This Is Devon

Hi! This is Devon. He's not as broody as he seems.

The sky was still black, untouched by the sun though there were no more stars.

Devon sighed; sitting alone atop a rooftop in the heart of the Big Apple, he looked almost lonely. He took a deep breath and stared down at the street three floors below. It was empty, though he could hear the traffic beginning to build up along the main roads somewhere in the distance.

A drunken couple were making their way back from a pub- oh, he noted, make that a drunken threesome. The man looked plenty pleased with himself.

He had to be rich, Devon reasoned, his suit was all swanky and the women �wait, were they women? - were wearing dresses that at least looked expensive.

Plus the man, who looked to be in his mid-forties due to his greying hair, was waving around what seemed like a bottle of champagne.

Devon slipped off the railing smoothly, landing as easily as a cat on its four feet. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized sweater, feeling the solid shape of the gun against his fingers.

It was go time.

He walked, quick and quiet, towards the threesome. They didn't notice him coming- the man had just puked all over his black leather shoes. The other two were busy trying to clean him off; Devon realized they must either work for him or actually like him, seeing as New York prostitutes were hardly the type to clean up after their clients.

As he neared them, they turned in his direction. One woman, the brunette seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and was swearing under her breath as she fumbled with the clasps of her purse.
The other merely looked confused, and if Devon had been a little bit younger she would've probably asked if he was lost and needed directions.

He took out the gun, aimed it at the man's forehead. "Everything you have. Within 60 seconds."

The blonde caught on, horrified. She carried no purse, but quickly took off her watch and thrust it at Devon. Her face showed no anger, not even a hint of it. "So young..." she murmured, and Devon suddenly felt uncomfortable under her stare. It was just pure scrutiny.

"Is that all you got?" he asked, the gun still aimed at the man, who had keeled over. He seemed to be having spasms of some sort. S**t.

The brunette, tending to the man, turned briefly to fling a wad of cash at Devon. It fell short of his hands by an inch and dropped into a puddle. "Just take it," she muttered. "Buy yourself an education or something."

This was unbelievable. There was no anger, no defiance, not even that slump of defeat that was usually inevitable with his prey. It was as if this kind of s**t happened to them every night.

Devon shook his head, suppressing the urge to wail like a spoilt brat throwing a tantrum. They were ruining his adrenaline rush.

But then again, nobody deserved to be mugged repeatedly. Mainly because nobody would be stupid enough to walk New York alone after being mugged once.

Didn't anyone tell these people that?

Wasn't that the usual motions his victims went through?

"Just go," he hissed, furious at his own softness. "Take the old b*****d with you." And don't walk in dark alleyways, you morons, he almost added.

Abruptly, he turned and walked off. They must've thought he'd forgotten to take the cash. But whatever, right? He'd settled his debt with his foster mother for two weeks now, had even made a vow to stop this kind of bull anyway.

But as he walked a little faster down the alley, into the fog and steam coming from underneath the manholes, he realized he'd already taken the blonde's watch. Goddammit.

He'd have to return it; his foster father would whip him if he found out that Devon had gone on his little excursions again. But it had been a one-time thing, hadn't it?

Briefly, he considered taking it to the pawnshop. But not before seeing if he could make it a present for someone.

Devon fingered the watch carefully, perched on his familiar old railing. A door that led to his balcony opened from behind him. He turned back.

A little girl stood at the doorway, wearing a pink bathrobe that trailed three inches past her feet.
"Devon?" she called out, her voice quivering with cold. Instantly, Devon the juvenile disappeared and Devon the big brother came out in full force.

He went to the doorway and squatted down so that their eyes were level.

"What is it, Jules?" he whispered comfortingly, taking her hand. "Had another bad dream?"

She nodded and tightened her grasp on his hand. "I dreamt everyone left me, and I was the last person in New York, and there were zombie puppies trying to eat me. Even you were gone."

"Even I was gone?" gasped Devon. "And there were zombie puppies?! Oh, no!" He made a silly shocked face, opening his eyes and mouth as wide as they could go.

Jules, birth name Julia, giggled. "I think it's because Cody made me watch that Will Smith movie again."

Cody was the middle son. To give him some credit, he'd adjusted from the gangster culture on the streets into normal white family life very well. He was African American, though one of his hobbies was to pretend he was from Africa itself, frequently telling people that he "missed his homeland every second of every day".

He'd also apparently developed a thing for Will Smith, suddenly using his child services money to rent all of Will's movies and watching them twice. Not to mention forcing other people to watch them too.

"I'll talk to him later in the afternoon, okay?" Devon promised, smoothing Julia's long straight hair.

It was easy for people to believe that Devon and Julia were siblings, since both of them had sandy brown hair that matched with their slightly tanned complexion. They even had the same eyes- a light yellowish green tint, though Devon's had flecks of blue.

Julia nodded and went back inside. She never bothered to ask Devon whether he wanted to come in with her anymore, now that she could grasp the concept of [I]not allowed[/I].

Devon's foster father had banned him from ever entering the house, ever since it'd been revealed that Devon had been sneaking out at night to do his 'shifts'- namely car-jacking, mugging, pocket-picking, and of course the occasional sneak-out just to have fun.

Religious a*s, he thought bitterly, slumping against the door. The sky was beginning to take on a purple hue to his left, and the colors of the surrounding buildings were becoming more and more visible- a sign that dawn was almost here. He shut his eyes.

It was his time to sleep.

Author's Note

Acknowledged fact: I am horrible at continuous writing and writing according to timelines. Therefore, the story of Devon and Kate will be told in seperate scenes instead. i.e. an intro to Devon, one for Kate, how they met, et cetera. There'll be ten of them, I think, and the "Just Kate" -for now- is the last one. (Yeah, I know, it's chronological chaos. Sorry! But I just write as it comes.) I'll tell you where everything fits in though. :)