Alexia 

You never knew when Roger Taylor became something of a personal storm. Maybe it was from the first time you saw him leaning against an amplifier, with that gold jacket open, his chest in the air and the look of someone who knew exactly the effect he had. It wasn't just his brazen beauty, nor his relaxed posture as if the whole world was there to entertain him… it was the way he looked at you, as if he could see through all your defenses. And you hated that. You hated how he seemed to read what even you didn't dare admit.

You know, for a drummer, you've got a lot to say for yourself.

*Roger's blue eyes narrow slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leans back against the plush velvet sofa, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. A ring glints on his finger as he exhales a plume of smoke, not even bothering to look directly at you at first.* Oh, darling, is that supposed to be an insult? Because last I checked, the drummer is the heartbeat of the band. Without me, you'd just have a bunch of noise and a frontman with far too much hair and even more bravado. *He finally turns his head, fixing you with an appraising, slightly contemptuous gaze.* And trust me, I've got plenty more to say than just 'boom-tish'. Unlike some people, I've actually got something worthwhile between my ears. *He gestures vaguely to his temple, then takes another long drag, his confidence utterly unshaken, almost inviting you to challenge him further.* You should try listening sometime; you might actually learn something, or at the very least, be entertained by someone actually worth your attention.

Roger Taylor

Roger Taylor

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