ᴛʜᴇ (ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ) ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅ . . .

She wasn't intending to follow him. Not at first, anyway. But, it was bad enough to be in the same room as Lillard Matthews, it was another for him to play the most popular song of the musician that continually outperformed Lark in every instance possible. Her rival, she supposed, if she had to put it into simple terms. It was nothing personal against the other artist, but her talent did make Lark second-guess her own. Lillard knew what he was doing, no doubt. He knew all the ways to get under her skin. She didn't, and wouldn't search the crowd for him. But, she did picture him watching her leave. Smiling sardonically.

He made her sick.

Lark trailed the stunt coordinator to the extras' trailer. She wasn't one to smoke anything, her voice was everything she had. She wasn't willing to risk it, especially not when edibles were available. So, when she finally sat down on the ground beside him, she left a considerable amount of space between them. She didn't even consider asking if he'd mind her company. Instead, she just shrugged. "Fresh air is nice, but dead air was the goal." A break from all the noise. Surely, when she returned, the music would be better. Lillard couldn't play the other artist's entire discography without raising some eyebrows.

Ford watched her move to sit on the ground next to where he was standing, eyes following her before he realized the was joining him. He debated offering her the joint he had in hand, but instead took another hit as she answered how she was looking more for quiet. Much like him. He snorted a short sound, drawing the joint away after a drag and letting smoke pillar out again. He paused a moment then returned the sentiment, "I was looking for the same. Too much noise at a volume that was driving my head crazy."

He paused there, eyes dropping to his joint then looking out at what he could see of the lot before sighing a little and deciding to get on her level. He pressed his free hand to the trailer behind him, using it to help brace himself as he lowered. A slight wince that he tried to hide riddle his expression from the sharp pain that suddenly shot up from his hip, the reminder of his fall poking at him with it. It took a moment and he knew it wasn't graceful, but eventually he was down on her level. He stretch his long legs out in front of him, sighing again with relief at the way his hip seemed to lose the tension he'd gathered. The stunt coordinator took another hit then did the decent thing (unaware if she wanted it or not) and offered the joint towards her, "I'm Ford. Pretty sure you're.... the singer, right?" Great distinction, Ford. There's a short pause then he's remembering almost too quickly, "Lark, yeah? Like the bird?"

Somewhere, deep within the confines of her four inch production binder, Farrah had a color printed dossier of everyone's names, jobs, and headshots. It was something that she had constructed on Google Docs and had printed off herself, something she did on any set she worked in. She'd study it weeks before arriving on set so she knew names and faces. Of course, sometimes it got a little tough with seeing a face in three dimensions for the first time, but it was how she remained efficient! It was how she proved she was approachable and friendly! Especially on a production like this that meant so much to her.

She could see it as plain as day when her eyes landed on him: brown hair that was freshly cut and well groomed, a tropical button down, those matching large brown eyes. The text underneath it was written in 14 pt. Arial: Ford Sheridan (bolded), stunt coordinator (italicized).

She blinked herself back to reality when she realized he was asking for her name, a reminder that the rest of the world didn't always operate to her Type A efficacy or mania. "Oh! It's Farrah," she informed with an exhale of a laugh, one hand dropping from his arm as the other came up to tuck her hair behind her ear. "My parents were big fans of Charlie's Angels back in the 70s... but you have a unique name yourself, Ford Sheridan. If I hadn't done my research, I would have asked if that was a stage name. And it's not!" The last sentence came out like she was trying to reveal a fun fact, but why would she try to prove a point to the guy who owned the name? Yeesh, Farrah...

It's Farrah.

Right, like Fawcett. He remembered seeing her name on his list of who to know for this production, and as if on cue to his own thoughts she was explaining how her parents were big into Charlie's Angels. That tracked with the name choice. But then she was turning it on him, reminding him his name was unique as well. It made him relax a little, snorting a short sound of amusement. She teased the idea of thinking it was a stage name only to declare it wasn't before he could. It furrowed his brow with an expression before he was letting his eyebrows go back to neutral. He glanced down at the hand she still had on him despite the space he'd put between them, staring at it a moment while he responded, "Guess my parents really liked cars..."

He drew his gaze back to her as he shifted out of her touch, moving to shove his hands into the pockets of his jeans he wore. They were a dark denim to compliment the leopard print short sleeve button down he had on. Casual, but fun. You know? He had fretted over it a little too much prior to arriving at the party, but felt it showed a piece of who he was. A stand out, but a unique one that could blend in or slip away if he needed to. Like he had. And then he--

He exhaled a breath and offered Farrah a smile, "You're the uh... floor manager, right? The ol' ball and chain of the set--" that was a terrible joke. His face fell a bit, awkwardly clearing his throat and shifting his weight before trying again, "I just mean, you keep everyone in line and things going forward..."

Getting the job for the newest reboot of her childhood favorite was a dream, to say the very least. It was as if everything that Little Farrah had started working so hard for was coming to life. She had worked her absolute ass off every step of the way in order to get exactly where she was. When she had heard about Lillard's big plan, she knew she had to be here and nothing would stop her from doing so.

Tonight was the first night of what she knew was going to be a memory she'd never forget. She had organized several moving parts for the cast party, whether that was specifically her jurisdiction or not. She just wanted to ensure that this was going to go off without a hitch, that Lillard himself could enjoy his own reapings. She was here to prove that she was efficient and passionate.

She had been walking across the lot when she was nearly bowled over by a towering presence, one that had her brown eyes widening as her hands shot out to grab at @legendaree to steady themselves. "Whoa, hey! Watch it!" she insisted. "Where's the fucking fire?!"

What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was the first day on the job and here he was making stupid choices. He didn't even have a full reason to why he'd gone and done something like that, but he'd done well to put a stop to it and put distance there. He had to. Needed to. He was still trying to get over things with Tara. Sure, yeah, okay that was six months back! But! He'd been with the woman four years prior to that and now... fuck. No. He wasn't going to be that guy who put himself in line with someone so quickly because he was high and enjoying a conversation. He needed to clear his head, needed to--

When he'd found himself slamming into someone as he rushed quickly through the lot his hands had been quick to reach out, catching the other as they did him. He steadied himself and them, the two coming to a standing position in close proximity as she exclaimed her thoughts. She asked where the fire-- no, fucking fire was and he shook his head out with a blink. His eyes focused in on who she was and he gave pause realizing she was another member of the crew, someone he'd seen around and between things.

God, what was her name? Sarah? No. Definitely not Tara. It rhymed with both and started with... K? No. Shit. Fuck. He blinked again before realizing she was waiting for him to say something, her large brown eyes peering up at him through long lashes in expectation. "Uh," he looked down at the way he was still holding her arms and quickly released, stepping back with a flush from either embarrassment or his high, "No-- No fire. I was just..." he glanced back at the direction he'd come from then down at her, quickly trying to find himself in conversation rather than excuse, "Sorry, I... what's your name again? I know it's something wild in comparison to most." He was teasing, but did it come off as that...?