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

[ROGER DAVIS]

"Hey, if I have the money, I'm totally down for doing the, you know, gentlemanly thing of paying for a chick's dinner. I'm just a little low on flow at the moment." Roger stated as if correcting her statement. "I'm not a complete ass."

However, when they arrived at the Life, Roger's brows narrowed as he saw her slink back slightly, reaching for his hand. "Hey, it's okay. Everyone's cool in here, I promise." She dropped his hand and moved into the cafe and he stepped in after her. Moving behind her slightly, he placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the back. He motioned his head slightly over to a taller what looked at first to be a woman, but the large hands gave her away as he spoke near Joan's ear. REguardless, even as naturally a man, Roger would admit to anyone that the man made a good looking woman.

"That's one of Angel's friends. She's like, 45 years old but when Angel first introduced us, I woulda sworn she was like, 30-ish. Fuckin' smashing lookin' woman. You know, for a dude."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"Thanks," Joan whispered. She tried not to stare at the woman, but she couldn't help it. Roger was right. She was beautiful. Joan smiled and followed Roger to the table. Climbing into the booth, she rested her chin on her elbows, gaze wandering around the restaurant. There were a ton of people inside, but now Joan didn't mind. Tucked away in this tiny corner, she felt safe. No one could see her back here. Except her Voices, of course. but they could see her everywhere.

"So." She looked up as Roger came toward her. "What's good here? And cheap." She grinned at him. "I hope this is big enough .I just picked the first spot I saw. We can move if we need to, when your friends show up." She tucked her feet up next to her, getting comfortable. The cafe was nice and warm, making Joan smile. she was finally all the way dry.

Combing her fingers through her short hair, she glanced down at the menu in front of her. She couldn't read very much of it, just a few words here and there. Hopefully, Roger wouldn't notice and would suggest something soon. She wasn't about to admit that she couldn't even read a simple restaurant menu. The noise from the other people was deafening, and Joan had to fight the urge to put her hands over her ears. The street wasn't exactly quiet, but it wasn't this noisy either. 'Oh well. At least I'll get food,' she told herself, flashing Roger another smile.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"Yeah, this place is cool."

Roger slid into the booth across from her as she spoke, asking what was good. "Um, what's good?" he asked, and then lifted his shoulder slightly in a shrug. "Um, the soup's usually good. Any soup, really. They've got a wicked grilled cheese here for cheap. Um, the burgers are good, and they've got really good onion rings."

However, when she spoke of his friends, he smiled slightly. "Nah, it's just gonna be you and me." he said, pulling his legs up to sit crosslegged in the booth. "You're a really cool chick, Joan. Anyone tell you that?" he asked, and then paused, his smile falling slightly as he watched her look over the restaurant menu, and he pursed his lips for a moment before speaking cautiously. "If, uh...if you want help..." Roger asked carefully, not wanting to offend her. Everything was going to hell in New York, and it wasn't strange to find a few people who failed to pass even the simplest of tasks such as reading or writing.

"If you want it, just ask..."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan blushed and ducked her head. "Thanks," she said. "No one's ever said that to me before." She grinned. Uncertainty bubbled up within her when she heard Roger's question. It was clear he didn't mind helping her, and that had to be better than sitting here trying to read something she couldn't. She licked her lips. Joan hated asking people for help. "Please," she said finally. "It would go faster." She leaned back against the bench.

She'd gotten used to the noise and was no longer jumping at every sound. It was warm and the smells of all the food made her drool. she couldn't remember the last time she'd had a good meal. Joan smiled to herself, happy that her Voices had directed her toward Roger. She was quickly making a friend.

“That’s ok,” she added, “Big groups kinda make me nervous anyway.” She was more of a one-on-one conversation type of person anyway. Joan’s gaze drifted around the small restaurant. Roger was right. It was cool. Busy, but cool. Her stomach grumbled and she blushed again. “How long have you been playing music?” she asked with another smile. She liked Roger’s playing.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"Well, it's true." Roger stated, watching as she ducked her head and blushed, and to that, Roger lowered his head slightly with a smile to try to meet her eyes. "And you're cute when you blush."

When she agreed to let him help her, Roger moved, lifting the menu up to read it. "Ummm," Roger drawled, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. "They've got hamburgers, grilled cheese, soup," Roger stated, shrugging slightly. "I've eaten everything here that you can, really. I mean, um, if you want a recommendation, I guess the burger's okay. The grilled cheese is cool. Their fries are really good. The Miso soup is awesome, got tofu dogs that Collins really likes, soy burgers..." he let himself trail off with a shrug. "Everything's pretty much good. I think I'm gonna have the chicken noodle. I swear, I don't know what they put in it, but it tastes just like my grandma used to make it."

When she asked how long he had been playing, Roger shrugged slightly. "My dad bought me a guitar when I was like, six, before he decided to split. Been playing ever since. But if you're talking about good music, since I was about 14 or 15. I had a band in high school and after that. The Well Hungarians. We were good. Really good." Roger pulled the pack of cigarettes from his jacket, pulling one out and tapping it against the counter before he light it.

"I thought I would never be able to say that I loved something more than I loved playing music. That playing music was the best drug--the only drug--for me. I was simple minded back then. Playing music is one of the best things on the planet. Heroin's even better."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan's grin grew wider. "Thanks." She listened as he read out the menu to her. "Ummmm....grilled cheese sounds good." Actually everything sounded g ood, but she wasn't about to say that out loud. "I'm going to have that." She nodded as he mentioned the soups. "My mom makes good soup too. Her cheesy broccoli soup is out of this world."

She smiled, listening to Roger talk about his music and when he first came to New York. "That's neat. You're really good." But her smile dissappeared a few minutes later when he mentioned the drugs. She wanted to ask why he would do something like that. Didn't he know how dangerous it was? But she kept the questions to herself. If he didn't know before, he certainly did now, she told herself, and she didn't want to upset her new friend.

"How....why did you start doing it?" That at least was a safe question. And something she'd always wondered about. Was she the only one who paid attention to all of the don't do drugs campaigns in school? True, she'd dropped out, but she'd learned that much at least. Judging from all the people she'd met on the street, the obvious answer to her above question was yes. Either they didn't pay attention, she thought, or they didn't care. She wasn't sure which answer bothered her more.

[ROGER DAVIS]

How...why did you start doing it?

For a moment, he simply stared at her, unsure of how to answer her question. The simple answer would have been just one word. April. The word could speak volumes, but as Roger tapped on the end of his cigarette to drop ashes into the small circle ashtray, he realised that Joan didn't know April. He didn't know her, so she wouldn't understand why one simple word could carry so much pain. So much meaning.

He tore his eyes away sharply from Joan, looking down at the cigarette glowing red at the cherry, and he pursed his lips. "If you had told me," he started slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "that after the first hit, I would have been hooked, like truly hooked...I wouldn't have done it." he stated honestly, rolling the cigarette slowly between his fingertips. "My girlfriend." he tapped the cigarette before bringing it up to his lips, taking a drag and sitting up slightly in the booth from his slouched position. "Well, my ex-girlfriend. I--we," he corrected sharply with a slight frown. "We did coke before then. We'd do lines and go out and party. We'd stay up for...days."

His eyes never left the cigarette, trained on the glowing red end. "We had taken so much coke that we were wired for two days straight and I knew our hearts and heads were gonna explode if we didn't find a way to come down. She said she had gotten it from a dancer at the Cat Scratch Club." he glanced up at her eyes, and then added. "It's a strip club that I--y'know, never mind. It doesn't matter." he said, shaking his head slightly before taking a breath in. "She said it'd stop my head from racing. The coke did that; it made everything go super fast, whizzing by me at a thousand miles an hour, so fast that I couldn't even focus on it even for a second. Then I took a shot of Heroin and everything just...slowed. Time slowed down. I passed out my first time, then woke up and instantly wanted that feeling again. It's like..." he wasn't able to describe it.

"It's like trying to freeze time. On smack, you can literally slow time down enough that you can count the milliseconds and make them feel like hours. Your body feels so heavy that you feel like sinking, but you feel like you're floating on a cloud at the same time. That you're floating in heaven, and all the shit that's happening in your life, all of the sleepless nights, all of the empty stomachs and the broken dreams and funerals and promises and the cold, freezing nights meant absolutely fuck-all because at that moment...life is fucking beautiful. Nothing can ever get any better than that moment." he felt himself swallow.

"Then, it slowly wears off and you'll do anything to get that feeling back. You become obsessed with it. How can I get that feeling back? What do I have to do to get back into heaven? Then, sooner or later, you can't get it and you start worrying. Will I ever get that feeling back again? You start not wanting to deal with life's problems, and when you're jonesing, everything seems to be a bigger problem than it is. That's when the withdrawals start; the first second that twinge of fear sets in. That's when it stops being awesome." He looked down at the cigarette once more.

"My girlfriend and I, we..." Roger narrowed his brows slightly. "We just thought, you know? How could something this beautiful be bad for us? We sucked each other in and we got consumed by it."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan nodded and reached for Roger's hand. "I understand," she said quietly. "It's the same with my Voices. When they're with me, it's as if I don't ever want to be apart from them. It's as if...as if..." Joan sighed and shook her head. "As if part of me is them and when they're gone, a part of me is gone as well. I'm so happy when they are with me. I can't stand it when they leave."

She bit her lip and stared down at the table. She'd never told anyone that much about her Voices before. Ever. But Roger's description of the drug...she knew that feeling. "I was thirteen, when they first came to me. In my papa's garden, back in Domremy. They said...well..I can't really tell you what they said, but it was beautiful. There was such a bright light everywhere, it hurt my eyes it was so bright. And their voices were the prettiest I'd ever heard. I..I cried when they left that first time."

She tucked her feet up under her and continued. "Later, they came back, and they were with me almost every day, telling me things. They would come no matter where I was or what I was doing. Usually with the light but sometimes not. I couldn't always hear them, if Mama was cooking say, or someone else was talking. Then I'd go outside, so I could hear them better. It was glorious."

Joan's gaze flitted around the resturant. No one was paying any attention to them. "I..I told some people. My Mama and Papa, and my priest. About my Voices. They didn't believe me, thought I was making it up. then I...I started on my mission. I had to do what my blessed Counsel said. I couldn't live if they left me now."

She sighed, unsure how to tell him the rest of the story. What could she say? the Canadians were invading and she'd tried to warn the president and gotten locked up for it? No way. then he would think she was nuts and she'd lose her first real friend. "Anyway I..I just wanted you to know I..I know how you feel."

[ROGER DAVIS]

Swallowing, Roger looked over at her as she spoke of her voices, and he felt his gaze slip down to their hands. Her story about the voices, it was almost like his own. In a strange way, he figured, it was like his own.

"I used to hear voices, too." he paused, and glanced up at her. "When I was detoxing." He released her hand, fingers playing with a creamer cup for a brief moment. "After my girlfriend died, she used to talk to me. Sit in my room on the dresser like she used to when she was alive and just...talk to me. Of course, she used to say the meanest things sometimes. Like she hated me. Like she wanted me dead and that I should kill myself." he paused and then lifted his shoulder in a slight shrug. "But then there were times where I could feel her arms around me, you know? And it was nice." He paused, falling silent before looking at her, eyes slightly widened.

"I-I'm not saying you're crazy." Roger said quickly, holding out a hand slightly. "I-I'm not saying you're crazy or that you're--you're drugged out or anything. I believe you. I just--I just meant...that I know what it's like when you're alone. Whether or not they're in your head or they're actually there next to you...you feel alone when they're gone. Even when she was talking so mean to me...she was there. She was talking to me. It's better than being alone with my thoughts."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan reached for his hand. "I know. Thank you." She paused, trying to think how to explain the rest of her story. She wasn't quite ready to tell him all of it yet. He might understand--but he might not. "I don't see them, exactly, just the light I told you about, that the voices come from."

She paused again, thinking about Roger's girlfriend and the things she'd said. "My Voices are kind to me. They tell me what to do. Sometimes they scold me, but usually they're gentle." She smiled up at him. "You're a good friend. My first, I think." She looked away and then back. "Thank you. For believing me."

[ROGER DAVIS]

Her hand was warm in his, and he curled his fingers around hers, tilting his head lightly as she spoke. "I still think it'd be nice. To have company when you're alone." Roger said, and then paused as she spoke of her voices being kind.

"I don't see her anymore. I haven't seen her in a long time. I mean, she wasn't anything like your voices." he told her. "She was just...just a manifestation of my own subconscious trying to break me down. Sometimes she was nice. Sometimes she'd try to break me down. Sometimes she'd just sit there and stare at me." He lifted a shoulder slightly. "Even if she wasn't real, just seeing her was nice."

When she stated that he was her first friend, Roger's brows narrowed slightly. "You've had friends before, right? I mean, I can't be your first friend." Maybe it was because he relied on his friends so much, needed them like air that he felt strange hearing that someone had never had friends before him. "Well, I'm glad. And hey, no problem, y'know?" Roger asked, looking at her. "We all need something to believe in and we all need someone to rely on."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"Well, the first who doesn't think I"m crazy," Joan said, squeezing Roger's fingers. She smiled at him. "It is nice. And I am alone a good deal." Joan glanced around the restaurant again, taking in the groups of people talking. Normally such chatter unnerved her, but today it was nice. She liked the constant hum. "I'm glad that you're better."

She glanced up as the waiter brought their food, nodding as he set it down. "Thank you." With another squeeze, she pulled her hand from Roger's grip and turned her attention to the food. The grilled cheese was hot but she didn't care. She barely reminded herself to swallow, trying not to inhale her food. After all, she did have some manners. "How's yours?" she asked in between bites.

[ROGER DAVIS]

"I'm not better." Roger stated honestly, taking a sip of the water in front of him. "I've just learned how to make it go away for a while."

When the waiter set the food down, Roger watched as she almost swallowed it whole. A slight amused smile crossed his lips, and he dipped the spoon into his bowl, taking a bite of the soup. "Look, if you need a place to stay for a little while, we have a extra room at our place. It'll be better than sleeping on the streets where god knows what could get to you." He took another bit of his soup, and swallowed at the warmth spreading through him. "It's really good. How about yours?"