The morning air was crisp as Ethan made his way back to Beacon Studios for his second day. Yesterday had gone better than he expected—he'd made a good impression on Marge, and it felt like he was starting to get a foothold in this world. But today was another challenge. He needed to show that yesterday wasn't a fluke, that he could handle whatever they threw at him.
The studio was busier than before, with people moving in and out of the building, carrying equipment and talking about the upcoming shoot. It seemed like everyone was preparing for something bigger than the usual grind. Ethan walked through the narrow hallway to the props and costumes department, mentally bracing himself for the day ahead.
When he stepped into the workshop, he found Marge already at work, sorting through a pile of fabric while jotting down notes in a worn notebook. She glanced up when she saw him and gave a quick nod of acknowledgment.
"Back for more, huh?" she said, her tone still gruff but warmer than yesterday.
"Of course," Ethan replied, setting his bag down. "What's on the agenda today?"
Marge pointed toward a pile of props stacked haphazardly in the corner. "We're shooting a historical drama this week, and these are the props we've been able to scrounge up. Half of them need to be cleaned, and the other half probably won't survive the day without some repairs. That's where you come in."
Ethan walked over to the pile, already assessing the situation. There were swords, helmets, old books, and various other period pieces—most of them looked like they had seen better days. A couple of the swords were chipped, and one of the helmets had a dent in the side.
He turned back to Marge. "I can fix the swords and polish the helmets, but some of these books look like they're falling apart. Do we have any replacements?"
Marge shrugged. "You're looking at them. We're on a tight budget, as always. You'll have to work with what we've got."
Ethan wasn't surprised. He'd seen this kind of thing before—a production trying to squeeze every last bit of life out of props and costumes that should've been retired long ago. But if there was one thing he'd learned in his previous life, it was how to make things work, even when the odds were against him.
He grabbed a couple of the swords and a rag, moving to a small workbench in the corner. As he polished the blade of the first sword, his mind wandered. He still hadn't fully come to terms with this new world, but he knew one thing for sure: the entertainment industry here was ripe for someone with his knowledge. The question was how to position himself to take full advantage of it.
"Hey, Ethan," Marge called, breaking his train of thought. "Before you get too deep into fixing those, I need you to run down to the storage room and grab a box of buttons. We've got a couple of costumes that are missing some, and I'm running low."
Ethan set the sword aside and nodded. "Where's the storage room?"
"Down the hall, two doors past the editing bay. It's a mess in there, but you'll find the buttons in a small box marked 'miscellaneous.'"
He made his way out of the workshop and down the hall, passing people he hadn't met yet. Most of them looked frazzled, as if they were juggling too many tasks at once. It reminded him of the indie productions he used to work on—everyone doing multiple jobs, working long hours, and barely scraping by. It wasn't glamorous, but it was real, and it gave him hope that he could find his place here.
When he reached the storage room, he opened the door and immediately understood what Marge had meant by "a mess." The room was packed with boxes, old props, and random equipment, all piled haphazardly with no clear organization. He sighed and started searching.
As he sifted through the boxes, Ethan's thoughts drifted to the future. He needed to learn as much as he could during his time at Beacon, not just about the production process but about the people who worked here. Connections mattered in this industry, and he needed allies. Marge was a good start, but he needed to meet more people, understand the studio's inner workings, and find out who made the decisions.
After a few minutes of digging, he found the box marked "miscellaneous" and popped it open. Inside, he found the buttons Marge needed, along with a few other random sewing supplies. Grabbing what he needed, he closed the box and made his way back to the workshop.
When he returned, Marge was already working on a costume, the fabric spread out on the worktable in front of her. She looked up as he set the box of buttons down.
"Good timing," she said. "This thing's barely holding together, and we've got a fitting in an hour."
Ethan glanced at the costume—a period piece dress, with intricate embroidery but frayed edges. He could tell it had been used multiple times and had seen better days. Marge grabbed a handful of buttons and threaded her needle, quickly sewing them onto the dress.
"You learn fast," she said after a moment, her eyes focused on her work. "Most interns we get here don't last long. They think it's going to be glamorous—working in the film industry and all. But you? You've got the right attitude. You get that it's about the grind."
Ethan smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction. "I've always believed that you have to put in the work to get where you want to go."
Marge nodded in approval. "Well, keep that attitude. You'll need it if you want to survive here."
As the day wore on, Ethan helped Marge repair more props and costumes, gaining more insight into how Beacon Studios operated. It was clear the place was held together by the dedication of a few people like Marge, but the cracks were visible. The budget constraints were constant, and every production seemed to be a struggle to meet deadlines and keep costs down.
By mid-afternoon, Ethan had settled into a rhythm, working quietly as Marge supervised the final adjustments on the costumes. The fitting was fast approaching, and the pressure in the room had increased. Ethan could feel it, the subtle tension in Marge's movements and the way she occasionally muttered to herself about needing more time.
Suddenly, the door to the workshop swung open, and a man in his thirties rushed in, looking flustered. He was tall, with dark hair and a slightly disheveled appearance, carrying a stack of papers under one arm. His expression was one of controlled chaos.
"Marge, we've got a problem," he said, his voice urgent. "They're moving the shooting schedule up by a day. We need the costumes ready by tomorrow morning."
Marge froze for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean 'tomorrow'? We don't have enough time for that!"
"I know, I know," the man replied, running a hand through his hair. "But the lead actor has a scheduling conflict, and we need to get his scenes done before he leaves town."
Marge cursed under her breath, her fingers flying across the fabric as she worked faster. "Alright, we'll make it happen. But don't expect miracles."
The man nodded, glancing at Ethan as if noticing him for the first time. "Who's this?"
"This is Ethan," Marge said, not looking up from her work. "He's the new intern."
The man extended a hand. "Eric Green. Production assistant. Welcome to the madness."
Ethan shook his hand, hiding his surprise. So this was the kind of pressure they worked under here. He had dealt with tight deadlines before, but the scale of disorganization at Beacon was something else. Still, it was exactly the kind of environment where he could prove himself.
As Eric left the room, Marge shot Ethan a look. "Well, you heard him. We've got to get these costumes ready by tonight. Think you can handle that?"
Ethan smiled, feeling the adrenaline kick in. "I'm ready."
And with that, they dove into the work, the clock ticking down faster than ever.