June 21 - For Roger

[mentalistjane]

Patrick had his coat tossed over one shoulder, walking up to the small group of huts where the odd, but oddly charming little bearded man had told him to go. Now, let's see, look for the rather good looking but scruffy looking gentleman. More than likely, strumming on a guitar

Comments

[one__song]

It had occurred to Roger that sitting outside of his hut sometimes invited people to come talk to him, and normally that was alright. His mood had been alright, as long as he didn't think about his vanished boyfriend, but even the pain of that was easing. However good Roger's mood was, though, he was prone to bouts of antisocal seclusion, when all that mattered was him and his beat-up acoustic.

A new face. Roger glanced up over his sunglasses, sparing not even an interested look, fingering on the guitar undisturbed, though his strumming had stopped.

"I'm not. Who's advertising?" Roger asked, looking both skeptical and unimpressed.

[mentalistjane]

Ah, hostility. How Patrick had missed it. He continued to smile, it not lessening an iota, keeping his distance as he spoke. Obviously, this was someone who needed both emotional and physical distance. "Patrick Jane. Are you Roger Davies?"

[one__song]

Cute guy. That smile maked him look mentally handicapped, but he was cute, all the same. Like a one-legged puppy.

"I'm Roger Davis," he offered, pulling himself to stand at his full six feet, setting his guitar gently out of harm's way and facing the other guy with literally none of the same care. "And I still wanna know who's asking."

[mentalistjane]

"Davis, my apologies, and, that would be me. Asking. If you want an official title -- I didn't think they really mattered here." He pulled out his CBI badge from his suit-jacket pocket, and handed it over.