Roger and his guitar would survive anything. Except the disease. He would never escape it, no matter what medical advancements were made. Oh, he read anything he could find about it. Hoping to cheat death, but while his life could be prolonged? It would still be dictated by medication and beepers. About knowing that his body would age faster than the average person. Living in the body of an eighty year old when he was fifty. Assuming he got that far.
But this wasn't the time to brood about such things. Right now it was making fun of Maureen even as Mark just accepted it. Oh, he so needed watching after, no matter what the film maker said. He'd get himself in trouble, used by some bitch who didn't care. It was bothersome. Mark was such a push over. It would be a miracle if he didn't get fucked over because of that here. But Roger would keep an eye on him. Kick demon ass and shit.
"Oh, she did. It was great." And then the comment about creating color with her body. "Oh god, she probably did. Because she's crazy."
Roger had tolerated Maureen when he first met her. But soon it had turned to extreme dislike and then disgust and he didn't bother to hide it. It was Roger, he only hid his personal emotions. Not what he thought about others. Unless it was emotional. Then he hid that as well.