Participants:
| Scene Title | Getting To Know The Neighbors |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | That's exactly what Devon begins to do when his appearance at the safehouse brings no real news or world changing events. And he also eats their food. |
| Date | May 27, 2011 |
Endgame Safehouse
Of the stranger questions Devon's found himself faced with is, should he call (or text in this case), before showing up at the safehouse. On the one hand, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have the inhabitants know who he is by his sounds, but on the other, he's not so sure he'd want to catch them by surprise. Likewise, there's no guarantee that if he'd have to make a quick escape and dive underground that he'd even have time to get a message out. So, during the long trip over, the young man mulled over the options and in the end decided to not announce his intentions.
Which is why, when he'd arrived and let himself in through the same route Jaiden had shown him, he hesitated only slightly. The smell of spaghetti and bread reaches down this time, instead of the sounds of talking, and a quick ooh food grin reaches over Devon's face. "Anyone home," he calls, shifting his pack onto two shoulders instead of one, then making his way further into the safehouse.
In point of fact, most of the little unit that comprises the last of Endgame is finishing up their dinners — the ones that are here, anyway — and Elisabeth is well aware before Devon gets far into the building that there is company coming. She can't identify him by his body sounds, though some of the others have particular little quirks in the sounds of theirs that she can identify, and Elisabeth meets him at the top of the stairs with a hand on the gun at her waist. Once she's sure of his identity, though, she drops the hand and smiles. "C'mon up. We're just finishing dinner." There's the sound of people scattering actually, and she grins slightly. "Well…. Monica and Claire were. You're not supposed to see them yet — training exercise, remember?" So when they re-enter the sitting area/kitchen, the food's laid out on the counters buffet style but no one else is hanging out. "Help yourself," she tells him softly. "There's plenty."
It isn't the first time Devon's been faced with firearms, most would be surprised to learn how many he's had pulled, nearly pulled, or placed directly on him with the intent to use. He doesn't miss the hand resting on the gun at Liz's hip and it doesn't take long for him to register and look up at the woman waiting. His hands come up to show their emptiness, and to be further away from his own handgun tucked away and hidden beneath his clothing, and an apologetic grin meets her scrutiny. "Yeah," he says as he follows up the stairs, "I remember. Guess I should be here more or something so I can work with Jaiden." He finds a plate and helps himself to a serving of spaghetti. "So should I have called ahead? Secret knock before I enter?" He shoots another grin at Liz, nodding toward her sidearm.
"Just a text to let us know you're inbound," Elisabeth says wryly. She seems at ease enough, walking over to one of the cmap chairs that's placed next to a spool being used as a table. She sinks into the seat and watches him thoughtfully. "Did you just come by for a visit then? No world-changing news this time?"
"I got a disc you might want to listen to in your free time," Devon answers. Juggling his plate, his pack comes off and is placed on the floor, and he follows after to sit cross legged. "But nothing really world changing or life altering." At least not as far as he's been able to tell yet. "I can leave it, I've got another copy and the original. So… I guess I'm here to visit. Get to know my neighbors and eat their food."
A brow quirks up and Elisabeth watches him come over. "What's on the disc?" she asks curiously. And as to getting to know the neighbors and eat the food — that's fine with her. She made a triple batch. With Felix and Graeme both coming in to eat periodically, it's a necessity.
Pushing noodles and sauce around on his plate, Devon lifts a shoulder to shrug. "Just a talk with Yana the other day. Gave a copy to Doctor Brennan, too, but thought you might want to hear also." He combs through several noodles, giving a small twist to make the bite more manageable, eyes lifting to Liz.
She makes a face. "Not sure I want to listen," Elisabeth admits quietly. "It might just piss me off more." She leans her head back and she smiles just a bit, seeming perhaps more relaxed than he's ever seen her. "But I'll do it tomorrow. Not tonight, kiddo."
"Hell, you could use it for target practice if you'd rather." Devon grins and offers another shrug. After another bite, he shakes his head. "Seriously. If I can get the range to agree to it, I'll start practicing trying to shoot through the hole in the center." He pauses, a brow lifting slightly as he catches her demeanor and points out the obvious with, "You're in a good mood."
"Not really," Elisabeth says mildly. "Just… there's little I can do right now. I've put all the actions I can do into motion. And I don't… really have anything else I can do." She shrugs a little. "It's somewhat difficult to sit around with no job, but Jaiden's informed me that I should make the most of it. Think of it as a vacation."
That brow lifts just a little higher, but Devon's got sense enough not to contradict the statement. Or he's used to being in the position where asking further isn't likely to be well received. "I can understand the not working. Since Studio K went on lockdown, my other acting gig got cancelled. —You got any hobbies? Knitting or… Origami?"
That makes Elisabeth laugh quietly. "Uhm… I do, actually. Someone gave me a keyboard to use, and I've been playing it quite a bit." Being able to mute it so only she hears it is a bonus. "I cook a lot when I'm able." That brings a vaguely haunted expression to her features as she says it, as if it made her think of something else. "Maybe I'll teach myself to knit."
"You play keyboard?" Devon studies Liz for a moment, using the time to also take another bite of spaghetti. "That's awesome. I'm not musically gifted, I can sort've sing. Which…" His face scrunches as though he'd bitten into something unpleasant. "..What kinds of things do you like to cook?" When he'd lived with Russo, he'd been exposed to all sorts of conglomerations of food types, especially when the television personality was in a mood.
Elisabeth nods toward his plate. "Italian, mostly. My nana was Italian, straight from northern Italy after World War II. She taught me how to cook from the time I could stand in front of a stove." Her lips quirk in a faint smile. "But you name it and I can cook a bit of it." She clears her throat and then says, "And yeah… I play keyboard, classical piano, and uhm… I do a little singing as well. Those are kind of the things that I use to … hide."
Smiling, Devon scrapes together another bite from his plate. "She taught you pretty well," he says, not unlike an expert stating fact. "Better than I've had in a while. Home-cooked meals don't usually happen, unless I cook, which…" Doesn't happen, usually. "I play basketball, or… lately I've been looking at college again."
She quirks a smile and says, "Thank you. It's… calming," Elisabeth admits with a laugh. "I guess we're eating better than most who're in hiding. But there's only a half a dozen of us, and Graeme's helping too." She goes quiet and then asks, "What would you want to study?" The blonde is genuinely curious.
"If you're cooking all the time, I might have to make dinner a regular engagement here." Devon pushes the remainder of noodles and sauce about on his plate. "I could even supply foodstuff so I'm not just freeloading," he adds with a grin. Looking up again, he lifts a shoulder. "I'm still debating what I want to study. I got accepted at Columbia for theatre, but I'm considering other options too. Maybe science, or… I don't know. Law, could be interesting."
"Heh," Elisabeth snickers. "My parents were both lawyers," she tells him. "My dad is semi-retired these days, but …. he's tell you the law is not fun. It's a bunch of very detail-oriented work… and it's all about who can work the system better. That's not to say it's not both lucrative and rewarding," she says. "Don't let me dissuade you from the consideration of law… hell, Evos could use some people who are willing to fight those battles in that profession. Just… go into it with your eyes open, that's all."
"That must be…" Something, Devon isn't entirely sure of. Two parents who're lawyers. "At least they can offer advice. I think my parents wanted me to become a doctor or a physicist or something equally prestigious. My mom was a doctor and dad was an architect. Neither of which I'm interested in, nor, honestly, being a lawyer. But learning law, to interpret it and understand what's meant. That I wouldn't mind knowing. —I don't know, though, maybe I'll give it all up and go to clown school."
Elisabeth grins slightly. "It was … just what they did." At least before her mother was killed. "They can't offer advice right now," she points out gently. "I can't risk seeing or even calling my father. The DoEA is watching him closely hoping I do just that. But… he knows I'm all right. Word gets to him periodically, when I can manage it." Sometimes she chances slipping into a restaurant to pay for food delivery to her dad's place with a brief note. Just 'I'm okay. I love you.' kinds of things. "I went out and became a cop instead of a lawyer. For all the good it did me." She shrugs slightly. "If you want to go to school, Devon, do it. Life finds a way — and I know things are bad right now. They may get worse before they get better. But … if you let it, the fight will consume your life." It's happened to everyone she knows. Look where they all are.
Devon's head rocks in a nod, understanding the lack of communication for reasons of safety. He's offered to break contact with several close friends himself, out of fear for their safety and knowing well what he's gotten himself into. "I took that internship as rebellion, my parents probably rolled over in their graves when I dropped out midterm to take the job. School is easy for me, there's no challenge in the classes." He glances up at her again, brows knitting together briefly before the near-frown is replaced by a slight, if humorless, grin. "I'm in this fight until it's over. I didn't make the choice on a whim or because it's cool and I get to shoot guns."
The blonde rolls her eyes. "That's good," Elisabeth retorts, "because if I catch you pulling a gun before I've had a chance to assess whether you really even know what the hell you're doing with it, I'm going to cuff you on the back of the head so hard your teeth will rattle." She's …. almost kidding. "Life or death situations aside, walking around Manhattan with a weapon is no joking matter while we're under martial law. Some cop stops you and notices that you're carrying, you're screwed." The warning is sincere. "Don't take it with you unless you have a good reason, okay? I've got a makeshift firing range set in the basement, so when you're done eating, I'd like to take you down there and get a feel for where you are in that part. Just so I know if I ought to be worrying about a bullet in my ass," she teases lightly.
"If I screw up, you have my permission to teeth-rattle cuff me," Devon states with a grin. The last of his supper is scarfed down, plate very nearly scraped clean. "And I understand the warning, too. I've been lucky that most cops don't look at me twice. As for shooting you in the ass…" He grins again, standing and carries his plate in for cleaning. It's done shortly, the plate scrubbed and put away, though before returning the teenager snatches a slice of bread. "That'll never happen. Too heinous a crime," he concludes as he gathers his pack again, pulling it over a shoulder before he follows Liz down to the makeshift range. In no time, the smell of gunpowder will be the only proof that any ballistics had been used recently within the safehouse.