Participants:
| Scene Title | Resisty |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A former student and mentor have a brief meeting. |
| Date | October 19, 2011 |
The message had arrived earlier the week; days before the impending doom he's set moving on The Advocate. And in kind, Bradley Russo responded. Most think him still in rehab. Of course, advertising has suggested the return of The Advocate to the airwaves after his time away. He arranged a meeting time and place— somewhere deep in Brooklyn where no one will expect to find anyone like Brad.
Dressed in a AC/DC band shirt, a leather jacket, a pair of ripped jeans, and a pair of dark shades, he blends with the crowd. He lingers with a large cup of coffee filled to the brim while glancing at his watch.
With the new laws in effect, there's been even more need for caution when venturing throughout the city. Still it seemed worth the risk for Devon to meet up with his former mentor and employer, at least for a few minutes. Thankfully, the older man accepted and understood the need for anonymity.
That doesn't keep the teenager from throwing caution to the wind. He'd arrived early to scope out the location, but following that he's let Russo wait, not too long past their agreed upon time, so that he could watch the little cafe from an opposite corner, watch the goings on throughout the intersection, and eventually peek into the window to note patrons. Dev may not be on a wanted or watched list yet, but there are those who know him that he'd rather not run into.
Just before late becomes not showing, the teenager enters the cafe. He's in worn jeans and hoodie, jacket pulled over that. There's a few seconds spent in looking over patrons again, as if trying to find someone he's supposed to meet, before he weaves his way toward the television personality.
Brad tugs on the bridge of his glasses, sliding them down his nose only to pull them off entirely as he congenially motions to the chair across from him. He manages to remain seated despite the ingrained habit of standing when someone joins him at a desk or table — years on the set have their effect. But he keeps his feet planted, too aware that Dev doesn't desire to be seen or recognized.
He manages a tight smile, guarded, but not without warmth as his fingers curl tighter around the coffee that he'd made Irish with the flask tucked in his jacket pocket after retreating to this table with the hot liquid. He wonders whether he's going to be unceremoniously parted from the booze and what that will do to his system.
Should've stayed in rehab.
"Hey," he greets evenly, but his voice lacks its usually warming tone. "Glad you're okay," he notes quietly allowing his blue eyes to train on the liquid in front of him.
"Hey." Devon's greeting echoes the other man's tone as he takes a seat across from him. He angles himself in the chair, enough to see much of the cafe without looking too strange. Just another teenager idling at a table, making obstacles for the servers.
"You too. Been a while, but I'm glad I was able to track you down." Especially now, goes unsaid. Devon finds a chip in the table with a thumbnail. "Not to be nostalgic. Just figured… with everything that's going on…" He's alive and well.
Brad's lips hitch up on one side into a self-deprecating crooked grin. His eyes scan the world around them and he tucks his chin towards his chest, "I know I haven't been the easiest to track down. In fact, I've been busy." He forces a smoother smile, "I'm sure you have too."
His fingers drum lightly against the cup. "You left the studio at a good time. Honestly." The rhythm his fingers find against the paper cup is strangely grounding and he notes with a single dimple, but no merriment in his expression, "I didn't go to rehab." He lifts his free hand in apology, "Well I did, I just didn't stay. Too many other things to look into."
"Bad time to be in rehab," Devon jests as he slants a glance at Russo. "Not just because you might need a drink every now and then. I left the studio not long after Kristen got sick. Things were… becoming difficult then. Too long a story for a place like this." Too dangerous a story for anywhere right now.
"Thanks for the opportunity, though," the boy continues. "Working with you, Kincaid. —Even Kristen. It'd been great. And taking me in after the Dome. Hopefully I can repay you someday."
Something shifts in Brad's eyes at the joke. His eyebrows lift and he hums before nodding. "Forget every now and then," he manages a grin. "My name is Brad, and I'm alcoholic," he follows the moniker that had been so unceremoniously drilled into him during his years in Alcoholics Anonymous. "But there are some things no one should be sober for, even if their health could depend on it."
The thanks warrants a quick wave. "Not at all. There's no reason for repayment. The studio…" he glances around and lowers his voice. "…everyone was laid off a few days ago. Only Kincaid and I are left at the moment." He hums quietly, "Tahir's set was destroyed mid-taping. We literally have no other staff."
He manages a stiff smile, "The Advocate is set for its season premiere and, what will likely be, it's finale in a few week’s time. November 10th.” He rubs his chin.
The news of the state of Studio K comes as a surprise, which shows on Devon's face briefly. His head turns and he looks at Russo, brows lifted a fraction. "Woah. Damn. Who…" Though he can probably guess who, given even a vague description such as destroyed. He rubs a had against his brow and looks away again, taking a moment to file the information away. "I'm sorry, man. That…" Sucks.
"Yeah," Brad agrees quietly. "It's terrible. No sign of Dunham though." At that he actually smirks. "Tahir Avery Dunham managed to give them the slip." He manages a one shouldered shrug. "As far as the pink slips are concerned…" his lips purse, "just promise me you'll watch the show. It's the last one that will look like that."
His throat clears and his eyebrows draw together, "I think I'll be getting back to radio. Pirate radio still works with the right equipment and a few good technicians. And someone needs to help people make sense of the political mess we find ourselves sin."
"If I can find a way," Devon says earnestly, "I promise I'll watch it." It's the least he can do. There's no telling where he'll be when it airs, or if he'll have access to a television, but he'll try.
The boy is silent for a moment, letting the state of the studio sink in fully. Then, "I should probably get going." He looks up at Russo. "Do me a favor, too, and don't …don't get killed or… whatever. Try and stay out of… the island." Another story, for another time it seems, so his tone implies.
Brad's eyebrows lift. "Good," it's soft, considered, and weirdly earnest. Unusually so for the host. He takes a gulp of his coffee. "Getting killed isn't the worst thing that could happen," he offers with a lopsided smirk and a flash of teeth. "And I'll do my best to stay free and clear."
He chews his bottom lip. "And keep resisting," he finally adds. "Resist everything you can at every corner. Don't give into the demands. Peacefully object everywhere you can. While our government has transformed our country into a police state, governments need to be afraid of their people. People have more power than they think, especially when they use it together." He grants Devon a crisp nod. "Be safe."
The words of resistance give Devon pause. He stops part way after beginning to stand to listen, even if he doesn't look at the other man, and there's consideration in his expression. "You too," he answers quietly, allowing his gaze to shift and meet Russo's, man to man. "Stay strong." He doesn't wait for a reply, but claims his feet and wends his way toward the exit.