Getting Better

... Cast...

Why am I still updating this?
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My cup was nearly empty the next time I saw Michael again. My fingers were thrumming against the cloth of the table, my head propped on my left hand as I watched employees stream past.

Sitting here felt useless. 𝘐 felt useless. If I didn't get up and help someone do 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 sometime soon, I'd surely lose my mind.

I watched as busy women scribbled away on their clipboards, listening intently to the person guiding them through the studio, waving about and tracing the path of wires along the ceiling with their finger. They nodded and looked up, eying the wire and marching on.

Cosmetic experts towed cast members along with stern faces, snapping their fingers and jabbing in all sorts of directions in a way that made my blood levels spike with stress just from watching.

Charter was among these people, with giant stacks of clothing hanging onto both shoulders and in his hands, obviously heavy and hot. He'd wink and smile every time he sprinted past me with his load, oblivious to the utter chaos he weaved around.

The rest of the studio was a human blur, interrupted briefly every now and then by a man carrying a spotlight by hand through the crowd, causing people to halt their work and stare at the unit of a man in disbelief before shaking it off and jumping back into the blur. It was headache-inducing, to say the least.

But it wasn't fair to have a migraine, sitting here at a table and watching everyone else do hard labor and pressing; stressful office work in a loud and tense environment.

The worst I had was the uncomfortable stinging forming on the bottom of my right foot from sitting too long. I hardly had the right to sigh deeply and stuff my face under my arm.

"You good? " a familiar stuck up voice elected an almost automatic eye roll from under my sleeves.

I smiled a bit too forcefully and lifted my head, flicking my eyes up at Michael and the working team waiting behind him.

The make-up team had done really well, I'll admit.

His unkempt and rough fur had been conditioned and smoothed down, though some areas were still fluffy and soft, such as his chest and elbows; most likely for character building.

His chest fur poofed out from below his tight white shirt, looking used and torn with round holes along the collar and sides, creating a large enough crack for his black fur to pop out.

His pendant was swapped for a long golden chain with an engraved ring on the end, swaying up and down with his breathe. His suspenders were now dark cargo jeans, meeting white combat boots on the ground. The side pockets were filled with what looked to be Styrofoam, but I couldn't completely tell.

His bags were gone completely, disappeared from existence. His face looked cleaner and more alive than ever, bright and full of color. He looked nothing like the Michael I'd seen before, and something about his posture told me he 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 better too.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thank you for asking. "

I stood, glancing at his slack stance for a second before reaching down and nabbing my bag and tossing my empty mug into the sink.