Work Text:
INT. WARNER BROS STUDIOS AT THE MAKING OF ??? - SUNSET
The production was filled with lights, cameras, audio and everything you need to film bullshit. It's Hollywood, you would either do it
for the passion, do it for the money, or both, cause you can.
Olivia (forty-something, disheveled, exhausted but passionate) walked out of her chair as she saw the lights flicker.
OLIVIA
(exasperated, shouting, aggravated) CAN SOMEONE FIX THE FUCKING LIGHTS, WHOEVER I HIRED
LIGHT GUYS #1
(stressed) Sorry (x2) Olivia
The lights guy fixed the light as Olivia continued walking around the production. She got over to the film tape and tried to choose a color, holding them (opt. 1. #969c66, #a7ad71, #ff8133, 371284 2. #8ACE00, #002fff. #f08c00 3. #4d2b68, #4a5400, #030303, #460000)
OLIVIA
(stressed, indecisive, muttering) Fuck, I give up
The writer of this stopped writing this shit, to be continued, Olivia can stop controlling me and this isn't a Fight Club situation.
To Be Continued?