Participants:
| Scene Title | Looking |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Taking a chance, Devon goes looking for Melissa at one of her places of work and finds Trevor instead. |
| Date | June 10, 2011 |
The sounds of furious typing, exasperated sighs, and the occasional swear word can be heard from Melissa's office, which Trevor has overrun as his staging ground for the Foundation's network. This is what happens when you leave computer geeks largely unchecked. Their madness spreads. Progress has been slow as of late, especially on the database. He's had to learn on the fly as the book next to the monitor he's working out is a testiment to.
His day has only just started and it's already been frustrating. Besides his wonderful Memorial Day vacation with Aimee, his mood has turned sour as of late and the morning news earlier this week didn't help. A little girl he barely knew was burnt alive in her home with her grandparents. Still, he met her and remembered her shy little eyes staring up at him. Since then, Trevor's dove into his work which hasn't provided much comfort. Only Aimee keeps him together.
Trevor stops typing to stare intently at the screen, looking over his work. "Oh for fuck's sake! That's not wanted I wanted to do!" Trevor grumbles. "God, I fucking hate MySQL…"
One of those who should be checking in regularly has been largely absent, through no fault but of his own. The need to stay under the radar as much as possible has left a void where Devon should have been, and not just within the Foundation but his other various points of work as well. He hasn't fallen off the face of the earth completely, and venturing out in one of those rare trips, the teenager has made his way from the safehouse, across town to the Symbiosis Foundation.
Mindful of the alarm to alert Melissa and Trevor of new arrivals, Devon enters carefully to not trip the chime. He's dressed as you'd see any average teenager, a t-shirt of blue layered over a gray long sleeve thermal, blue jeans, a red and gray knit cap pulled down to hide his hair and ears. He makes little sound as his shoes press against the flooring, creeping up the stairs and toward the sound of Trevor's voice. The boy makes no announcement of himself once he locates the older man, simply stopping in the doorway and watching him. Silent.
Trevor doesn't notice Devon at first as he flips the pages of his book to look it over before starting to type again. After a few moments of typing, he stops and rubs a hand over his face in frustration. Then he turns around and nearly jumps out of his skin, the figure of Devon standing in the doorway catching him completely off guard.
"Jesus!" he yelps out, before he breathes out an exhausted sigh. "You scared the crap out of me, man. Did you really have to come in here like a ninja?" He reaches over to the desk at the bottle of Mountain Dew that's hardly been touched and takes a drink from it, taking the time to look Devon over. "You alright bro?" He says, his tone more concerned.
As soon as Trevor startles, Devon brings a hand up placatingly. "Easy," he offers quietly. "Didn't mean to scare you." He ventures into the office far enough to close the door behind him, which happens only after a look out into the hall. "You haven't seen Melissa at all, have you?" The question comes with eyes scouting over the office for signs of life. Other than the tech guy's work habits.
"I'm okay," Devon replies. His eyes catch on the picture of Junie and momentarily puts a lie to his answer. Hurt and mourning flash across his expression, and he's forced to swallow past a lump in his throat as he pulls his eyes away from the little girl's face. "I… has Melissa been by here at all?"
Trevor shakes his head. "No, man. I haven't seen her in weeks." He catches Devon's change in demeanor and follows his gave to Junie's picture. Trevor really didn't know the girl, but his gaze back to Devon is sympathetic with a touch of sadness as well. No little girl should have to leave this world so soon. "You want to go someplace else and talk? I could use the break from this piece of shit." Trevor says glancing back at the database. To anyone else's standards, the database is probably usable. But to Trevor, it has to be much much better than that, because the first person's name to go in it is the name of the woman he loves.
"It was my fault," Devon says softly, directed toward himself rather than Trevor. Regardless of how often everyone has said he can't take blame for the choices of others, he feels responsible. Stepping forward, he reaches out to touch a couple of fingers against the picture frame, eyes falling to the small face once again. "Can you make a copy of this," he asks, slanting a look toward the older man then looking for a scanner or some machine that could reproduce the picture.
"Why would it be your fault?" Trevor asks, completely oblivious to Devon's extracurricular activities. "And I don't care what the police think, Melissa didn't have anything to do with that bullshit either. She loved that little girl." He takes the picture from Devon and walks to the refurbished copy machine the foundation bought in the main lobby area. After a moment, he comes back with a colored duplicate of the little girl.
Devon doesn't answer, more than to shake his head. It's risky enough just going out, telling the story to another only increases the risk. The picture is relinquished, guilt mixing into his expression as he watches Trevor make a copy of it. "Thanks," the teen says quietly, taking the duplicate image. His hands fold it carefully to preserve the picture, one then pushes it gently into a pocket while the other rubs at his eyes. Forefinger and thumb sweep inward along his lower lids then pinch at his nose briefly.
"It wasn't her," Devon states. "She didn't start the fire. She… If you see her, make sure she calls me, and …don't call the police." It's not so much a request as an order, the fiercely imploring look he lifts to Trevor tempered by his own guilt.
"Alright man, no cops," Trevor says, not really sure why he would want to call the cops in the first place. What has this kid gotten himself into? Prying now wouldn't help. Trevor's not sure he wants to know what's going on and it looks as Devon's barely keeping it together as it is. "Listen, do you need a place to stay for a while? It's a pretty classy place, not the type of place anyone would think to look for a teenager. I also know of some lower places if you prefer going that route."
"I've got a place, but thanks for the offer." Devon lets out a slow exhale, thankfully evenly. "Anyone comes looking for me," he doubts it'll happen, but it is a possibility with his identity known, "you didn't see me. I'll explain more when I can." He pauses, taking a quick look around the office. "You… doing alright here? Need anything?" How he'd get anything to help is beyond him, but the teen offers all the same.
"Sure thing," Trevor says, with a look of concern. He glances around the office for a moment. "I should be alright. I've got plenty to keep me busy for the time being." He looks back at Devon. "So…am I running this show while you guys are laying low?" A scary thought, leaving Trevor in charge. But the Symbiosis Foundation is all he has at the moment. As much as he really doesn't want to be the man in charge, he's more than willing to nut up and shut up in order to keep this ship afloat. And it's that determined look that he shows to Devon now.
"I don't know." The answer is honest, coupled with a shake of the boy's head. "I'll… do what I can to find out. For now, you're operating alone. I'll… Here." Rather than explain further, he peels off a page from a yellow sticky and takes a pen. The number written down isn't recognized as Devon's, but it's handed to Trevor with the same sense of ownership. "You need anything, call that number. Goes straight to me." He edges back a step once the sticky is taken, and pulls open the door. "I got to get back. I'll check in soon, Trevor."