Post by shades on Oct 2, 2014 3:28:25 GMT
“Cut!”
That was the best thing to hear every day when working on set. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t enjoy watching the movie-making process, but he was also a college student and tired. Yet, he cannot go to sleep because he has homework to complete, but thank Jesus it is only one class.
“We need you be more in love, for Christ’s sake, look like you love him!”
That was the last thing he wanted to hear, he would have to stick around and help clean up set. The longer they spent on this one scene, the more frustrated the famous Director John Harolds would get, leaving them out all-night and he still had homework to do.
Oh, it was all fine and dandy that the actors wanted to goof off. All the shit they were pulling on set was comedy gold and would likely make it into the blooper reel of the DVD pack whenever that came out. However, unlike him, they had the chance to sleep before arriving on set along with most of the crew. It was1 o’clock in the damn morning, he hadn’t slept in what felt like a week (which was really 48 hours), and it was fucking freezing outside.
You’ll be rubbing elbows with famous people they said.
Even if you’re just an assistant, you’re working on set of The Silent Enemy with so many famous actors and John Harolds directing! they said.
It was a dream job they said.
Well, in response to that, he would retort with a haughty bull and shit.
Honestly, he didn’t hate the job, it was just a real pain in the ass sometimes. For starters, some scenes had wacky, unpredictable hours. With all the insane stunts done in the movie, shooting a single scene could take from one to more than a dozen tries, sometimes more, more often than not more, and no one was allowed to leave until Harolds was satisfied. He, literally, has been at work for a full twenty four hours on more than one occasion. Whenever the catering staff couldn’t make it to set for whatever reason, it was him who got the calls in the wee hours in the morning, usually when he is attempting to finish homework or sleep, to pick up several boxes of doughnuts, and not just a simple order of doughnuts. No, he had to fetch one-dozen cream-filled, another dozen strawberry jam-filled, a carton of powdered holes, a carton of glazed holes, a dozen with chocolate on top, but five of them needed sprinkles (and one just has to be chocolate sprinkles), and finally three boxes of plain glazed. That order didn’t include coffee. Don’t get started on the coffee orders.
Despite all that, he wasn’t treated like trash. The bosses could stand to lighten the workload and memorize that he has classes on Mondays til’ 2:30 and yes, the other assistant is there working and helping cover for him. Everyone was pretty nice, except one or two actors. The rest were surprisingly humble. Not that he expected total asshats, but there is that one diva and jerk.
That wasn’t the case with everyone, only with Simon Finch, who was popular for his pretty face and talent. Not to mention also Terry McVeil, jealous she didn’t get the main role and obviously wanting to get her face glued in the everlasting sneer directed his way. The rest were really down to earth and easy to get along with. He could see himself becoming friends with all of them…if he didn’t get so starstruck with ever time one of them crossed his path; he was like a deer in the headlights.
“You there! Caspar!”
Finally, the young man rolling up a chord to one of the lighting fixtures that were not needed anymore at the moment turned around. It took every fiber of his being to not just groan, loud and deep-throated, because he was 649% done with everything at the moment. He still had homework to do. Unfortunately, the man probably got paid more than him. “Yes sir, what can I do?”
“I need you to help unset up the tables and fixtures on set, the cast is tired and have a long day tomorrow.”
He has an exam tomorrow, but the young adult repressed a groan. “Right, I’ll get on that.”
“Good.” The man was satisfied, walking away with his hands shoved into his pockets. Once again, it was the struggle to untangle and roll up the chord, mumbling his ‘appreciation’ to his superior.
Alistair Caspar was normal, or at least he constantly tried to convince himself of such. Growing up in a family of a young marriage and child, not to mention them being huge nerds in the 80s with Dungeons and Dragons, Alistair knew many obscure references and was constantly embarrassed at them. Not to mention his name was a combination of his mothers’ favorite book character and his fathers’ favorite Star Trek character.
It was a major reason why he was doing college in New York City, going to School of Visual Arts for filming. Yes, filming, what he was currently on the set of. Yet, he wasn’t a director of this huge movie known as The Silent Enemy, but a mere assistant to everyone. Alistair liked it, but regretted getting involved when there were much easier job opportunities: like McDonalds or something. That didn’t satisfy the twenty-one year old, leaving the young man to depreciate the job more and more as time moved by slowly with filming.
It was only a week and he was exhausted, behind in classes, but still somehow working there; despite it being a long night ahead. Thankfully, most of the set he could help pack up now while they were attempting to shoot the final scene for the day—the love scene. Yet, Simon Finch was getting frustrated and being a jackass to his love interest and equally famous co-star, while Harolds babbled on about how they were supposed to be in love and such.
Terry McVeil was yawning and glaring over at them in disdain, waiting for them to be done so she may pounce on her male prey. Alistair didn’t understand the woman, and when his innocent brown eyes reached hers for a split second, he jerked back. McVeil narrowed her eyes into dangerous cat-like slits, her face menacing and tired of the shit he didn’t do to her—like a personal vendetta with the assistant college boy,
Instead, Alistair focused on putting the stand away and pretending she didn’t exist until finally Harolds called it a wrap.
“That’s enough for today, we’ll resume tomorrow!” He called, everyone spinning on heels and getting prepared to leave the set to their hotel rooms.
Alistair was stuck cleaning up as the set emptied, letting a sigh escape his lips; he didn’t usually bother to try and catch anyone leaving, they were all dead as he was and wanted sleep like he did. Honestly, he couldn’t blame them. His brown eyes closed and fingers tugged at his ruffled hair, the stubble evident on his features making him wonder whether he should shave or not. The chattering was dying down as Alistair began to realize he would be alone and locking up the set, failing to take notice of someone else in the room.
That was the best thing to hear every day when working on set. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t enjoy watching the movie-making process, but he was also a college student and tired. Yet, he cannot go to sleep because he has homework to complete, but thank Jesus it is only one class.
“We need you be more in love, for Christ’s sake, look like you love him!”
That was the last thing he wanted to hear, he would have to stick around and help clean up set. The longer they spent on this one scene, the more frustrated the famous Director John Harolds would get, leaving them out all-night and he still had homework to do.
Oh, it was all fine and dandy that the actors wanted to goof off. All the shit they were pulling on set was comedy gold and would likely make it into the blooper reel of the DVD pack whenever that came out. However, unlike him, they had the chance to sleep before arriving on set along with most of the crew. It was1 o’clock in the damn morning, he hadn’t slept in what felt like a week (which was really 48 hours), and it was fucking freezing outside.
You’ll be rubbing elbows with famous people they said.
Even if you’re just an assistant, you’re working on set of The Silent Enemy with so many famous actors and John Harolds directing! they said.
It was a dream job they said.
Well, in response to that, he would retort with a haughty bull and shit.
Honestly, he didn’t hate the job, it was just a real pain in the ass sometimes. For starters, some scenes had wacky, unpredictable hours. With all the insane stunts done in the movie, shooting a single scene could take from one to more than a dozen tries, sometimes more, more often than not more, and no one was allowed to leave until Harolds was satisfied. He, literally, has been at work for a full twenty four hours on more than one occasion. Whenever the catering staff couldn’t make it to set for whatever reason, it was him who got the calls in the wee hours in the morning, usually when he is attempting to finish homework or sleep, to pick up several boxes of doughnuts, and not just a simple order of doughnuts. No, he had to fetch one-dozen cream-filled, another dozen strawberry jam-filled, a carton of powdered holes, a carton of glazed holes, a dozen with chocolate on top, but five of them needed sprinkles (and one just has to be chocolate sprinkles), and finally three boxes of plain glazed. That order didn’t include coffee. Don’t get started on the coffee orders.
Despite all that, he wasn’t treated like trash. The bosses could stand to lighten the workload and memorize that he has classes on Mondays til’ 2:30 and yes, the other assistant is there working and helping cover for him. Everyone was pretty nice, except one or two actors. The rest were surprisingly humble. Not that he expected total asshats, but there is that one diva and jerk.
That wasn’t the case with everyone, only with Simon Finch, who was popular for his pretty face and talent. Not to mention also Terry McVeil, jealous she didn’t get the main role and obviously wanting to get her face glued in the everlasting sneer directed his way. The rest were really down to earth and easy to get along with. He could see himself becoming friends with all of them…if he didn’t get so starstruck with ever time one of them crossed his path; he was like a deer in the headlights.
“You there! Caspar!”
Finally, the young man rolling up a chord to one of the lighting fixtures that were not needed anymore at the moment turned around. It took every fiber of his being to not just groan, loud and deep-throated, because he was 649% done with everything at the moment. He still had homework to do. Unfortunately, the man probably got paid more than him. “Yes sir, what can I do?”
“I need you to help unset up the tables and fixtures on set, the cast is tired and have a long day tomorrow.”
He has an exam tomorrow, but the young adult repressed a groan. “Right, I’ll get on that.”
“Good.” The man was satisfied, walking away with his hands shoved into his pockets. Once again, it was the struggle to untangle and roll up the chord, mumbling his ‘appreciation’ to his superior.
Alistair Caspar was normal, or at least he constantly tried to convince himself of such. Growing up in a family of a young marriage and child, not to mention them being huge nerds in the 80s with Dungeons and Dragons, Alistair knew many obscure references and was constantly embarrassed at them. Not to mention his name was a combination of his mothers’ favorite book character and his fathers’ favorite Star Trek character.
It was a major reason why he was doing college in New York City, going to School of Visual Arts for filming. Yes, filming, what he was currently on the set of. Yet, he wasn’t a director of this huge movie known as The Silent Enemy, but a mere assistant to everyone. Alistair liked it, but regretted getting involved when there were much easier job opportunities: like McDonalds or something. That didn’t satisfy the twenty-one year old, leaving the young man to depreciate the job more and more as time moved by slowly with filming.
It was only a week and he was exhausted, behind in classes, but still somehow working there; despite it being a long night ahead. Thankfully, most of the set he could help pack up now while they were attempting to shoot the final scene for the day—the love scene. Yet, Simon Finch was getting frustrated and being a jackass to his love interest and equally famous co-star, while Harolds babbled on about how they were supposed to be in love and such.
Terry McVeil was yawning and glaring over at them in disdain, waiting for them to be done so she may pounce on her male prey. Alistair didn’t understand the woman, and when his innocent brown eyes reached hers for a split second, he jerked back. McVeil narrowed her eyes into dangerous cat-like slits, her face menacing and tired of the shit he didn’t do to her—like a personal vendetta with the assistant college boy,
Instead, Alistair focused on putting the stand away and pretending she didn’t exist until finally Harolds called it a wrap.
“That’s enough for today, we’ll resume tomorrow!” He called, everyone spinning on heels and getting prepared to leave the set to their hotel rooms.
Alistair was stuck cleaning up as the set emptied, letting a sigh escape his lips; he didn’t usually bother to try and catch anyone leaving, they were all dead as he was and wanted sleep like he did. Honestly, he couldn’t blame them. His brown eyes closed and fingers tugged at his ruffled hair, the stubble evident on his features making him wonder whether he should shave or not. The chattering was dying down as Alistair began to realize he would be alone and locking up the set, failing to take notice of someone else in the room.
