That went poorly.
Bursting through the door, Mona slipped on a puddle of sparkling water and fell on her face against the gray stone floor. That wasn't supposed to happen.
"Cut," Director Townshend spoke into a megaphone in his trademark deadpan, sighing from the chair across the room. Despite his less-than-expressive demeanor, it was always clear to the people on set how he was feeling. This being the 10th take on this scene, he was understandably a bit upset that something else had yet again gone wrong.
A bell rang, several people audibly groaning as they went to work resetting the operating room set for yet another crack at it. It was just one thing after another today, a pattern that held true through most of filming so far. Maybe the act of making a movie about Silent Hill was as cursed as the town itself.
Mona turned over on the ground and sat up, dazed from the throbbing pain in the center of her face. "Here," someone said, extending a hand to help her to her feet. It was Heather the stagehand, of course, still being the most organized and responsible person in this whole production despite being paid the least. "You hurt?"
"Seems fine," Mona said, taking her assistance and removing the prop glasses from her face. Nothing felt broken, at least as far as she could tell. She allowed herself to be led by the hand over to a black folding chair, sitting down and leaning back in case her nose decided to start bleeding. Didn't want to get blood on the costume in places it wasn't supposed to be.
"I'll go get some ice," Heather said, already heading off backstage. So dedicated. That's one of the reasons she'd always liked her since starting this job. That and the fact that she was...well, really cute.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the director approach. She shifted in her seat to face him, already knowing what he'd say. "Can you still do the scene?" Townshend asked, repeating what he'd said several times before when there had been an accident in the past. Nearly got him punched in the face when the actor playing Sable just about broke his leg doing that dive out of the apartment set.
"Yeah, give me a little bit," she sighed. While he certainly wasn't the worst person she'd met in Hollywood, he definitely wasn't the best. At least they were lucky enough not to have had any serious accidents on set yet, though she didn't expected he'd show any more sympathy than this when that time finally came. She was supposed to think "if" that time came, but she was just being realistic.
"Okay," he replied dryly, wandering off somewhere to go order some other people around. Beyond confirming that she could, in fact, continue acting, he was entirely uninterested in the health or safety of his lead.
Mona slouched down in the chair, laying her head against her hand as she contemplated how she'd gotten herself into all of this. "It's your big break!" her agent had said. "You've really hit the big time!" She was lured in with the promise of no more underwear modeling or shitty commercial voice overs, but here she was really missing both of those now that they were three weeks behind schedule with yet another injury on set.
"Here you go." She jumped, Heather having snuck up on her. In her hand was a small plastic bag filled with ice cubes, all of it wrapped in a white towel.
Mona nodded, taking it from her and holding it to her nose. "Thank you," she said, voice growing nasally. "This movie, right?"
Heather's stoic visage broke just a bit as a tiny smile formed on her lips. "Yeah, it's something."
"How long have you been a stagehand?" she asked, hoping to pass the time and maybe learn a little something about her favorite member of the staff.
"Not that long," she replied. "Only about half a year. This is my first major thing. It was just some commercial that wrapped in about a week before this started."
Mona nodded. "But you didn't move out to California to get people like me some face ice, right?" She was just guessing at all of that, of course, though it seemed a safe bet. While she didn't think of herself as particularly smart or perceptive, Mona had a sense about people and could usually make out some basic details about a person without much trouble. Looking at Heather, her attitude, accent, and general demeanor didn't seem like a native to the Golden State. Maybe New England if she had to take a guess.
It shouldn't have been that surprising to hear someone call her out like that, but the revelation that she might have grander ambitions than doing errands for directors and moving props around being out in the open seemed to embarrass Heather. "I mean...yeah," she admitted, shifting on her heels. "It's just something to think about. Acting, I mean. But I guess I'm happy just working with movies and stuff."
Ah, that line. Mona had said the same thing back when it didn't look like she'd ever get her chance in front of the camera. That was what you said when you were about to give up and go home. She'd better say something encouraging to her.
"Well, if you're even half as good in front of the camera as you are behind it, you're going to make it one of these days." Mona couldn't help but smile as she saw Heather try to hide a blush. Maybe that was actually the right thing to say for a change.
"I'm just...trying my best," Heather muttered, brushing some hair behind her ear and bashfully placing a hand on her arm. "But, uh, I should probably get back to it. Angela's resetting things right now and I think she needs help."
That was a good bet when it came to Angela. She sure did try to do her job, but trying rarely meant succeeding. "Sorry to hold you up," Mona told her, waving as Heather scampered off through the constructed hospital doors while avoiding the janitor mopping up the spill. If only she wasn't part of the crew. Tragic that they had to meet this way and not in a more neutral setting. Maybe something like a bar or in her bedroom.
No use thinking about what could have been, though. Maybe when filming wraps, but her main priority right now was finishing this shitty movie. Assuming it ever could get finished if the many accidents and several rewrites weren't a good indication of where this might be headed.
As if on queue, evidence of the complete lack of direction this project came waltzing by in the form of some other actor in an unconvincing gray alien costume walking what she could only assume was the director's dog. Absolute nonsense.
Mona sighed, standing up and dropping the ice in her seat. Exhausting as this was, she just had to buckle down and get through it. Better go find a mirror to see if she needed a touch up from the makeup department before they were ready for another take.
Still, that was a pretty cute dog. At least something good came out of all of this.
Look at me waiting a whole month to update so I can post the joke ending to the story on April 1.
Honestly, I've just been having issues right now with writing and life. It just happened to work out that I was able to squirt this out at an appropriate time of the year so I can pass my declining mental state off as a funny gag.
I'm talking more than I usually do in the notes for this mostly because I don't know when I'll be able to do anything else for any story and I wanted this pseudo-explanation out there where people might find it. Next update for this will at least get back to the actual story, though. This isn't some veiled way to end the story prematurely. Not supposed to be, at least.
That's all I've got for now. Thanks for reading. Share if you're enjoying. Always remember to wash your hands. That isn't related to anything in this chapter, but enough of you still aren't fucking doing that and you're going to kill us all.