Participants:
| Scene Title | Professional Opinion |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | He may not be one, but Devon's got them, and it shows up when he chats with Trevor. |
| Date | May 7, 2011 |
The Symbiosis Foundation Offices
The sounds of cheerful music can be heard from within one of the large offices on the second floor of the office building. The office is home to the fledgling Symbiosis Foundation, an upstart non-profit organization with the mission to help Evolved persons in need and be their voice against government corruption and hypocracy, a daunting but worthy task.
The room itself is a bit cluttered with boxes of printer paper, toner, the printer itself, and various of other recently purchased supplies. The backbone of the foundation is being formed, and it's made of staplers, paper, post-it notes, and lots of burnable CD/DvDs. The smells of coffee permeate the room as Trevor sits at his laptop, his brow creased in thought as he stares at the screen. A cup of coffee sits untouched next to him as he sits at the large stained oak reception desk.
The clatter of footfalls running up the stairs follows with the door opening to admit a busy looking adolescent. Devon, always coming and going, isn't often seen in the office though he's definitely no stranger. For all his proclaimed spare time, it's spent in a number of places, so his appearances are a rare thing. Good thing he's mostly moved into the apartment shared by Perry and Melissa, work can follow him home when he doesn't make it into the foundation.
Clad as though he'd come straight from work - a formerly pressed button down shirt of pale blue rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the collar, tie of a deeper blue that offsets the lighter hue of his shirt pulled loose from his neck, black slacks and sneakers and a backpack hanging off a shoulder - Devon barely takes the time to close the door as he hurries inside. "I got the design for the— Hello?" He looks around, finding the lobby area to the foundation relatively quiet, save for the distant sounds of music. "Anyone here?" That's called a little louder, meant to be heard over the tunes.
"In here, Devon!" Trevor calls out from one of the small side offices. This particular room is where most of the computer equipment resides, including a blade server and a router both of which reside in a tall black equipment rack complete with fans to keep the equipment cool. "Oh for fuck's sake!" Trevor exclaims. "That's not going to fucking work." He gets up with his laptop and a strange looking cable and plugs his laptop into the back of the router.
Passing through another doorway and into the back portion of the office space, Devon follows the sounds of explicatives until he's found Trevor. "You seen Melissa? I think I got the design worked out for her flyers and stuff." He pauses, eyes going from the computer guy to the cables and bits of tech, then back to Trevor. This time with a brow raised. "Y'know, swearing at it never really fixes the problem," he continues, pointing out in an oh so helpful manner. His pack comes off and is left at the doorway before he steps further into the room. "What's the problem?"
"Sure it does! It keeps me from resorting to physical abuse." Trevor says, typing away on the laptop. "I'm just having minor issues with the router's ACLs. I somehow managed to block Internet access." He breathes out a sigh. "I'll get it worked out. Anyway…"
He sets his laptop down on top of the router and turns to face Devon, an episode of Glee can be seen on the laptop screen behind him. "She stopped by earlier but said she had some errands to run for the club. I think she said she'd be back, but I'm not sure. I kinda lost track of time." And his cup of coffee. Trevor finds it on the desk and takes a sip. Ugh…it's cold! That's the second cup that's gone cold. "There's coffee if you want some. Apparently, I'm not drinking it even though I made it."
"Yeah, usually that's when I buy a new router," Devon admits. He steps over a series of cables and sidles past some of the electronics that are set out in search of the coffee pot. "I can catch her at home I guess. Just got a draft finished, thought she might want to see it, go over it before I put money into printing it." Shoulders roll out a shrug as he finds the coffee pot and a cleanish mug.
"So how's everything going," the teenager asks as he pours himself a mug of the black liquid. "Haven't seen you since the auction. Though… work and… yeah. Busy." Setting the pot back, he lifts his mug and draws out a swallow.
"I've been doing good, man. Real good, in fact," Trevor pulls up the seat from the desk and gets comfortable. "I went on the auction date with the woman that bought me, Aimee." His eyes seem to soften when he says her name. Yeah, the guy's got it bad. Usher song and everything. "She's awesome! She's a very classy girl, smart, sweet, and gorgeous. Our date went really well. And we'll be having another date soon. Pretty much as soon as I figure out when I'm working next week."
Trevor recomposes himself now that his mind shifts away from the girl of his dreams. "So I also finished the website for Tartarus and starting working on the Symbiosis one, when I realized that even if I finish it, I don't have a server to host it. So I came in to work on it, but then I realized even if I got it up and running I still need a router to route traffic to it and set up security. And then I need to set up an internal router to separate the office network from the DMZ…" Trevor breathes. "I've got a lot of shit on my plate." He winces. "Crap…I got a lot of crap on my plate. Which includes watching my language." Never mind the tirade he had earlier. Starting /now/ he'll watch his language. Yup! Starting now!
"Dude," Devon chuckles and shakes his head. "Don't watch your language on my account. Pretty sure I've said far worse than you and your rant at inanimate objects." He hops up to sit on the counter, tipping back another solid swallow of coffee. "So," his eyes flick over the room, taking in the conglomeration of tech and cables, lighting onto the laptop and the paused screen cap of a Glee Episode. "Aimee, huh. She seemed kinda cute." Of course, everyone at the auction was at least five years his senior. With a grin, he looks back to Trevor. "Looks like you got a whole turn around of your world."
"No joke. Now I just have to work at not screwing it up," Trevor's shoulders slump a bit as he sits back on the chair. "I keep getting this idea that she's way out of my league. You should have seen her apartment complex! I mean, /really/ classy. She says she works at a hotel, and I'm willing to bet anything that she's not changing sheets or carrying luggage. I'm willing to bet she's some type of management position. And she's very elegant and proper, at least so far. I don't know. She makes me want try harder to be a much better person than I was."
"I got a frickin' manicure, facial mask, and cut my hair yesterday. I don't normally do that stuff. I just really want this to work out." Trevor looks up to Devon with a smile. "Well, enough of my love sick banter. What've you been up to man? Staying out of trouble?"
"Is that what happened to your face," the teen states in utter deadpan. He waits a full beat before grinning. "Trevor, you got it bad. And better you than me. All the good looking women are definitely out of my league and most of them are old enough to be my mom." Such is a peril of growing up around peers who average having for years over you. Your friends and associates tend to be older.
After another swallow of coffee, Devon shrugs. "Work, work, and work. If I'm not at the studio or running errands there, I'm volunteering here and working on networking so I have alternatives when my internship is over. I'm never in trouble, whatever gave you the idea I'd be getting into trouble?"
"Yeah, it's suppose to clean the pores and moisturize," Trevor smiles and shakes his head. "Yeah, I guess I do. She worked some sort of lady voodoo on me. I guess it was mutual since she's willing to go on another date." Trevor grabs his cup of cold coffee and takes it over to the sink to dump it and rinse it out. "Well, a few weeks ago you had that nice shiner on your eye."
"Got jumped and mouthed off," Devon says with a dismissive shrug. One of the rare days he wasn't carrying a firearm with him, and he'd banked on being able to get away. "Wasn't me getting into trouble, so much as trouble finding me. Happens sometimes, especially in this town." He drops onto the floor and finishes up the rest of his coffee. "I should get going pretty soon. You need any help with anything here? There anything I can pick up for you and have here in the morning?"
Trevor nods at Devon's explanation. "Yeah. This city can jump up and bite you in the ass if you let it," He looks around at the equipment laying around in various places. "Bagels," he thinks for a few moments. "Trash bags, so I can clean out some of this packaging. Other than that, I think I have things covered."
"Right," Devon says, agreeing to some extent about the city's viciousness. His tone speaks volumes of things he doubts Trevor knows of how dangerous the city is. He's had some first hand experience with the atrocities that have stricken the city, and still bears the scars, physical and metal. "Trash bags and …bagels? Dude, you're a programmer. Bagels." Shaking his head, he begins picking his way back through the clutter to where he'd left his pack. "I'll bring your bagels and trash bags, and you better have a list of real food you want here, or I will have to mock you until you die."
"Fine! Fine! I'll figure something out," Trevor says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "You can add Red Bull to the list. There, is that better?" He gives Devon a smile, knowing full well that Red Bull would be a far cry from /real/ food. Bagels and Red Bull, breakfast of champions.
Red Bull is a more appropriate drink for a programmer, in the intern's professional opinion. Devon grins at Trevor and gives a nod. "It'll save you for now. But you better come up with that list. I'll come up with some reason for Melissa to practice her talents on you." He could be lying. He could also be telling the truth, but it's difficult to tell by his expression.
"I'll think on it, alright?" Trevor goes over to his laptop to continue playing the episode of Glee. He also fires up a terminal window for the interface to the router, appearing to get back to work. "I need to get back to this, but I'll give you a call in the morning with your damn list."
Devon grins at Trevor's plan. So maybe he was joking. Maybe. "See you around, Trevor," he says with a laugh. "Don't work too hard, and if you see Melissa, would you let her know I got the draft for the flyers and I'll be at home with it?"
"Sure thing! Take care bro!" Trevor says over the music. "Ah ha! That should do it!" Hopefully he doesn't get too carried away with work to remember to tell Melissa about the flyers.
Grabbing his pack from the floor, Devon gives a wave over his shoulder as he heads toward the main entrance. The pack is pulled onto his opposite shoulder, arm eased into the strap. Soon, the door opens and closes behind him with a gentle click that leaves Trevor alone with his computers and gadgetry.