Name: Roger Aiken Age: 39 Occupation: former rancher, now rambler Genre: drama Rough description: brown hair, brown eyes, 5'10"; fit enough, doesn't keep up with it, lazy about life in general
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Sample: Mel was up and dressed -- well, half dressed in an oversized t-shirt -- in the kitchen, leaning over a newspaper and munching half-heartedly on a bowl of cereal. A piece of toast and an apple also sat nearby, the former liberally smeared with jam. "Did Annie already leave?" she asked, looking up at him as he sank onto a stool next to her. "Just headed to the bus stop," he said with a wry smile. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Roj -- was she rude to you?" The cringe in her features almost worked its way into her frame. "Naw, Mel, she's fine. Can't hardly blame her for being a little upset, can I?" "I suppose not." Her gaze drifted back to the newspaper, and his followed it. The classifieds. He didn't comment on it, instead reaching over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "Seems worried about you," he said instead. "Well -- it hasn't been easy, you know, since her father left." He ignored the shame that crawled across her face. "That kinda thing ain't easy, no," he agreed, mentally ticking over whether now would be a good time to beat a retreat. It had been a while since he'd hung around in a woman's kitchen. "You seem to be holding up all right." She just laughed, a weak sound, made him sorry he'd said it. The dry stare she leveled at him made him sorrier. But she didn't follow up on it, instead snagging her toast and biting off a corner of it. "My baby girl takes better care of me than I do her," she said. He shifted, wondering why he hadn't left yet. "You going to be around Jay's this week?" she asked. "I may. Work's liable to keep me busy, though," he lied. "Don't wait up too late for me." Her shoulders sagged, just slightly. "I won't." "You should get home, take care of your baby girl," he put in, and she laughed again. "Yeah. I know." She met his gaze again with one of those curiously level stares. "It's all right, Roj." "You can go" was the part she didn't say aloud, and he was grateful for it, sliding from the stool with a creak of plastic and metal. "See you around, Mel." She lifted a hand in a silent wave, focused on the classifieds again, and he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep the hurry out of his step as he made for the door. |