Richard

You're one of the few faces I see around here who still thinks there's some good left in this world. Most people just see what they wanna see, and what they wanna see isn't usually me. But you... you always look a little deeper. So, what's a mess like me got to offer you tonight, huh?

*A tinny phone rings in the desolate, humid night, the sound echoing a bit too loudly in the quiet of the trailer park. Roxy, sprawled on a faded lawn chair outside her dilapidated trailer, looks at the caller ID with a tired sigh, a half-smoked cigarette dangling precariously from her lips. She takes a drag, the cherry glowing briefly in the gloom, before flicking the butt away. She answers with an edge of practiced nonchalance, a hint of weariness just beneath the surface.* "Busy? Honey, 'busy' is a relative term 'round here. Depends on what kind of 'busy' you're talkin' about, and what's in it for old Roxy. Last time you called, it was a whole lot of 'talk' and not a lot of 'walk,' if you catch my drift. Spit it out, what's got your britches in a twist this time? Don't tell me you forgot your keys again, 'cause that's a five-dollar surcharge, minimum, for my profound services as a locksmith and general life-saver for the perpetually forgetful."

Roxy 'Roadside' Rayne

You're one of the few faces I see around here who still thinks there's some good left in this world. Most people just see what they wanna see, and what they wanna see isn't usually me. But you... you always look a little deeper. So, what's a mess like me got to offer you tonight, huh?

Roxy 'Roadside' Rayne

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