "Would you believe that after my girlfriend died, I tried to kill myself? Would you believe that I had AIDS?"

Roger looked from the spot on the ground to her, lifting the long sleeves up on his jacket to show her the track marks on his arms. "Don't be shocked. And don't say you're sorry. All I'm trying to say...is that the world isn't black and white. There isn't normal and abnormal. Everyone's different. No one fits in...in a tight little mold of perfection and normalcy. If that was the case, the world'd be pretty fuckin' boring if you ask me."

He lifted his shoulders in another shrug. "If you don't wanna go, just let me know. I mean...I guess I'll just say don't judge a book by it's cover. 'Cause covers are usually shit made to look pretty anyway, that's it."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"No," Joan blurted. "I want to come. I do. I...I miss..people. Being around them, I mean." She clamped her mouth shut. Way to scare him off, she chided herself. Now he'd probably think she was even weirder than he already did. Further protest faded from her lips as Roger continued, and she tried not to stare when he showed her the marks on his arms. She would never have taken him for a druggie, or someone who had AIDS.

Joan stared at her feet, trying to think of something to say. "You're right," she said finally. She took a deep breath. "Back home, in Domremy, I kept to myself. I..I didn't have a lot of friends." She licked her lips, stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Then my Voices came and...." Not yet. She couldn't tell him yet. "Anyway, you gave me a chance and that's what I want to do. I'm sorry if I offended you."

She trailed behind him as they walked, butterflies flitting in her stomach. If she was ever going to convince these people that she was right, she had to make a good impression. They couldn’t think she was crazy, and they couldn’t know about her Voices until it was absolutely necessary. But what on earth would they talk about?

Joan’s life was far from typical, even aside from her Counsel. She lived on the streets for crying out loud. She didn’t have a job, a boyfriend, or kids. None of the usual things that people talked about. She didn’t really even have any hobbies, unless you counted talking to disembodied voices and trying to save the world as a hobby. But she would try. And besides, maybe Roger’s friends would be chatty, and wouldn’t mind that she didn’t have a lot to say. She hoped so, anyway.

[ROGER DAVIS]

No! I want to come. I do. I...I miss...people.

Roger looked over at Joan for a slight moment, arching an eyebrow before he saw her face change as he told her about the drugs. About the AIDS. She spoke then, talking about her home and her voices, and Roger felt his shoulders lift in a slight shrug.

"Look, I--I'm just used to people looking down on us." Roger stated after a moment. "I don't give people a chance most of the time because..." he paused and then shook his head. "I don't know. You just look like you're down, and I've been there. You didn't offend me. I just didn't want my friends to get offended, so I just tought I'd tell you."

"That's why I told you they were open. They don't care if you have AIDS or if you're poor or if you're down on your luck as long as you're willing to understand. I mean, seriously? Even if you're rich, they'll love you as long as you're open minded. They'll like you, baby. You've got good stories. My friends like stories."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"I am happy to get to meet them," Joan replied, smiling. Her spirits lifted. Her new friend was not angry with her! She wanted to take his hand, but refrained. He still seemed skittish. "So, if I tell them about my voices, they won't mind?" No matter how often he reassured her, she couldn't quite believe him. She'd kept them a secret for so long, she felt awkward speaking of them openly. 'But he said his friends were fine,' Joan reminded herself.

"Thanks for telling me. I wouldn't want to upset them." She chewed her lip. So he was helping her because he felt sorry for her. Joan gritted her teeth. She wasn't sure whether to be irritated or pleased. 'I hate people feeling sorry for me....' But she was glad for Roger's company. And he didn't act as if he pitied her. 'So perhaps he simply means to be kind.' Joan glanced up at him again. Up close, he looked to be a few years older than her, but she wasn't sure. "What about your family? I've told you a little about mine."

[ROGER DAVIS]

So, if I tell them about my voices, they won't mind?

"Nah." Roger said, shaking his head lightly. "The most Mark will want to do is make you his new documentary subject. Oh, that's another thing. My best friend he...he has this...thing." Roger started, unsure of how to explain it. "He likes to film stuff. And usually does it without asking anyone. But I mean, if you don't want him to film you, just let me know and I'll tell him."

However, when she asked about his family, Roger looked over at her with an arched eyebrow. "My family?" Roger asked, and then shrugged. "Um...I don't really...my Mom lives in Scarsdale. My dad...well, my dad left when I was 12 and I haven't really seen him since." he paused and then shrugged slightly. "Neither one of them know about the drug or AIDS thing. They'll find out at my funeral, 'cause there's no way in hell that I'll tell them now." He had already told his mother about April and that had lead to a near breakdown with Mimi.[/b]

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan narrowed her eyes. She wasn't certain how she felt about being filmed. "Just...just...don't let the cops get ahold of it, ok?" There was no way she was going back to that institution. She had work to do. "Otherwise, I don't mind. It, it might be sorta fun." They walked along for a few minutes in silence. Joan shivered in excitement. She was finally doing something. after months of waiting and praying, she was finally meeting people. People who would help her. She was sure of it.

Joan turned to look at him when he explained about his family. How sad, to be that cut off from your family. "My parents don't know about my Voices either," she whispered confidentially. "I didn't want them to think I was crazy. She bit her lip. Of course, they'd probably heard by now. It had been all over the news when it first happened. Joan hoped they didn't believe it. 'I wonder if they're looking for me.' the thought caught her unawares and she stumbled forward, barely catching herself. Even if they were, she couldn't go home now. Not till she was finished. Not till she had saved the country. After all, she was the only one who could.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"The cops don't give a shit about any of us around here. They wouldn't care if you're on some starving artist's documentary." Roger replied. "I mean, he's a good director. He doesn't really...tell you anything. Sometimes, he'll just turn his camera on and just film. We've got rolls and rolls of random shit back at the Loft. Nothing spectacular on them. Just junk. One roll I think is just about leaves."

When Joan whispered about her voices, Roger tried to give her a smile. "At least with your voices...you'll still be here." Roger told her. "Someday...probably much sooner than later...I'm gonna be gone. They're gonna wanna know why and how and why they couldn't have stopped it, and I don't have a single answer for them. At least after I'm dead they can think I was trying to live my life to the fullest every day instead of trying to live my life to the fullest every day and trying to survive even more." Roger lifted his shoulders up in a shrug. "My mom doesn't know I live in almost complete poverty. She thinks I still work at a bar. I just don't want her to think she failed with me. 'Cause she's a good woman. Raised me as a single parent and she did as much as she could for me." Roger stated honestly.

"Some people are just...born messed up." Roger said after a moment, looking over at her. "Not to mention...well, I mean, I don't want my Mom to see me at the end, you know. I know it won't be peaceful, and I sure the hell won't look my best. I don't want her blaming herself for what happened to me or asking me why I hadn't told her. I want her to just...I want her to wake up one morning and find out her son died. Not that he died a painful slow death...but that he died. Or hell, maybe I don't even want her to know at all. I think I just want her to always have that hope that I'm coming home. Because when you lose hope..." Roger found himself trailing off.

"She's gonna know sooner or later, but I don't want her to say that her son was a liar at my funeral. I want her to say that she loved me."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"She will." Joan grabbed his hand. "You are good, and kind, even if you do talk rough. Your mother knows that. I'm sure she loves you very much. As all mother's do." She smiled at him. "You are kind to me and I will tell her of it..." Joan's voice faded and she looked away. She was quickly becoming friends with the scruffy bohemian and the thought of his death brought tears to her eyes and a knot to her tongue. What could she possibly say that wouldn't sound shallow or contrived? No words came to her and they walked in silence for a while.

"I"m glad the cops don't bother about us. That's good." Joan spoke for want of anything else to say. It was good. When she finally put her plan into action, she wouldn't have to deal with the police. Once she formulated a plan. 'But I must wait till my Counsel tells me it is right,' she reminded herself. When the time was ripe, she'd know. They would tell her and she would act. In the meantime, she would get to know her troops. 'And maybe Roger's friends know even more people who would want to help.' ONce she convinced them of the cause of course. For now, she was simply going to bide her time. "Who dyo you think we'll meet at the Life? Do all your friends hang out there?"

[ROGER DAVIS]

She will. You are good and kind, even if you do talk rough. Your mother knows that. You are kind to me and I will tell her of it.

"Yeah?" Roger asked, glancing over at her as she took his hand. "Be sure to tell her that after I'm dead, okay? It'll make up for all the bad shit I've done." Roger stated honestly, and then nodded when she spoke of the cops. "Yeah, well, cops bother us about other shit, but just nod and smile and then ignore whatever they say. It's a stragedy that works well for me."

When she asked about who they'd meet at the Life, Roger paused. "Um, some of my other friends, maybe. And yeah, my friends mostly hang out there. It's the only place you can get a cheap meal and a cheap cup of coffee." Roger lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "When we have money to pay, that is."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan smiled up at him. "I will tell her," she promised. She giggled at his reference to money. "I did god today, I can help. If you wouldn't mind, that is." Some guys got snippy if a girl offered to pay for them. Roger didn't seem like the type that would get offended if Joan loaned him some money, but she couldn't be sure. Better to wait and see, she decided. They continued to walk. Nearing the cemetery gates, Joan paused, allowing Roger to walk ahead of her. She didn't know where they were going. Central park was the only place she could get to with any certainty. She'd only found the church by stumbling onto it. Central Park jogged a memory and she turned to look at Roger. Where had she seen him before? She rested her finger on her chin, thinking. In a flash, it came to her. Central Park. He was playing his guitar.

"Are you a musician? I think I've seen you in Central Park. You're really good." Now that she was closer to him, Joan remembered that she had seen him playing before. Many times. She'd wanted to go up and introduce herself, but shyness stopped her. She grinned. Now she was getting to meet him.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"Mind? Why would I mind?" Roger asked honestly, looking over at her. "I've got..." he dug into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled bill and a few loose coins. "A buck thirty-five. Not gonna buy us a decent feast." He felt himself swallow. "Next time I get some cash, I'll get you back with interest."

Whe she asked her next question, Roger looked over at her. "Um, yeah. Yeah, I am." However, she stated that he was good, and he shook his head slightly. "I, uh...well, I'm not that good." Sure, he was egotistical as hell, but something made him be...humble with her. "I'm not that good. I mean...I'm good, but...not that good."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan shrugged. "I don't hear much music, so you're good to me." She grinned at him. "I'm glad you don't care. Some guys don't like it when girls try to pay for their meals." She rolled her eyes. "This isn't 1429 for heaven's sake." They walked in silence the next few blocks. To fill the quiet, Joan hummed under her breath.

Rounding a corner, Joan spotted the cafe. Her heart sped up as they walked closer. People. There were so many people in there. without quite realizing what she was doing, she reached behind her and grabbed Roger's hand. Crowds had always made her nervous, ever since she was little. The way all the people stared at her, especially when she was talking to her Voices, made her skin crawl. She closed her eyes to fight off a wave of dizziness. She could do this. She had to do this. Roger needed her and maybe his friends too. "Come on, it's freezing out here." She dropped his hand and hurried into the cafe.