the radical notion women are people.

He doesn't know why he's wasting his breath. If she can't listen the first time, it's not that appealing to repeat himself, but this is exactly why he's one of the good guys, always a sense of obligation to do the most for the ones that'll never appreciate it. It fits that the jacket he's wearing is embroidered with the bright, yellow word Security on it.

"actress?" the word is spat, vile in comparison to only herself. of course there was nothing wrong with the career, she supported whatever path women chose, but to assume that it was her job? "i'm a writer." as if clarity in work was what he had asked. as if it was the most important part of the conversation. "i'm just finishing up some notes," she looks at his jacket, tries to decide just how much respect she needs to give to the kind of studio authority that's forced to wear neon. "and then i will be headed off the lot. do you need to chaperone me, because i think i can handle myself."

Ah. Girlhood. Give him a break. Somehow, he restrains himself from outright rolling his eyes, but the gesture holds up in the way he blinks, an exaggeration of the lids, as if the eyeballs could detach from their sockets if he didn't realign the skin just right. "Right. The perversion level wasn't high enough? You needed some pedophilia? Does the ending involve the soldier turning out to be their abusive uncle?"

"have you read freud recently? it sounds like there's been a halt in development during your phallic stage. wait—" she pursues her lips, double entendre always found for those who were looking for it. for those uneducated enough anyways. she could lecture on psychoanalysis all day, it didn't change that people saw what they wanted, especially when they happened to be looking for evidence of something.

"You"--he gestures to her--"me"--he gestures back to himself--"Who else do you see? No one. Claudia's job? Is not yours. You're a writer? Write. Or? Go. Copy someone else." The exit is easy to point out, hand raised in that direction and willing to see her walk out without a single thought. What she has to say doesn't matter to him, now; he doesn't listen to bullshit. She takes the page before he has the urge to crumple it and toss it. "I don't work with thieves. I see another line you've stolen?" The script is held up. "It will be fucking trash."

"a thief! it's an homage!" of course he wouldn't understand what nuance was if it was bolded and footnoted. nothing could be subtle, not when there was the option to bathe it in red. "if you're having trouble with difference, i am more than happy to give you a lesson." she looks at the line, doesn't highlight it on her own copy, lets it sit uncorrected. "if you're not interested in trying to understand the nuance of the dialog, then what is the point of this?" he needed a script that much was clear, she needed a director. but at what cost did such things have to happen. "what do you think she should be quoting," she searches for other books that would fit the period, "natty bumppo, moby dick—the bible?"

The guard watches Meagan before her hand waves, swatting him back to go do his research as he was instructed to do so, sending him right back to his post to pick up the phone. Good. He must be calling for his manager to help him do his job. He better hurry; this heat is enough pain and suffering alone to deserve compensation. If she has a heatstroke, it will be just the beginning of them hearing the name Meagan Finley.

she takes the business card, turning it over in her hand reading both sides. mpc didn't exactly have a ring to it, and she doubted that had she read the groups manifesto she would be thrilled with what she found. it was always in the word mothers that danger seemed to lie, the narrow-minded trying to keep their children the same. the slogan was enough for her to want to wave off the whole protest.

Whatever answer he'll give her, he knows it'll be turned against him, or at least she can try. She has that right, always will, but it doesn't make it any less annoying. Instead, he does the only thing he can do: force a smile at her, an emphasis on force. "Whatever you say."

"girlhood." she throws back without thinking, the clarity only apparent to her because she's had the life experience to know that women and girls are different. they have thoughts all their own, funnily enough. "they deserve to be fully realized characters, not just random blondes." inevitably what her characters would be seen as if the interpretation was left up to someone who couldn't tell the difference.

Why shouldn't he expect anything else from her? His head slowly rolls in a burning annoyance before he finally meets her eyes for the first time today. "Yeah, okay, that's cute that you read anything with my name on it, but shouldn't there be a limit to what you'll buy?" Because he's still a director. He's still maintained that title. Don't take that away from him. He might be Atticus' director, but he's still one. Not some lowly A.D. New angle.

"your name?" she lets the sentence hang just for a moment, there were plenty of other names to choose from in the article. but she was smart enough to let the question be, to let him fill in the blank with whichever insecure answer he might choose. but still, she let it linger. "who said i picked it because it had your name?

"I never mentioned overalls," he corrects easily, slipping in between her own words. He watches for a beat longer, stretching his neck to see just how many trucks they have to fill before their cross-country roadtrip takes off. He wonders who's going to throw Beth in the back of one of them or tie her to the bumper. "I read it's about confederate women sexualizing the first disabled soldier they see. I can't tell which side I'm meant to support..."

"you read that?" the illusion of calm was quickly lost, the smug expression that might have otherwise found its way to her face when talking with him. of course he would find a way to introduce sex, to find a way to make her work a pastiche of what it really was. "and not the actual script." deep breath, "because you of all people should know a summary doesn't do work justice—" avoid the landmine, keep eyes on the prize. "or are we making excuses for your step to assistant director, i think i read that too."

"You will let me in." Meagan has been at this for nearly half an hour since she arrived outside the Prometheus Productions' gates. "I have a right to be here, and if you use the term 'private property' one more time when speaking to me, I will be forced to call the proper authorities to educate you that where I am standing is precisely on the line of public property, and you can pull up the tax assessor's website to prove it. As a taxpayer, I'll wait! Stopping the latest poison from Asher Welles will be worth it."

normally, creating a public disturbance was more than welcome. it was a tool, used to draw attention to a problem. she could appreciate any number of groups that stood outside of prometheus productions and reminded them of the real harm they do. she would avoid it at all costs, if it weren’t for the meeting they insisted on having to finalize her script, she would be at a coffee shop. 

Out of state productions are like the reverse of a circus being in town. Still gets the same amount of attention, but the attraction isn't that it's coming to you; it's that it's going elsewhere. It's the kind of spectacle that's been hard to come by, especially lately. Asher is just here to catch a glimpse of it like the freak-show it is; Beth is the side act that only the bearded lady can bring.

her expression is dour at best, finally acknowledging who’s speaking to her. there’s nothing that asher is going to say that she needs to hear. it’s not a blanket discount of someone’s opinion, she would never do that, but he has not given her anything positive in their prior interactions. in fact, she’d rather forget them all. “if the civil war south is just images of overalls and banjos to you—” a complete discount of all the nuance of those who were living through it, real people and her own characters included, “then i’m not sure why you’re here to observe.”

Still. His eyes shoot to her. "No." It has been a lifetime since After Midnight, and Walker's interest is not welcome. He's had too much of his share of fans. "And? You can read. Read," he tells her as the page is brought down to her side of the table that they aren't sharing; he's made that clear already. "You want to be creative? This line? It's shit. And? Not yours. Whose? From where?" He knows where, and it's all the more reason why he stares at her with eyes darkening in their brooding stare. "You're late. This is not Pride and Prejudice."

of course he would do this! give an inch! "no— this is a meeting between me and you." she'd asked for claudia sure, but seeing how readily he jumped on it made her blood boil. "typical, you know." she grabbed the offending page, reading over the line. "you can't just push off all the work on her again because you don't want to do it."