RP: Venturing out, and lending an ear
Date: November 5, 2004
Character(s): Roger Davies, Septima Vector
Location: River Place, then River Road
Status: Private
Summary: Roger wakes from a long sleep in his new place, and heads out to hunt up some food.
Completion: Complete
Roger removed his forearm from across his eyes and looked around, momentarily jolting at his unfamiliar surroundings. The mattress he was currently stretched across was bare. There was a bureau directly across from it and a taller chest of drawers against the adjacent wall. There was a door leading to what looked like a small bathroom, and another one leading into the rest of the apartment. He didn’t recognise any of it.
But as he sat up, ran his hands over his face and up into his hair, he noticed the worn brown boots on the floor, and the dingy grey T-shirt. The one he’d yanked off the night before. That’s right, he thought. This was his apartment. Merlin. It had been so long since he’d been able to call any one place home.
Roger stood and stretched. He stumbled into the bathroom and ran the shower. Must be late afternoon. Had he actually slept that long? He stepped out of his jeans and boxers, hopping on one foot to shake his left foot out of them. After toeing out of his socks, he stepped into the welcoming hot stream.
As the water and soap sloughed off days of grime, Roger watched the liquid empty out of the drain with his head down, allowing the stream to pummel his neck and back. He could hear his own stomach growling over the din of the shower.
Roger got out of the shower and hooked a towel around his hips, making his way to the door, where he’d carelessly dropped his pack in front of it. He rooted through for some clothes, surfacing with fresh boxers, jeans and a hopelessly wrinkled navy blue hooded sweatshirt. He dragged both on, and shook out his damp dark hair, shoving his feet back into his boots.
He was nearly out the door before he realized, rushing back to the bathroom and fishing into the back pocket of his old jeans. He transferred the contents- a dog-eared portrait of smiling young woman with wavy reddish-brown hair, and a tiny silver hair pin- into the pocket of the jeans he was wearing. He didn’t take the time to study the portrait as he usually would; he was very hungry and couldn’t spare the time it would take to run his fingers over the outline of her face, of her mouth. So he only grabbed his wand and headed out the door, and out of the building onto River Road.
Roger shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and put his head down as he walked, subconsciously avoiding the people who were still out celebrating, happy and jubilant, all around him. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t join in?
Best not to think about that, he mused, still making his way along the road. Right now, he needed to rouse up some food.