Participants:
| Scene Title | A New Leaf |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Checking in on Trevor, Devon presses for some information on the man's history. |
| Date | April 1, 2011 |
A motel in New York City
A night has come and gone to be replaced by morning. Morning drifts toward afternoon, and Trevor has had all this time himself. To recover from yesterday's experiences which had included fresh clothes, enough for a few days, toiletries, and even non perishable foods in enough quantities to last for a week. Devon had left the man at the hotel, given his cell phone in case anything else was needed, then left for his own activities.
Come the new day, the teenager has returned to the hotel room, just after lunch. He's bearing a couple of disposable coffee cups and a bag with delicious smells of fresh pastries. A light knock on the door announces his presence for the room's occupant. He probably could have gotten the spare key from Melissa and let himself in, but knocking seems more appropriate.
Yesterday's shower was the most alive Trevor had felt in so long. He had been one of the walking dead for so long and thought he was surviving. All it took was the first blast of hot water and the cleansing of shampoo through his hair to realize how wrong he was. The street grim turned the water nearly black as he scrubbed, washing down the drain with his the cares, sin, and shame of past mistakes. It was a baptism in the purest sense. No priests involved. Just a shower head.
He spent the night sleeping like a log and awoke to morning talk shows about current events and a breakfast of cold pizza. As the day wore on, so did Trevor's interest in the shows on T.V. There's only so much one can take of soap operas and cop dramas, no matter how long it's been since you laid sight on a T.V. So, Trevor was greatful for the knock on the door and rushed up to answer it.
He cleaned up well! In fact, he looks years younger without the scruffy, dirty hair and the years of steet grime. He stands before Devon smooth-faced. "Hey, Devon! Come on in!" He says with a smile that even a tooth brush did little to improve. He's going to need some serious dental work, but that'll have to wait another time. He stands aside to let the teenager in. The sound of some nature show on the Discovery Channel can be heard on the T.V.
"Hey," is Devon's reply as he's greeted. In typical teenage fashion, no less. The bag of pastries is lifted in a show of peace as he steps into the small room, then placed on the table. "Brought coffee, too. Black since I wasn't sure what you'd like." One of the two cups is also lowered, presumeably the all black.
"How'd you sleep," the young man continues as he looks to Trevor. The remaining coffee is lifted to allow for a sip while taking in the older man's appearance.
"Like a rock, man! I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow." Trevor closes the door and accepts the coffee from Devon/ "Black'll do. Thanks." He takes a sip. "Oh, God! That's the shit right there. I swear I used to go through gallons of this stuff back in the day." He takes out one of the pastries and takes a seat on the bed, clearly not concerned about putting crumbs on it.
He takes a few bites and lets the time fill with some awkward silence before it gets too awkward. "So! What have you been up to?"
A somewhat awkward grin quirks at Trevor's exuberance over coffee, as though the teenager isn't quite sure what to make of it. Not that he's one to scoff over the simple pleasures of life, the Dome taught him that lesson rather well. He steps a little further into the room before claiming the chair for himself. "That's good to hear. There's a coffee shop that I saw on the way over, seemed a pretty decent place."
Leaning back in the chair, Devon glances toward the television then takes a brief survey of the room's set up. "I went to a photo exhibit yesterday," he explains, to make up for his absence. "And I've got to go back to work in a little bit. You're pretty lucky, with running into Melissa and all."
The room itself is nothing special as far as hotels are concerned. The T.V sits in a cherry-stained wood entertainment set across the foot of a double sized bed. Two similarly stained end tables flank either side of the bed. The chair Devon sits in is along the wall on the other side of the end table, conveniently facing toward the T.V. It's a cheap recliner, but comfortable enough. To the right of the entertainment set is a small desk in chair for those who feel inclined to do office work, but hardly anyone does. A small frig sits to the right of the T.V. The door in the corner opens to the bathroom area.
Trevor smiles at the mention of Melissa. "Yeah. She's definitely a class act as far as I can tell." A girl like that's probably taken, for sure. But if she ever needs some fun on the side, he'd certainly ablige. He can't help but feel like he owes her something more than working for her. He takes another bite of pastry before he looks over at Devon with a renewed spark of interest. "You know, there was a ruckus at some photo exhibit about that dome, force field, thing. It's been all over the news this morning. You weren't at that one, were you?"
"Just some protestors," Devon says with an easy shrug. "Nothing happened, and it's not really a huge surprise. A lot of those who were trapped in the Dome were Evolved." He drains some of his own coffee, eyes going back to Trevor. "Yeah, Melissa's got a good heart. Kinda like an older sister to me." And as such, he'll kick anyone's ass who does wrong by her. "So, you from New York originally?"
Trevor takes a sip of coffee. "No. Chicago. I went to Boston for college, then moved down here months after the bomb went off. I wasn't thrilled about moving down here, but you go where the work is, you know?" He takes another bite of pastry.
The T.V catches his eye for a moment, some show about lumberjacks and one of their cable rigging snapped and almost seriously injured some crew members. Entertaining, but still, since when did they put shows on the Discovery Channel that don't have anything to do with nature, culture, or learning things? Whatever. He reaches for the clicker and turns off the T.V. It's rude to get distracted like that anyway. He looks back over to Devon. "So are you a child of the Big Apple?"
Lifting his cup of, Devon's eyes stray to the television as well. He seems less interested in the show being displayed, expression bordering on apathy. He's never been one to really sit and watch television personally, but then his childhood was a little odd. Lowering the cup again, his attention returns to Trevor once the show has been turned off. "Born and raised," he answers with a shrug. "Been here my whole life and not really planning on moving away."
The teenager lifts his cup again to drain off more coffee. Meanwhile he takes a moment to survey the room again. "What'd you do before you lost your job? And… why stay here on the streets when Chicago's got to have a better scene for help?"
"I was a computer programmer working on system security software. When I wasn't at work writing code late into the night to meet development deadlines, I was usually out blowing off steam. You know, clubbing, getting drunk, having flings with strange women. Generally not thinking about consequences or the future." Trevor looks down at the mostly empty coffee cup in his hands, clearly not proud of himself for his misjudgement. "So when I lost my job, it caught me with my pants down. But I was still stubborn and tried to work through my problems myself. Some bills got paid, most didn't. Creditors started calling nightly…it was just a mess, man. I really didn't have my shit together and by the time I realized it, my car was repossessed and I had an eviction notice on my door."
Trevor takes a hand through his hair, a gesture of past frustrations coming to the present. "I tried calling my parents for money, but my dad wouldn't give me any. There were some issues between us that we just butted heads on. I asked to move in, and my dad refused. He basically hung me out to dry, not that I blame him. I didn't have my priorities straight then."
Devon looks aside, a subtle gesture made to allow the older man to save face when explaining his darker moments. "We've all hit bottom a time or two," he says quietly. Though his were never financial, he's been meted with life's cold lessons. He leans back in his chair, one leg crossing over the other at the knee and thumbs tapping lightly against the lid of his coffee cup.
"What happened," Devon goes on to ask, his tone remaining casual and eyes flicking back to Trevor. "With your parents, I mean. Sorry if it's prying. Just seems odd that parents would turn out their own kids."
Trevor fidges uncomfortably. Does he really have to tell this kid the specifics of his problems? As much as he doesn't like it, it may be worth opening up some just to earn Devon's trust a bit. "Some parents shut their kids out when giving them help would actually make their matters worse. My dad felt that if he gave me money it wouldn't go to bills. And he was right. He also felt that if I moved in that would bring my problems with me and nothing would get solved anyway. He was right, again. Why give someone help if the help you give just ends up being a money trap?"
He let's out a sight. "I was my parents' money trap, as sad as it is. Even now I know my mistakes and what I have to do to correct it. But I'm in such a hole, I can't…" He seems to choke up on these words. Admit it, dammit. You have a fucking problem and you're too weak to break free. You're a slave. "I can't do it on my own."
Devon listens carefully, and whatever he might be thinking of Trevor's situation is well hidden under a mask empty of emotion. His response is a long time in coming, the space filled with another long draw off his coffee. Actually, he finishes the cup and looks at it in askance when it's lowered again. Why couldn't you have had more coffee inside?
"And are you going to be Melissa's money trap," the young man asks finally, his tone still quiet, a subtle edge to it. "Or are you truly turning over a new leaf?"
He would, wouldn't he? Especially working at a club, with his demons clearly displayed and beckoning him constantly. But this may be his one shot at making a better life for himself. Should he say something and risk losing it? Or would the truth set him free? Only one way to find out…
Trevor looks up to Devon, with shame clearly plaguing his face. "Melissa has been way more generous than I deserve, Devon. And yes, right now, I feel like I would be a money trap to her, especially working at a club." That's not good enough if he wants Devon to understand his predictement. He may already have an idea, but the words still need to be said. Not for Devon, but for Trevor. "I'm…an alcoholic." Trevor says in a whisper, but with no other noise in the room, he seems to ring out more clearly than he attended. He looks away, not willing to look Devon in the eyes anymore. "It was a mistake from the beginning. I know that now. I've tried to quit. But out there…" He glance back out toward the window, out into the street. "I needed to survive. And going through withdrawals out there could have easily killed me. The shakes, the vomitting, the weakness. I didn't need to be weak out there." He glances back up at Devon. "You see? I appreciate what Melissa's trying to do, but working at a club is no good for me. I'm not strong enough. Not right now, at least."
A wince of sympathy comes at the older man's admission of guilt. That would explain the staring, but even that can be overcome. Not that Devon has any ideas of where to begin on that road. He'll have to figure out how to tell Melissa, too. "As I see it," he says slowly, thoughtful rather than detached, "you got a job. Melissa says she needs bouncers. That'll keep you away from the drink." He pauses, then adds, "You know any self defense?"
Trevor shakes his head. "I'm a computer geek, not much of a fighter." He lets out a sigh as he puts the empty coffee cup and bag of pastries on the night stand. "Now if she has computer problems, that I can do. If she wants to build a website for the club…well, I pretty sure I can program a website using Python." There's gotta be something you can do. Think Trevor…
The gears turn in his head, but nothing is produced. He props the pillows up along the headboard to rest his back on as he stares at the blank T.V, trying to find answers there. "Whether it's sooner or later, any real progress for me has to have getting sober as part of the solution."
"We could teach you some defense," the teenager offers offhandedly. It's not really a solution either, but it's better than nothing. "She also needs busboys. Probably other things, too. We can talk to her tomorrow. No reason to worry tonight." Devon's probably already put enough concern into the man as it is. He glances toward the clock on the bedside table then stands to take his cup to the trash can. "I really got to check in at work now. My boss is pretty lenient but I'd rather not take advantage." He's done that enough in recent weeks, especially those immediately following the lifting of the Dome.
Trevor looks over at Devon and nods. "That's fine man, I don't want to get you in trouble. I appreciate the coffee and pastries." What an exhausting conversation! Devon was nice about it, but it still seemed like some type of interrogation, or at least an interview. Yeah. It had to have been an interview. Whichever it is, at this point, Trevor feels like being alone to watch whatever crappy cop drama comes on now. He gets up out of bed to open the door and see Devon out. "I'll see ya later man."