Participants:
Featuring
| Scene Title | Suit Up, Sport |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | If a trainstation is where the train stops, what's a workstation? ~Author Unknown |
| Date | January 11, 2011 |
Manhattan — Studio K
It's midday and Studio K is a bustle of activity with producers, techies, and television moguls performing various duties amid the chaos of the every day. Phones ring. Doors open. And high heels clicking loudly. These are the sounds of the studio offices. The front desk, however, warrants an entirely different atmosphere, especially as Dirk talks up a random visitor, "How you doing?"
Of course, this is quickly mitigated by the new visitor into the officer. "Hey. Kid…" he reaches behind the desk and into a drawer, "Pick a card! Any card! It's soooooo ma-gi-c-al you will be freakin' astounded, uber excited, and hella cool! I bet you— how much money you got, Kid? I'll bet you whatever you have that I can accurately pick your card— "
And that kid would happen to be Devon Clendaniel. Showered, shaved, and well groomed, the teenager appears dressed in a pair of khaki Dockers and blue button down shirt that peaks out of a black wool overcoat. With a touch of amusement, he watches the man behind the desk, a brow lifting while the other remains in place. First day on the job and he's treated to card tricks. Nice!
Oh right, job. The whole reason Devon's here. He replies to the offer of a bet with a laugh and a shake of his head. "Actually. You work here? Suppose to be meeting someone…" Trailing off, the boy reaches into his pants pocket to pull out a yellow sticky note. "Name's Devon. Uh.. Mister Russo's expecting me?"
Dirk's eyes narrow and his nose wrinkles like he's smelled something foul at the name Russo. With a disgusted noise somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, he clears his throat. He points to himself with his thumb, almost like he's pointing at himself with a thumb's up, "Dirk. Dirk-if-I-told-you-my-last-name-I'd-have-to-kill-you. And I'm the assistant to the boss. The real boss. Yeah. That K in Studio K, yeah, that stands for Kristen. So don't get any funny ideas, Kid."
He plucks the phone from the set and pretends to dial Russo's extension. "Heeeey Supes— " he points at the phone and flashes Devon a grin while covering the mouthpiece, "nickname." He clucks his tongue, "So I have this Devon kid… oh, really? Well, I'll just have him— yeah. Thanks… thank you… buh-bye~"
After hanging up the phone loudly, Dirk's eyebrows escalate at the teen, "Yeah. Seems he's never heard of you. Or uninterested in your meeting. Or something."
Of course, this is unfortunate timing to lie as Brad enters the front door, fresh pressed Armani suit and all. Evidently Dirk wasn't speaking to him on the floor.
Devon holds his hands up, the sticky note clinging to one palm as the card man's tone changes. Yikes, hostility! "Woah, okay there. Dirk? Um… I was told… I was… You sure? Told me to meet him here, let the guy at the desk know and …You sure?" Did he get the day wrong? Or worse… is he late?
The hand with the sticky note falls to his side, while the other combs through Devon's hair. "Why don't you try again," he suggests, trying to play along despite the sudden feeling of uncertainty. His tongue pokes out, wetting his lower lip nervously, and he completely misses Brad's arrival.
"Uhhhhh" Dirk manages as he stands there gaping at the Devon and the Brad and then back to the teen such that the host's attention gets easily redirected. Bradley Russo flashes Devon a winning smile while Dirk's dumbfounded look wins over his features, "Heeeey… I'm guessing Dirk hasn't helped you yet— " knowing full well this isn't his job, but that Kristen would appreciate some general joviality from her staff towards guests, newbies, and potential clients. After all, business practice does equal dollar signs for the Studio. "I'm Brad Russo…"
Following Dirk's take of Russo, Devon's gaze goes to the TV Personality. "He was just…" Being a pain, harassing the new guy. It should've been expected. "…You're…" The teenager sticks his hand out, sticky note with the studio's address and Brad's name written on it still stuck to his hand. "I'm Devon. Clendaniel. I— he said you were… Busy?"
Brad hrms quietly, as he inspects Dirk a moment. "I… just got in." With a flippant wave towards Dirk he motions the Devon to follow him, "I was expecting you, c'mon Kid." It seems the kid thing applies to more than one of the Studio K employees.
Russo cuts his way down a long hall, anticipating Devon following. "Never believe anything Dirk tells you. He's— well, he should've been fired years ago. I still don't know why K keeps him around." The host cuts into his office, a room just down the end of the hall, inviting Devon follow him. "So. You're the intern, right? Or… are you the surgeon I have a meeting with later to discuss medicalization? If you're the intern— " he waves his hand in the air, "— I have a feeling the viewers won't take you too seriously so we may need to find a new surgeon…" he smirks as he pads around his desk to his large leather chair, leaning back within it and opening his computer schedule. "Ahhh. Here you are. Intern."
Russo's allowed to get several paces away before Devon gets over the initial 'Wha..?' and manages to jog after him. He slows to a more normal walk, tugs briefly at his shirt collar, and falls into step alongside the host. "He kind of doesn't like you very much." Observant, this one.
Stepping into the office, Devon settles into a more relaxed stance. "Intern," he confirms with a flourish and a bow. Just a little one. "Would that I had the patience to become a surgeon, I could have been the real Doogie Howser."
A finger is wagged at Devon, "Don't get cocky, Kid. No one likes a know-it-all." He slides open one of his desk drawers and peeks at its contents only to shut it again. "And Dirk and I have never really gotten along, just ignore him. He thinks he runs the place." Beat. "He doesn't." There's a short pause before Russo quips, "If you catch him riding a quad, segway, or some other motorized transport through the studio and you manage to photograph it, you'll get a bonus."
Russo finally reopens the desk drawer and pulls out several pieces of paper and a pen. "Alright." He leans back in his chair. "So… I don't know what HR told you, but I'm in need of an assistant for.. personal reasons. So. How about we start this conversation by just getting you to tell me about yourself?"
"Bonus," the boy repeats. If he felt chastised about his attitude, he doesn't show it. Devon grins instead, even shrugging in an uncaring manner. "Great, didn't think I'd get paid at this interning gig."
Dev glances around the office, could be looking for a place to sit. But after just the quick look he remains standing and turning his attention to Russo. "Oh right. I graduated last May, been in acting since I was a kid. I was actually in the university's theatre program."
There's two chairs on the other side of the desk opposite Russo, which, with the expression, Brad gives a sidelong glance to, only to have his blue grey eyes turn back to Devon. "Alright. So acting." He runs his hand through his hair. "Look. The intern thing doesn't pay, but— " he cuts himself off, still not ready to show his hand, instead changing thoughts quickly, "We can always negotiate something if need be." Whatever that means.
"Alright. Since you were a kid? I think by most definitions, you're still a kid, Devon. Just sayin'." He whistles sharply as he glances down at his sheet of paper, "Why did you want this internship? Experience?" His lips part like he's going to tack something on, but leaves it alone in the end.
With a broad grin, Devon looks at Brad. He knew internships don't pay, but that doesn't mean you can't ask. "We negotiating turkeys or like.. potential for advancement," he asks lightly, then shakes his head. "Right, later. I'm not looking to get paid." At least, not right now.
Dev tucks his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting over the age comment. "Yeah, fair enough. I'll be seventeen soon if that's any consolation." Rocking forward slightly, just enough to stretch onto his toes, he tries to get a peek at the paper. "Why'd I..? Besides experience. Kind've a dream of mine. Wanted to be an actor since I was young…ger. And my aunt told me to follow my dreams."
"Yeaaaah," Brad wrinkles his nose slightly, "I'm not an actor, Kid. But the Studio will give you some experience. And it's not glamourous… I have no idea what HR told you buuut…" His lips press together tightly with a quiet hmm. "Most of the tasks are things that I need help with. You know— assistant-y things."
"Your family around here or you got some kind of support network, kid?"
"Hey, just being around it's enough exposure to get into the whole scene one day," Devon says as he settles onto his heels. "Even doing those assistant-y things." Still gives him a chance to see how it all works, and who knows? Maybe one day he'll work on television.
"Oh, yes sir. I live with my aunt." The boy edges around one of the two chairs before perching on one. "She's pretty cool, makes sure I eat all my veggies."
"Good. Then I think we're on the same page. You're good to go. Welcome aboard intern…." Russo grins broadly as he stands up from his seat and extends a hand to Devon. "Though there is one thing— " A once-over is given Devon's clothes and while they qualify as professional, he clucks his tongue before reaching into his desk again to extract an envelope. "Suit up, Sport! Buy yourself a a suit. It'll get you more respect around here and make you look older. I'll tell you if there's ever a day you shouldn't wear it." He shrugs. "They will happen, but…"
Dev looks himself over. What's wrong with what he's got on? "Y—yes sir, Mister Russo. I've got suits I just.. I'll make sure to look more…" Well, he'll make the attempt, no promises though. "I um.. thank you, sir, for this opportunity. Too."