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Raining.

It didn't usually do that in California. The pattering of soft droplets, wet feet sloshing in the puddles on sidewalks, and the dole of rush hour didn't aid the sudden feelings of gloominess. Rain clouds, the swishing of windshield wipers, and the humdrum of quiet music blaring from the speakers of a tiny blue car in the midst of a large pile just inching past Rodeo Drive pretty much summed up the mood of the day. The perfect start to a perfect day, no doubt; well, really just the downhill slope from the perfect start. There was no longer the rambling of a seven year old in the back or the blaring of Stuck Like Glue from her lips even if she had no idea what the words were. Most of all, no more infectious smile to get through the rest of the day. Left to his own devices, it was merely a session of mindless glowering at the brake lights of the car in front of him. There was no rush, though, mainly because he wasn't the type to rush, but the more the pattering of rain hit the window the more aggravating it grew and the more claustrophobic he became.

The film, Point Blank, was just about to wrap up the pre-production doldrums. The script was made, revised a million times and edited just as many, the right actors were cast in their respectful role—he couldn't stress enough that they had to have the right actors—and the right crew was hired that would best carry out production—actually, he could stress any of it enough. He was satisfied. Still, worry climbed him like the small mole hill he was and made a mountain out of the anxiety wracking his mind. It was etched further onto his face as the days passed by, only ever remedied by his daughter's blissful laughter, and further built to the paramount that was the current expression solidified onto his features. The wrinkles in his forehead, the dull bags under his eyes, and the always moving gaze that couldn't seem to find something to focus on or grasp to. His knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel until the flesh was pale, an achievement, seeing as he was already a stark, pasty white. He had a particular knack for convincing himself that something, anything would go wrong at anytime—all his hard work, all their hard work for naught. No matter how many times he'd tell himself not to think about it, he would; he'd think about it until he was suffering from stress induced insomnia. His specialty.

And he thought about it all the way to work that day, all the way from rainy Rodeo Drive to just as grey and rainy Hollywood. They'd book various locations, but the reading would take place in a standard studio just for the convenience before they'd ship off to wherever the hell the director wanted to go. And, as per usual, he was the first to arrive.They were scheduled for 11:00 A.M. on a Saturday morning, 18th March 2014. He'd arrived a whole two hours early to help setup—not that it needed much setting up. Actors should have gotten their scripts and Amy should have gotten his memo to organize a production meeting at the same time, so that everyone would know exactly what their jobs were. And they could all intermingle because honestly, what better time to get to know whether the production would soar to expected heights or fall flat on its face.

He'd sent that right?

Scramble for the phone in his pocket.

Double check e-mails.

Turn the phone off.

Check again.

Sigh in relief and finally step out into the now torrential downpour.

With umbrella in hand, Vyacheslav Piotr Zolnerowich-Wahlstein made a bee-line toward the building, phone in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He didn't at all purvey the casualness of the event that he had prior. Dressed in a suitably sized, black suit and purple tie that somehow got drenched, in spite of the wide arcing shelter the umbrella gave. The sight and feeling of the wet fabric clinging to his skin provoked an audibly aggravating sigh from Peter Zolner, the 'pen name' that grew on him just for the convenience of others. He was always convenient and accomodating to others. And, with a furrow in his brow, he retracted the umbrella and made his way through the building to find the wide-open space where he'd booked the reading to take place. Finding it already filled with chairs and tables, as well as sizable stacks of extra scripts, Peter finally smiled. Really, the only thing he'd have to do was wait. But, being the worrisome individual he was, he made sure to bring up a spreadsheet on his phone to access the list of people who were to attend the reading and then began counting the chairs.

He spent the next few hours preoccupying himself to making the room, large in its scope, as accommodating as possible for the entirety of the cast and crew. Making sure the staff he'd hired had set out a reasonable amount of food and drinks, as it would be nearing lunch as they began, and making sure he checked and double checked and triple checked twice that no one on the list had peanut allergies. Giving up, Peter simply ran out to dispose of the nut contaminated food and came back in. He'd forgotten it was raining. Though, at the moment, he didn't seem to care and was only satisfied when he found a nice sofa to sit on—his entire side was immediately soaked. Finally noticing the error he'd made, Peter sighed and simply let his head fall into his hands; he needed at least one moment to relax before people filed in.

Always one of the first to arrive and the last to leave. Finally, though, the beginning of something either grand beyond measure or so bleak that cancellation was just around the corner.

A well planned airport was a true modern marvel to Jake. He had spent enough time in every type that he could always tell how good an experience was going to be simply from how the flight attendant said their goodbyes when he exited the plane. Sadly, another lesson he learned was LAX was never a good place to be. The monstrosity that was the Los Angeles International Airport was a congested, disorganized, eyesore of a view. Sadly it was also one of the airports Jake had to spend the most time in.

Leaving the exit checkpoint behind him he tucked his passport into his jacket pocket and walked past the food court. He leaned against a post and hailed a taxi while letting out a long stressed out sigh. The flight from New York was a long one and had taxed his energy levels. As a cab pulled up and he started to load himself into the back he checked his watch. “Let’s make it home then work.” He said with a lighter tone. He wasn’t due to show up till 4 so he had time to clean himself up. “First impressions in this city are everything.”

Twenty minutes later he was stuck in traffic and his eyes continued to dart to his watch. “I see I was being an optimistic.” He said with a heavy tone. Jake then gave the address to the studio where the cast was meeting for the scripts first read through. There was a small bed and breakfast nearby and he knew the owner. A shower and a clean pair of clothes was still an option. Another twenty minutes and he was barely out of the cab and in the shower.

Now dressed it what could be described as his uniform of sorts he was showered and shaved. He thanked his old friends, a nice elderly couple who had been running the B and B since before Jake was born. The large room in the main floor had pictures of all the famous people they had housed in the past. It’s distance from the studio and the privacy granted by the well kept garden made it a popular place for celebrities even today.

“Thanks. I owe you for this one Henry.” Jake said as he saw the couple in the kitchen. They seemed to be cleaning up after a lunch. Jake was happy to see several seats at the table had been occupied meaning they had a nearly full booking. “Seems you have some guests. Sorry to intrude.” He added as he started to collect his bag and leave. He was stopped by Mary who had a look that Jake was all too familiar with.

“Young man if you think you are getting that shower for free you have another thing coming.” Her tone was that of a mother about to start a guilt trip. “You will leave your bags here and join us for dinner. I won’t here a word of protest. You haven’t come to see us in almost two months and you promised to suffer through more of Henry’s stories and my cooking.” Mary then firmly set Jake's bags back down and gave him a look that would make a dictator uneasy. “Besides I am sure you are here for that big movie they are starting and as it happens several of our guests are involved in it as well.”

Jake was never one to argue at an opportunity for a home cooked meal. Especially when it came to Mary’s cooking. He gave a chagrinned look and nodded. “I’ll be here for dinner Mary. Can’t promise that any of your famous tenets will be able to join us though. They often have more than a few groups bidding for their attention.” He then paused as Mary straightened his collar out of habit. “Alright now you are just making me self conscious.” He added as Henry told Mary to stop and the two started to cheerfully bicker.

Jake walked the long dead-end street back to the main road and then crossed the street to the studio complex. He flashed his access badge to the guard at the gate and then hailed a small golf cart to drive him to the building on the east corner. Looking again at his watch with a happy smile he walked into the room a good 20 minutes early. A table with some food and drinks could be seen laid out along a wall with another table holding a large collection of name tags. A minute of looking and Jake found his and firmly slapped it on his old travel shirt.

In the glow from her laptop Addison let out a stifled giggle as the YouTube video she had been watching came to an end. Her eyes darted from the digital clock in the bottom right hand corner and the digital note she had plastered on her desktop.

“First Cast readthrough
March 18th
Be there at 7am to set up!”

Eyes back to the clock “2:30am…” Addison sighed as she stood up from her desk, she stretched and flopped down on her bed. Getting comfortable took some time but before long she was fast asleep. After what felt like 5 minutes the alarm clock’s shrill screech made Addison shoot up with her heart in her throat. Am I late?! Did I oversleep? Am I alive?!

A few frantic seconds later when she had calmed down she sprinted in to her shower, if you could even call it a shower. It has two settings molten lava and frostbites which more often than not results in a lousy shower. Today Addison actually got to take a lukewarm one which was rare. But she couldn’t complain since the place was dirt cheap and she was fresh out of college, so expecting more than this dump as a first apartment was just moronic.

With a piece of toast in her hand Addison stepped out of the building in to the rain and hailed a cab. As the trip to the studio that was booked for the reading began Addison took out her calendar to check what had to be fixed. “Food, Coffee, Chairs…. Scripts!” Addison exclaimed quietly to herself and screwed her face up as she reached in her bag and felt around for the bundle of scripts she had copied up the night before. When she finally found them she let out one of the weirdest sounds she had ever made, which made the cab driver stare at her in the rearview mirror.

Finally at the studio Addison hoisted her big bag out of the cab and walked in flashing her crew card to the cards as she passed them, feeling weirdly proud as she did so. The empty room that the reading was going to take pace in was spacious and light even in the dull gray light the rainy weather was casting through the windows. Addison set to work right away with arranging the tables and chairs in to a satisfactory way so that all the actors and writers could see each other while reading through the scrip. Not long after the catering company came in with the food which she helped arrange on a table in the back of the room. She checked her watch 8:45am she checked her list and made some finishing touches when her phone started to buzz in her pocket. She stepped outside in to the hallway.

The name on the phone surprised her Nathan Matthews, her brother. “Nathan?” She answered quizzically.

“Hey sis!” her brothers voice boomed on the other end.

“What do you want?” Addison asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Woah, nice to hear from you too Addie…”

“Well Nathan can you blame me? Last time I spoke to you I had to wire you money… so” She said and squirmed a bit on the spot she stood. “I’m just surprised that’s all.”

Her brother was silent for a moment then “I know I’m a screw up Addie… But I just need some help.”

“How much?” Addison sighed disgruntled.

“No, no I don’t need money! I just need a place to stay… you see I’m in town.” He chuckled.

“You’re in LA?!” she almost shouted and looked around to see if anyone had heard her “God Nathan how about some heads up?!” She scolded him.

“C’mon Addie, just for a week or two…”

She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths “Fine! I’ll text you the address, there is an extra key under the doormat… You get the couch!” Addison said and hung up, she furiously texted her address and stomped back in to the room and slammed the door closed. When she turned around to keep working she yelped and jumped a few inches.

“Mr. Zolner!” Addison exclaimed as she grasped her chest when she saw he boss sitting on one of the couches “You scared me there, what are you doing here so early? The reading isn’t scheduled until 11 right?”

The night and the rain conspired to trick her into sleeping late; it could be the only explanation to missing three alarms on her phone and two on the clock. Torrential memories of England drifted through her sleep-dulled mind, lifting a pleasant hum to her throat. She would fight someone over the “rainy England” stereotype, but only verbally of course – she had not the skills to match anyone in a physical battle, though that would not stop her trying. The hypnotising lullaby of raindrops on her bedroom windows imprisoned her in dreams, until her roommate kicked down her door, jumped on her bed and started bouncing.

“Oh my god, get up! Get up!” Phoebe groaned. What was that thing on her back? She didn't have a dog... “Oh my god you're so dead, did you take something?” Her roommate leaned over, gave her a moment's respite from the bouncing, and screamed into her ear. “You're late!” Jolting so violently she struck her roommate in the nose, Phoebe wriggled out of the comforter and pointed a hairbrush at the girl.

Nadine, a six foot tall beauty and promising up-and-coming model, clutched her face in both hands and stared at Phoebe like she'd lost her mind.

“Sorry...” Phoebe muttered after a long blink. She rubbed her eyes, clearing some of the blur from her vision, and tossed the hairbrush on the bed. Her quiet, gravelly 'morning voice' raced ahead before her mind could finish constructing sentences. “What were you talking about?”

“I come home and want to sleep, right,” Nadine's hands over her nose and mouth muffled her words, and Phoebe squinted, but for some reason, that didn't help. “And all I hear is your phone blasting Mine Turtle like four times and your clock starts ringing, I figure you gotta be tired so I let you sleep in, then you get that stupid Star Wars text thing, and ugh!” Nadine threw up her hands. There was a dark lump starting to form on her nose, just to the right. Lost in staring at it, Phoebe slowly absorbed what her roommate said.

“Star Wars?” She picked up her phone from the bedside table and blinked hard at the array of messages and missed calls.

First a drunk text from Nadine, far too deep in spelling errors to decipher, at least three calls from unidentified numbers, a missed call and an email from mother – that was to be expected – and an event reminder:

Point Blank cast & crew readthrough, 11:00 AM.

Her schedule was kind enough to include a flickering red message below the event reading: 42 minutes!

Throwing her phone to her roommate, Phoebe snatched up clothes and a towel and dashed into the shower. She emerged ten minutes later, still dressing, and stuffed a few things into her work bag – a small blue duffle with a Zorro keychain and her initials on the back – before sprinting out the door. “Star Trek!” she shouted back to Nadine as she went, “It was Star Trek, not wars!”

She couldn't rightly leave without clarifying that one, small detail.

The race to the meeting room trumped her usual morning jog, carrying her to the building in double her record time. She thought too late that it might have been smart to hail a cab, then remembered there was no cash in her wallet anyway. As she slowed to a walk and entered the building, flashing her access card to a number of different people, she tapped her chin irritably and mumbled all the way to the room. Her phone claimed she had time to spare, though she was not sure how much she trusted the device any more.

As he sat in the back seat of the car, Leo pulled an amulet into the correct place around his neck, carefully removing a link of chain which had got caught in the threads of his scarf. It wasn't a real emerald, a fact which he knew because he had made it himself as a model for the transformation item of a magical warrior in a film he worked on. The film had only made a small cult following but he wouldn't complain about work and it was a nice amulet. Taking it wasn't the most professional move but the property manager didn't mind. Conversely, the scarf was, in his opinion, the most hideous shade of coral he had ever seen but it was the work of a good friend and he felt bad about not wearing it. He picked his phone out of his jacket pocket, the bulky obsidian-coloured mobile being another gift from a friend, albeit a practical one. His text messages and missed calls were full of possible jobs which would never pass a "maybe" and lunch offers from former child stars and desperate journalists trying to get information on projects he had completed which were still partially hidden from the public. The costume designer sighed and thanked the fact that he didn't have any urgent commitments as the traffic stretched out in front of him.

A flash of light and a loud crack split the air, silencing the sound of the planes and trucks and shouting. Ella’s gaze smoothly moved down, her hands and shirt stained in dark crimson. There was no pain, no fear, nothing except a blaring beeping getting louder and louder until she awoke with a gasp, grasping her stomach. The alarm clock read 10:13PM as Ella’s hand came down like a hammer, turning it off vigorously. Ella’s apartment was plain and empty, with several large windows along one side pouring sunlight into the room. Unpacked moving boxes hid in the corners and an assortment of clothes scattered over the floor.

Her hair was disheveled and lipstick was smeared all over her mouth. She didn’t remember putting on lipstick, but she didn’t remember anything from last night. A warm shower woke her up and reminded her about the meeting for the movie today. She was already gonna be late, so she didn’t bother rushing. By the time she reached the studio she was 15min late.. She’d feel more guilty but its not like the DP is vital to a script reading. As usual she forgot her access badge, luckily the security guard on duty recognized her.

Discreetly as possible, Ella snuck in trying to get to the table full of food in the back without getting caught.

"This is a lot of shit," Harris Klein said to the empty room. It was 10:20 AM, well before the reading was scheduled to begin, and Klein had been one of the first to arrive, as per usual. Remarkably quiet for such a fat man, he had slipped past both Zolner and that woman Matthews without being commented upon and snatched up one of the scripts. Might as well look through the script, get a few quick impressions.

And so, script tucked under his arm, he had skulked off to an unused common room, along with the bucket of fried chicken and liter bottle of Coke he had brought from home. Well, mostly Coke. About 3/4 of the dark liquid in the bottle was soft. The rest was Myer's Rum, the dark color blending perfectly with the soda. No one would suspect a thing, Klein assured himself. He had this down to an art, and art was a thing at which he excelled.

"This is so much shit," he repeated, dropping the script on the couch next to him. "They expect my character to win a fistfight against a younger man? Have they seen me before?" The fat man sighed melodramatically for an audience that did not exist, fishing for another wing out of his bucket. "I hope the incidental music will cover my wheezing. Perhaps I could just fall on him." Harris was disappointed to discover he had finished the wings unconsciously while perusing the script. He wiped his fingers carefully on a napkin, then dropped the bucket into the nearest wastebin. Taking another sip of his enormous rum and coke, the fat man ambled back to the conference room, taking care to snag a couple of Danishes from craft services before dropping his considerable bulk into a deep chair, ready to wait patiently for the others. He didn't bother with a nametag. People knew who he was.

"Good morning," he said in greeting to Zolner and Matthews. "I took the liberty of looking through the script briefly, and I regret to inform you that my first impressions are mostly negative." He sighed deeply, took a swig of his cocktail. "I mean this not as an insult, but as a challenge to you. Weak scripts can be compensated. Bear that in mind." He leaned back in his chair, stuffed an entire Danish into his mouth.

---

Simple is best.

Natural is beautiful.

That's always what Leila strived to live by. Regardless of the fact that as a model, she often has layers upon layers of makeup on her face, designer clothes, meticulously styled hair, lighting, and the photo shopping, she still believes that natural beauty is the most exquisite.

So how should she look pretty today? Leila wanted to give a good first impression, and she needed to work on her appearance a bit this morning. She did not look like a model at all in the morning. Her eyes were bleary, and there was a pretty formidable cowlick in her hair. With a sigh, Leila attempted to smooth down the cowlick with her hand, but of course it sprang back right away. She knew from experience that she would have to battle fiercely against the evil cowlick to defeat it. That took a lot of time and effort. Well, it was a good thing that she woke up early, and had a plenty of time.

After the morning ritual of eating breakfast, brushing teeth, and washing face, Leila sat down in front of her large mirror to beautify herself. She attacked that cowlick with a straightener and detangler until it was tamed--and it probably took a good 15 minutes. For the rest of her hair, she simply ran a comb through it until it was sleek and smooth, leaving it hanging down her back. Leila added some waterproof mascara to her eyelashes, some eyeliner to make her eyes pop, and a dab of lip gloss. And that's it! Nothing more. The best models know how to accentuate their best features with minimal amounts of makeup.

She was ready to go now. After double checking her email to make sure that she knew the right place and time, Leila headed out the door with her rain jacket. Pulling the hood up to protect her hair, she ran towards her car, carefully avoiding any puddles on the way. She loved the rain, loved the water, but fire was her element--as evidenced by her hair--and she didn't want it to extinguish her flame, especially right now, when she was about to meet everyone for this project.

As she steered her car into the streets, she glanced at the directions she had scribbled down on a yellow legal pad. Turn left at Traction, take another left at 75th... Wait, was she supposed to take a right at Victoria, or left? With a frown on her face, she pulled over and scrutinized her map. Crap, she went the wrong way. Leila had to make a complete U turn to get back on track. And unfortunately, it wasn't the only time she had to backtrack a bit. Leila has amazing directional skills. Don't even deny it...

After some hiccups, she finally managed to arrive at the right place. Grabbing her script, her pencil case, and the blueberry muffins she had baked for everyone, she headed in. Of course, there were people already there. Quietly, Leila placed the muffins on the table, and removed the saran wrap covering them before scampering off to curl up in a chair. Her eyes darted around, taking in everyone in the room as she silently fidgeted with her hair.

---

---

Fame.

Despite it being a coveted thing, it was also very difficult to deal with. After avoiding the spotlight for so long, Luke had thought that he was an expert at concealing who he really was.

Boy, was he wrong.

Once the news of his directoral debut had hit the press, chaos ensued. The paparazzi had found his house--how did they do that? Seriously--so Luke was currently staying at a hotel because they wouldn't leave him alone. He wouldn't be able to leave his house because there were so many of them, and they would bombard him with questions that he would of course, refuse to answer. Honestly, did they really think that he'd give them the answers they wanted? Yet they persisted, even going as far as peeking through his curtains. What headline were they expecting from that? "Actor-turned-director eats toast for breakfast!!!" That'll make millions for sure. It's not like he was hiding a girlfriend in his house or anything.

With the relatively safe environment provided by the hotel, Luke was able to relax a bit and gather his thoughts. A lot of pressure was mounting upon this movie--perhaps... No. Definitely a lot more than everyone was aware of. He was painfully aware about all of the doubt and uncertainty people had about him directing, and as much as he hated to admit, those concerns were valid. Although Luke had directing experience, they were limited to plays. Still, he felt that he could be confident. He had spent years observing directors, and he had done his homework and knew that in theory, he would be an amazing director.

But real life application is drastically different.

Luke nervously ran his hand through his hair as he glanced through his papers, messing up his swooping hair a bit. (Let's get once thing straight, it's helluva lot better than that douche, Justin Bieber's hair okay? Luke is not a copy-cat, he was famous before him.) Then with a quick exhale, Luke steeled himself for this meeting. Stuffing his papers into a folder, then shoving said folder into a bag, he straightened up. After making sure that he had everything, it was time to address another issue.

Cautiously, Luke peeked past the curtain, to observe the street below. What he saw had him jerking away from the window. The paparazzi was gathered just outside the hotel. So they not only found his house, they found the hotel he was staying at. It was stalker-ish to say the least. He understood why they were so desperate for any information though.. The production had been kept under wraps. The public knew that Luke was directing a movie, but nothing else. He knew that they were desperate and it almost made him feel less irritated towards them. Almost.

He felt really bad about inconveniencing the hotel staff. He would have to send them something as a gesture of apology and thanks.

But for now, he had to find a way out of here.

Diving into his suitcase, Luke assembled a disguise for himself.

After his transformation, he gazed at himself in the mirror. Not bad Clemens, not bad at all. At first glance, you wouldn't recognize the former star. He concealed his blonde hair with a brown wig and a baseball cap. His face was largely covered with sunglasses and an oversized windbreaker was draped over him. It wasn't a perfect disguise, if anyone got a close look at him, he might get recognized. But it would have to do. He emitted a small sigh. He wanted to dress a little more formally for the first meeting, but that would draw too much attention.

Sneaking out the back door, Luke quickly walked away with a purpose, skillfully weaving through the crowd with his head held high. He knew that people would get suspicious if he bowed his head. Fortunately, it worked like a charm, and soon enough, he was safely in his car--it was a rental, the paparazzi knew what his actual car looked like--and zoomed away.

Jake shared a hello here and there as people started to arrive. A few familiar faces had him sharing small talk and a laugh here and there, but overall it was a pretty quiet and tamed room. He didn't like it. It seemed almost like a weight was pulling the ceiling down on everyone and figured someone needed to get things going in a more positive light. He thought about something that might lighten the mood, but at first the only thing he could come up with were some of the things his business partner Robert would scold him for. Since he had promised to be on 'class act' status for this production the man bit his lip for now.

When some of the actors and actresses arrived, including Leila Fox, the silence was at a point where Jake couldn’t ignore it. “Well I was excited to get an offer for this production. Granted when they give a guy like me the budget they did to scout locations it is hard not to see it as a ticket to visit places on my checklist.” Jake laughed slightly at his joke which he already knew would at best warm the crowd up if only by having them laugh at him more than the joke. "Look around Addison you are likely going to know more about all of us then you do your family. I wish you nothing but good luck and fortune when it comes to dealing with the chaos of this production."

“And don’t sell yourself short Harris. I find myself in a alley fight while on break I expect to see you backing me up. Lord knows I’ve had a few scraps due to some mistake.” He laughed as he gave a friendly nod to his friend. “As for the script all I care about is the italics describing the scene.” He had decided against mentioning the drink in the older actor’s hands. Still his attention was now fully on the woman near the food table.

Walking over towards the woman and clearing his throat Jake couldn’t hid the honest surprise when he realized where he knew the woman from. “Okay, this is going to sound very fanboy, but that is only because it is.” Jake extended a hand to the woman.

“You are Ella Lindgren right? The journalist who was on assignment in the Middle East. Before that you wrote a pretty great article on the illegal ivory trade in Central and South Africa.” Jake then turned to the rest of the group. “Hey Pheebs. This is that journalist I was talking about on the set of Excaliber!” he explained as he looked over at his old work friend.

Waking up bright and early, that's usually the exact opposite of what Charlie does but today was different. He woke up way too early in the wrong place, he had performed last night and apparently passed out in his car in the parking lot. He woke up to the sound of a car alarm and checked the clock 4:30, though it was early he took a swig of the Red Bull that had been sitting in his cupholder. He waited for the sudden awakening and once it hit he started his beat up car. The radio came alive and played Overkill. Drumming on the steering wheel charlie drove home singing along with Colin Hayes. When he pulled into his driveway it was 5:30 and he had finished his Red Bull. He stumbled into his dump of an apartment and fell onto his couch. Quickly before passing out he set an alarm for 8:30 on his phone. He yawned and rolled off of the broken spring in the couch his eyes shut and he was out cold.

Charlie woke up to the sound of his phone ringing, he picked up his phone and saw it was 9:30. He had slept right through the alarm he set and not one to trust his agent called him. He was just too late to answer but didn't bother calling back and just sent a text to his colleague. "I'm up don't worry." He threw his phone onto the other end of the couch and got in the shower. 15 minutes later he got out with the mirror steamed up.He then while wiping himself off with a towel he went to his bedroom and got dressed. His semi-formal attire consisted of khakis, a button down shirt not buttoned, a white undershirt and his favorite sneakers. He had to get across town but didn't want to be early so he made himself a bagel and eggs. It was 10:15 when he decided to leave and he stopped for coffee on the way, he needed a little pick me up. He got across town by 10:45 and checked himself in the rear-view mirror of his car. Once he was sure he had no blemishes he walked up to where he needed to be and opened the door. He was immediately starstruck, he couldn't believe how many big names were on this project. He had seen the names on paper before but seeing everybody in person was completely different. He tried not to get too giddy and kept his head down as he grabbed a script and took his seat.

Slipping into the conference room as quietly as possible, and for a woman of her height it wasn't exactly difficult to accomplish, Phoebe picked up a copy of the script and a muffin and took a seat by the wall. Actors reserved the seats at the table, without any official booking, it was like an unspoken rule of Hollywood. Phoebe didn't mind it at all, she much preferred to watch the fledgling performances of the readthrough, and a position at the back of the room supplied her with the best view.

With Zolner and someone she couldn't quite name already preparing, Phoebe bunkered down, drawing her legs up onto the seat and crossing them, and hid herself behind the script.

On accepting the job she received a rundown of the plot and a first draft of the script to start work from. A collection of sketches, designs and prototypes for props sat comfortably in a box workroom on the other side of the studio lot. Flicking through the script, Phoebe grinned to herself and took a bite from the muffin. This project was going to be so much fun, she just knew it; movies like Point Blank required the best, most realistic props. Making props was an art form, and the same could be said about organising, producing and any small part of making a movie. Phoebe treated herself to another mouthful of muffin, but her delight was cut short by the arrival of Harris Klein.

She sunk into her chair, silent, and went completely unnoticed by the actor. It may have been the distraction of pastries, or even his apparent disapproval of the script, but she was thankful nonetheless. She wasn't scared of him, not Harris Klein, the hulking great beast of a man with an expert eye for detail who could pluck out your mistakes and dangle them in front of you... no, she wasn't scared. Wary, yes, and certainly surprised to see him again, but scared? Never.

The people began filtering in as the clock tick-tocked on, and the more people she recognised the more relaxation seeped into her joints. Soon enough, her trademark grin crept back onto her face. She watched people meander to the food table–– Oh no... is that? ––Ella Lindgren.

Phoebe dropped her legs and sat up straight. In that exact moment, more than anything, she wanted to dart over and say hello and talk about Excaliber and ivory trade and Ella's brilliant photography. But that would be too much, wouldn't it? So instead she smiled politely when Ella seemed to glance in her vague direction, waved, and said, “Hello.”