For once, Roger did not have his guitar in hand. He was up early for once, unable to sleep. The tether thing had been weird, but he was getting used to being alone again. It was nice. He was able to write now. Okay. Not so much. He was still stuck, searching for that 'one last song'. He knew that there were advancements in HIV treatment. Hell, he had just read an article on someone who had been cured by a bone marrow transplant. But that didn't mean the displaced musician had much hope for himself. You don't go two years thinking you're going to die, watch one of your best friends die from what you have, and just be all 'Oh, I'm in the future, I'm going to be fine!' Because well, you just didn't.
Heading towards a coffee shop he had been frequenting, Roger's attention was drawn towards a scuffle. Obviously Lawrence had it's fair share of thugs as well. Really, he should just walk along. It wasn't like this was his problem. But for some strange reason, Roger slowed down. After all, it could be one of the kids from the Complex or something. There was something... familiar... about this. And while Roger wasn't nearly as reckless as he had been since contracting his death sentence, he wasn't some meek little girl. Especially as he saw a familiar flash of sunlight against black. A camera. A specific camera. Mark?!
"Hey! Leave him alone, assholes!" And without another thought (since really, Roger wasn't the most pragmatic of their group), Roger jumped into the fray. Oh sure, he needed to be careful, HIV and all. It would be wrong to spread the infection. But these punks were picking on Mark! And that just was not cool. So it was throwing punches, as well as getting punched himself. Grunting as he hit a wall, Roger's eyes blazed and he grabbed a pipe on the ground.
"Want to come at me!?" Striking at the larger of the group, Roger advanced slowly and watched as the jerks ran off. Dropping the pipe, Roger turned and looked at Mark, quirking a brow.
"Is this going to be a regular thing, Mark? I might have to start charging you." Smirking some, the musician moved over and hugged his best friend (man hug, of course). It had been a while since Roger had seen the film maker, and well, he missed him, nagging and all. Stepping back, Roger crossed his arms. He knew he had a lot to explain, and he didn't exactly know where Mark was from, but judging by his outfit, he would hazard a guess that it was Angel's funeral. Well, that dampened his mood.
And then he realized, if Mark couldn't take care of himself from some simple street thugs, how was he going to go up against the crazy in this world? Oh. Roger had so much to explain...