The next several hours passed in a blur as Ethan and Marge worked tirelessly, the ticking clock looming over them like a silent threat. The urgency in the air was palpable, and the once relatively calm workshop was now filled with the frantic energy of trying to meet an impossible deadline.
Marge's hands flew across the fabric, expertly sewing the last of the buttons onto a dress while Ethan worked on polishing and repairing the remaining props. The swords he had been cleaning earlier were finally gleaming, though some of the dents were still visible if you looked closely. He had done what he could in the short time they had, but he knew it wasn't perfect.
"Keep your focus, kid," Marge muttered, her voice steady despite the situation. "We don't have time to overthink this. Done is better than perfect when you're racing the clock."
Ethan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow as he grabbed the next prop—a dented shield that had clearly seen better days. He remembered days like this from his old life, the kind where everything came down to the wire and you had no choice but to power through. Except here, it felt more intense, more immediate. Maybe it was because this was his second chance, and he knew how much was riding on making a good impression.
He glanced over at Marge, who was working with the kind of calm intensity that could only come from years of experience. Her fingers moved deftly, patching up a tear in the fabric with precision. Ethan found himself respecting her more and more with each passing minute. She had seen it all, clearly, and had the battle scars to prove it.
"How long have you been doing this?" Ethan asked as he continued working on the shield.
Marge didn't look up from her sewing. "Too long," she said with a dry chuckle. "Started out thinking I'd do this for a few years, maybe work my way up the ladder. Next thing I know, decades have gone by, and I'm still here, patching up the same old junk." She paused for a moment, then added, "But you know what? I wouldn't trade it for anything. There's a kind of pride in making something out of nothing."
Ethan smiled faintly. He understood that feeling. It wasn't about the fame or the money—at least, not entirely. It was about the work itself, the satisfaction of seeing something come together, even if it wasn't perfect.
Just then, the door burst open, and Eric Green rushed in again, looking even more harried than before. "How's it going in here? We need to start loading the props and costumes onto the set in an hour."
"We're almost there," Marge replied, her hands still moving as she finished up the last stitches. "But you'd better tell those actors not to breathe too hard, or these costumes might fall apart."
Eric gave a strained laugh. "Noted. I'll let them know. Just get everything ready for transport as soon as you can."
He glanced at Ethan again, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgment before rushing back out of the room. Ethan felt the pressure building as the minutes ticked away, but he kept his head down and focused on the task at hand.
Once the shield was done, Ethan started gathering the other props, checking them one last time before placing them in a nearby crate. The swords, shields, and helmets were all as ready as they'd ever be, though the wear and tear was still visible. Ethan only hoped the camera wouldn't pick up on the imperfections.
"Alright, kid, that's the last of the costumes," Marge said, standing up and stretching her back with a groan. "Let's get everything loaded onto the cart."
Together, they hauled the crates of props and racks of costumes out of the workshop and into the hallway, where a large cart waited to transport everything to the set. The set itself was located a few blocks away in a warehouse Beacon Studios had rented for the shoot. It was a far cry from the high-tech sound stages Ethan had dreamed of working on, but it was all part of the reality of this underfunded world.
Once everything was loaded, Marge wiped her hands on her apron and looked at Ethan with an approving nod. "You handled yourself well today. A lot of interns would've folded under that kind of pressure."
Ethan smiled, grateful for the praise. "Thanks. I've had some experience with tight deadlines before."
"Well, keep it up," she said. "We could use more people like you around here."
As they finished loading the cart, a new voice chimed in from behind them. "Looks like you two managed to pull off a miracle."
Ethan turned to see a tall man in his forties, dressed in a slightly wrinkled button-down shirt and slacks. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back, and he carried an air of authority that immediately told Ethan this was someone important.
"That's Mr. Davis," Marge whispered, leaning close to Ethan. "He's one of the producers. Tough but fair."
Mr. Davis approached them, giving Marge a nod of acknowledgment before turning his gaze to Ethan. "You're the new intern, right? Ethan?"
"Yes, sir," Ethan replied, standing a little straighter.
"I've heard good things about you," Mr. Davis said, his sharp eyes studying him. "It's not often we get interns who can keep up with Marge. She's tough as nails."
Marge chuckled softly. "I try."
Ethan smiled, feeling the tension ease slightly. "I'm just doing my best to help."
Mr. Davis crossed his arms, still appraising Ethan. "Keep up the good work. We need people who can think on their feet and get things done around here." He paused for a moment, then added, "We're going to need all the help we can get if this production is going to stay on schedule."
Ethan nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. This wasn't just a test for him—it was a test for the whole studio. Beacon Studios was struggling to keep things afloat, and every production mattered. The pressure wasn't just on him; it was on everyone.
"We'll make sure everything's ready," Marge said, her tone confident.
Mr. Davis gave one final nod before walking away, leaving them to finish their work.
As they pushed the cart toward the loading area, Ethan couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. He had only been here for a few days, but already, he could see how much potential this place had—and how much potential he had in this world. If he played his cards right, he could do more than just survive here. He could thrive.
As they loaded the last of the props and costumes onto the truck, Marge clapped him on the back again. "You did good, kid. Now let's see how you handle yourself on set tomorrow."
Ethan grinned. "I'm ready."
Tomorrow would be his first day on set, and he knew it would be another test. But this time, he wasn't afraid. This was his second chance, and he was going to make the most of it—no matter how tough the grind got.