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Scene Title Needs
Synopsis Everyone's got them, of some nature or another.
Date May 11, 2011


It's a quiet enough street at any given time of day, seeing mostly foot traffic and the occasional bus. It's after school when Devon had called, and by way of the man with the horse, set up a meeting with the pretty blonde woman. Children play several addresses down from the stoop the teenager sits at, their rhyming games and laughter bouncing off the walls of the nearby houses and returning back to them.

The address Devon had given is of no relation to him or anyone he knows, but near enough to the foundation he's been aiding and volunteering at. Once more he's a jeans and t-shirt guy, though the weather today has him in a deep blue hoodie. He's not watching the streets while he waits, instead trailing fingers over the faint lines that encircle his wrists.

Wearing a pair of hiphugger jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, the blonde who walks along has a backpack on one shoulder. She looks for all the world like a college student as she meanders her way down the tree-lined avenue. Elisabeth checks the address and makes her way in that direction, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. "Hey," she greets lazily. Her blue eyes are sharp on the surroundings. Just in case.

Devon's eyes flick up at the greeting, and when he spots Elisabeth he gives a small nod. Hands push sleeves downward as he glances past the woman and toward the kids playing. An adult leans out a window, also watching the games below and making some attempt at supervising then disappearing back inside the building. "Hey," he echoes as his attention comes back to her, a half grin pulling up one side of his mouth. "Thanks for coming out this way."

"Sure. Anytime," Elisabeth murmurs. Her smile is amused. "I figure you wouldn't have called me unless it was important. What with… you know." She moves to walk up the stairs and park herself next to him.

"I don't know how important it'd have to be to consider as important." Though that he called at all marks it in Devon's mind as something worth noting. Even before Graeme had a chance to report back. "Saw the horse whisperer yesterday. I'm working on finding a first name for you. Not sure how much help Registration's going to be, but I've got other avenues to explore too." His eyes trail back to the children and their games. "Since… I'm pursuing that, what other kind of …proof… are you looking for?"

Elisabeth is quiet and she considers. "I'm putting together physical evidence — that they cannot dismiss, poohpooh, or deny. Even if it nets nothing in the end… it is a story that needs telling. So… if you know of anyone else who took pictures or video, if you know anyone who … has any names of the ones in the Dome that could be followed up on. Those would help." She nibbles her lip. "I have a recording of someone admitting that he knew Carmichael was a government agent," she says quietly. "Anything along those lines that can be added in terms of someone who can speak firsthand to knowledge… might be enough."

The teenager is quiet for a long moment, a hand lifting to rub over the back of his head. "I'm not giving names of anyone I knew there, not without asking them first. If they don't want to come forward, I'll get statements to add to my own." His eyes track back to Liz and the evidence of those days within the Dome still reflect as a haunted memory in his expression, his half slipping to something a little more neutral. "I offered… I can show you… where things happened. And… I can give my own statements." He hesitates, brows drawing together into deep furrows as he looks away from Liz and to the street.

There's a faint nod. And Elisabeth says quietly, "Ygraine and Jaiden still… have issues." She doesn't share them. "The kinds of things this city has seen, they don't go quietly away. The consequences stay with you." She speaks from experience here — being tortured, making the call to kill civilians in zombie raids, these are things she will see in her sleep when she's 90. "It's okay to need a little help coping," she offers softly. "I don't know if you need that, but… if you do, I can send Graeme the name of a specialist in PTSD."

"People keep saying I should see a shrink." A faint smirk pulls at the intern's expression. "Coping is easier when it can just be left alone. Like any wound the more you poke at it the worse it gets." He leans forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees, hands clasped before him. "Sorry. Talking to Graeme brought up… I got taken by them. And I witnessed, first hand, what they were planning to do in there."

Elisabeth nods slightly and looks out onto the street. "I thought I could cope without help too," she admits. "They tortured me for three days. It felt like an eternity." It's not something the public knows about her. "I had nightmares after. Trouble with open spaces. A few other phobias. Jumpy. I thought being left alone to deal with it was the way to go. And for some people it is," she acknowledges. "For others… being able to say out loud what happened takes some of the hold away. Some of the horror is lessened. So… if you don't need it, that's good. If you do…" She smiles a little and looks back at him. "I've been where you are. I won't think less of you if you do need it."

One shoulder lifts and falls, though Devon's eyes flick back in a look of thanks. "I don't usually talk about it. People don't understand, or can't grasp what it means. But… I'll give you my statement, every gory, nightmarish detail. Because after they started bombing residential buildings the nightmare became real."

She nods slightly. "Not today," Elisabeth tells him gently. "But soon. It'll be… an interview. And I'm not sure I'm the best person for it, but I'll do my best by you." She sighs and says, "I should go ahead and get out of here. It wouldn't do to have someone recognize me."

"Next time I call, I'll have that name," Devon says as he stands. A hand is offered in gesture to help her up as well. "And anything else about him, or that, I can uncover." His attention turns back to Liz and his half grin returns. "Anything else you need, you know how to reach me," he finishes, his tone far easier than just a moment before.

She takes his hand and allows him to tug her to her feet. Elisabeth smiles slightly. "I do," she tells him softly. "Take care of yourself out there, Devon." Her tone holds worry. They're all so damn young. But they've lived so hard. She shoves her hands into her pockets and heads out of the neighborhood.

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