#cosstarters

Heat was never a stranger to Nandini, but for some reason she found today to be particularly warm, a slight shudder making her shiver as she had a brief flash in her mind on what it might be, but perishing at the thought, pushed it far away and wrote it off as impossible before deciding to lower her temperature with a nice cold drink of water.  As she was already in the lobby of Katalyst, she didn’t need to venture outwards when there was already a water cooler in the corner, making a beeline for it and in the process not noticing the person stand just an inch or too in the way of her path, bumping shoulder with them and sending a few papers in her hand to the ground. “Oh God,” she sighed, shaking her head at her own clumsiness. “ I’m sorry, darling, that was my fault.”  She excused as she bent down to gather her papers. “ I suppose I see the value of a folder now; it if wasn't dirt from the ground, I suppose I’d have manages to spill tea or water over these, knowing myself.” 

He was tired, but that wasn’t anything new. Andre lived his entire life on four to five hours of sleep at most, at least five cups a coffee a day, and yelling at people to release the crankiness from lack of sleep. It was the reason why he was on a set that wasn’t his, hovering at the catering tables after his meeting with an executive trying to gather his shit together before heading right into another meeting. He would need the coffee to stay awake and not lose it when the suits made their demands, and he wasn't a stranger to set crashing either way. Finally his eyes landed on coffee and softened, Andre wetting his lips as he grabbed a paper cup and fulled it with the steaming brew, taking it to his lips with a heavy sigh of relief before spitting it right back in his cup. “What the fuck is that?  Hippie brand organic locally grown fair trade horse shit? Are you telling me this studio has billions of dollars in their account and they can’t splurge on decent coffee? God... It tastes like gasoline and piss and sadness... Just holding it is making me depressed. Where the fuck is the real coffee?”

At half past five in the morning, Cillian took a look out into the studio lot and waved over the first person he saw.

The meeting could have been an email; hell, the meeting could have excluded Artie completely, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. He cursed himself for letting the word “mandatory” scare him into going when he could have skipped it without consequence. Now he was stuck in a room of people who didn’t bother to know his name, fighting to focus, quickly finding that his leg bounce had reached its limit of usefulness. This left him twisting the end of his mustache with the pads of his fingers to alleviate the anxiety that coursed through his system. He needed to be moving, creating, but as always he found himself lacking the grace and patience it took to sit down and shut up. He needed some fresh air, a smoke; fuck it, he needed a joint. 

Her place wasn’t usually on set, but as one of her clients happened to be particularly new to the industry and also particularly clingy, Evelyn was begged to come down to the set to deal with an issue that turned out to be nothing at all. It made her more than annoyed as the way it was made to seem like something big had saw Evelyn canceling her lunch in order to make the tragic down. Now she was just hangry and wondering where she could get a decent meal, her reservation gone and her pickiness about what she ate making her favorite restaurants the only places she really felt comfortable eating knowing everything was organic as well as tasty. Still on her phone checking reviews of places within ten minutes of the studio, she saw a long line that lead to a buffet table, part of the spread being healthy looking salad. Shrugging, she figured it couldn’t hurt and would hold her over until she could get what she wanted, so she got in the line, someone else coming up at the same time, but they didn’t look like they were crew. Smiling at them, she chuckled a bit as she spoke. “Are you here trying to sneak a free lunch too?”

Some nervous assistant or intern screwed up -- which wasn’t shocking -- but what was surprising is how badly they managed to. Whatever meeting they were tasked to feed would only have twenty or so people, and yet they ordered dozens of pastries and sandwiches -- far more than would be needed and more than could fit on the table. Danika had been there before, and in order to help out and not make them look bad, she took half on their hands. It was nice in theory, but now she was in possession of food that she had no idea what to do with. Without a set to be on that day or a crew to hand them off to, she cursed her kindness as she wondered if there were any homeless people hanging around outside the studio or a gaggle of interns she could make the day off. As she contemplated, someone passing by was targeted, Danika figuring sh e could at least free one treat from the pack.