Participants:
| Scene Title | To Help Us |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Testing the strength of friendship and trust, Perry and Melissa ask Devon to join them. |
| Date | March 5, 2011 |
Perry's Apartment
Morning is creeing into the apartment, whether the normal inhabitants will it or not. Light creeps through window treatments, still gray and watery, but a respite from the darkness of night.
And a welcome sight for the guest of the house.
Already awake, Devon sits on the floor in the living room, adjacent to a window. His back to the wall, legs folded in front of himself, he's watched the slow waxing of dawn and listened to the rest of the apartment sleep. He's been awake for a while, it was still well into the dark hours of the morning when he was awakened. Nightmares again, or still if you'd prefer to look at it that way, Hopefully he hadn't woken anyone else up.
"Got to remember to thank them for letting me crash here," the teenager says to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. He hadn't had a reason for asking, save for a desire of a change of scenery.
There is a soft creak as the bedroom door opens and a lean figure steps out into the living room, walking with the careful tread of one afraid to disturb. Pericles Jones, this apartment's lessor, looks sleep-tousled and unkempt, hair a mess from bedhead, eyes ringed a little red behind his thick prescription lenses. He slips his hands behind his frames and rubs at one eye 'til it reddens further, and then blinks into the low light of the common space.
Devon is there, sitting. Awake, it would seem. Perry's voice is croaky from recent waking. "Good- good morning."
Mostly unsurprised, given warning by the subtle creaking, Devon looks up to see Perry enter. "Morning," he replies, giving a nod as well. He stands, a task hampered by the still favoring of one shoulder. The single remaining physical damage still causing problems. The rest have mostly healed, wrists scabbed over but mostly mended, the knife wound that nearly stole an eye half healed but not troubling. The bruises have faded into memory.
"I um…" Devon nods toward the discarded blanket, then moves to fold it. "Thanks for letting me stay over." Flipping one corner of the blanket to the other, the effort in righting where the teenager had slept is there, if not the actual ease of action.
Perry is in a bathrobe and pajama pants, his bare feet plodding along the wood floor as he makes his way to the kitchen, beginning an almost automated morning routine. Start the coffee, take out the butter to soften, defrost the bread for his morning toast - all queued up in his mind without need of real conscious attention. "Of course," he replies, piling coffee into a filter, adjusting his glasses as he does so, "this door is- uh- is always open to you, I promise." He pulls the fridge open. "Would- uh- would you like eggs?" Perry looks up at Devon from the kitchen, "I- uh- had wanted to- uh- to talk with you. About what- about what lies ahead."
By contrast, Devon is staring at his efforts in cleaning up after himself. The folded blanket doesn't come out so neatly as he might like, but with a shake of his head, he leaves it. "Eggs," he echoes, turning toward the kitchen. A slight furrowing of his brow follows as he takes a couple of steps toward the kitchen. "Sure, please. That sounds… What lies ahead?"
It was a rather sudden jump in topics, wasn't it? Breakfast- ohwaitterrorism. Because terrorism is what Perry has in mind. Eventually. He takes out the egg carton as he speaks. "Yes," Perry agrees, "I- well, I'm taken to understand you've lost a great deal. Part- uh- part of why you needed a place to stay. I- uh- I am wondering what you had planned to do next. I- uh- well, I just want to make myself useful to you."
It's a topic that Devon usually retreats from, drawing toward silence or simply not answering. In fact, he offers a one-shoulder shrug as his first resort answer, to buy time to think. When he does answer it's quiet, contemplative but cold rather than thoughtful. "The man behind the Humanis First attacks might still be alive. And more than just him and his people out there, ruining our lives…" He pauses, jaw working to find words for his thoughts. "I'm… planning to stop them." Eliminate them to a man. Though the teenager shrugs again, the decision made in the dark of night still foreign yet embraced, his face remains serious.
This is usually where adults disapprove. Not, of course, that Perry is the usual adult. Devon and he shared enough time under the Dome to make that very clear. "I would like to help," Perry answers, simply and without a stammer, even as he flicks the oven dial, snap snap snap, until it lights. "I've let you into my home I- uh- I have faith that we share a certain trust, right?"
There's no hesitation in the nod that follows. Of all those Devon had met within the Dome, Perry and Melissa had gained his unquestioning trust, and likewise he'd offered to watch out for them as well. "Nothing's changed since the Dome. I don't have a lot to offer but…" The shrug again, and a quirk of his mouth indicating himself. "You know I won't put you or Melissa at risk of anything."
Perry gives a small chuckle. Apparently something Devon has said is funny? The older of the two young men takes an egg from the carton, cracks it on the edge of a frying pan and sets it to sizzle above the flame. "You- uh- you maybe heard in the news? A- uh- a militant pro-Evolved group known as 'Messiah'? Ringleader was Rupert Carmichael. Some- uh- something of a maniac, as it turned out?"
Devon leans slightly against the entry to the kitchen, giving another small nod. One arm crosses the other, giving some support to the favored shoulder. "I've heard about Messiah," he says quietly. "And Rupert Carmichael. In spite of what Rupert did… maniac or not… I think the group has got the right idea." Considering what he'd learned, not just being in the hands of Humanis First, but of other, less Evolved-friendly organizations.
Perry gives Devon a sidelong look as he cracks open the second egg. "Melissa and I constitute… about a third of what remains of Messiah," he says, matter-of-factly, as if he were remarking on the convenience of the apartment to public transit, "and with Carmichael gone, the idea is what's left." He pulls a spatula out of a cabinet. "Scrambled, sunny side or over?"
"Scrambled," Devon answers, giving a slow nod. "Melissa had… told me some about it. A few days ago." He frowns faintly, hardly more than a drawing together of his brows. Strange conversation that was. "She said she knew some of the members which…" He half grins and glances up at Perry. "Makes sense now. Still think the idea's right. Action just needs to be taken up again."
Scrambled it is. Perry begins to mix up the eggs, breaking the yolks and pressing the eggs into rivulets that he disturbs the moment they resolve. "I am inclined to agree," Perry says, grabbing salt and pepper from the counter nearby and seasoning the eggs, "so when I said I want to help you, I suppose I am also asking," he looks over at Devon, spatula in hand, "I'd like for you to help me. To help us."
Cue the other half of the third of Messiah's remaining members! Melissa comes out of the bedroom in her pajamas, which are black and silver Jose Cuervo PJS, and a major case of bedhead, her eyes barely open. But still, she manages to shuffle into the kitchen, yawning. Spotting the two she squints at them, sniffs. "Tell me you put coffee on," she mumbles, before flopping down heavily into a chair.
The answer is put on hold, at least until Melissa's seated herself. Devon's shifts aside, allowing more space to pass through the kitchen doorway with a slight glance in her direction. His attention returning to Perry, the teenager nods slowly, considering yet agreeing to the request. "What can I do to help?"
"Of course," Perry answers Melissa, setting the spatula aside and moving over to her, planting a kiss on her head, "good morning. I'm making the usual- uh- the usual spread," he nods towards the coffee maker, which burbles audibly, painting the cabinet above it with condensation, "the coffee is over there." He glances over at Devon as he returns to the eggs, which are nearly ready. "I was just talking with our guest about our- uh- well, how we met, essentially. And I- uh- I do think he can help," a small frown, "just- uh- just what is your gift, if you know?"
Melissa peers blankly at the coffee pot for a moment before she rises and moves to grab a cup and fill it. "How much detail did you go into?" she asks, clearly wanting to know if Messiah had been mentioned. As she takes her cup back to the table, she looks over Devon. "How you doing?" she murmurs quietly to him.
Devon shakes his head. "Anyone's best guess is as good as mine. I'm …not manifested yet. Kind of useless so far as that goes." He offers Perry a small shrug, then a larger, still one-shouldered shrug to Melissa. "Fine, like always. Thank you, also, for letting me crash here, too."
"If that's- uh- if that's any mark of shame, then it's one we share," Perry says, grabbing a paper plate from a stack and pushing the eggs onto it, "I- uh- I am either unmanifested or have an gift so subtle I- uh- sometimes wonder if I'm Evolved in a- uh- purely technical sense. But our cause is no less common for it." He offers the plate, along with a plastic fork, to Devon. "You can make toast as well. Sorry that it's- uh- sorry that it's so scattered. We're neither of us," he glances to Mel, "exactly- uh- gourmets."
"I've been- uh- pretty up front about everything," Perry informs Melissa, "I think- uh- I think Devon knows what he'll be getting into. And he's- uh- unafraid, yes?" Turning to the young man for confirmation.
Melissa considers, then nods and gives a sleepy grin to Devon. "Well, told you I knew some members of Messiah, right?" Then she's gratefully gulping down coffee, uncaring that it's scorching her tongue. "And you'll manifest in time. And like Perry says, you don't gotta have an ability to be useful. You're smart, that's more important."
Accepting the plate and fork, Devon stares at the eggs with a small frown. "No.. thanks for cooking. I don't care for extravagance, so long as it's mostly edible." Poking the fork at the yellow lump of cooked egg, he bobs his head in a small nod. "I know what I'm getting into," he states, tone more quiet yet no less sure than before. "I'm more afraid of my bad dreams than what I've already committed myself to."
The nightmares, yes. Perry glances to Melissa a Devon mentions these. She had brought them up. "Would- uh- would it help you if you- uh- told them to us?" he asks, "walked- uh- walked through them with- with allies at your side?"
Mention of nightmares has Melissa nodding understandingly. "Yeah…sometimes nightmares are worse than reality," she murmurs. "You'll do good, I think, manifested or not."
"I don't want to talk about it," Devon answers, following his answer with a mouthful of egg. Far more answer than he's given before, yet still avoiding speaking about it. Staring at his plate, he pushes the egg around a bit, going quiet.
"Of- of course," Perry says, moving to retrieve mugs for coffee, brow furrowed in sympathy and maybe just a little awkwardness, "deal with it in your own way. Just- just be ready to do what needs be done. I- uh- I have the sense you'll rise to it. But- uh- but we should train you properly." He looks over to Melissa. "We- uh- we need to call another meeting. We need to start doing instead- instead of waiting."
"We do," Melissa agrees, nodding. "If we can get any of the group together. And I need to contact Kellar, get the ball rolling on that side of things. The sooner the better, because it'll take a long time to get from point A to point B."
"I won't hesitate," Devon offers, still quiet, serious. He's learned what hesitation leads to. His fork stabs into the eggs on his plate, head lifting to allow a look to float between Melissa and Perry.
"You- still have a choice," Perry says, filling a mug of coffee and offering it to Devon, "not all of us have to fight- to fight like we did under the Dome. On the Island. Melissa is going to found a- uh- charitable organization with- uh- political ambitions. That path is still open for you. The other way- well, that would be mine. And that- well," he dips his head, "it may not help you nightmares go away."
"Yeah, there are choices. Always choices. I've fought, like in the Dome, but I believe that unless we convince the public to change their opinion, that the fighting will be for naught, and vice versa," Melissa says, nodding.
Devon looks at Perry as he takes the mug. "I've made my choice," he says. "I'll help with political ambitions, but… Nightmares are my problem to deal with, even if my choices make them worse."