Valentine had fashioned for himself a paper megaphone and was walking up and down the dorm hallways, shouting 'artistic' directions to everyone he came across
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Ah, beautiful metaphor. Valentine didn't recall casting this lovely young lady in his picture, but she seemed intelligent, so perhaps she was one of his writers? "The juggling is as tedious as ever," he said, waving a hand in the air with a flourish. "It's so difficult to get a good latte around here. How are the rewrites to the seventh scene coming?"
Valentine laughed. Ah, the sense of humor of the writers never ceased to amaze him. "I'm too busy to leave the set, of course. We've been filming for months now. I need that seventh scene polished by the end of the week. Deadlines, deadlines!" He gave her a pat on the back. "You know what I asked for. More passion! More romance! Something worthy of having the name 'Valenteen' on it in lights! Get me an Oscar, write me that scene!" He paused in consideration. "If you can bring some humor into it, even better. Perhaps something involving a rubber chicken." He brought the paper megaphone to his lips again. "PROPS! I NEED A RUBBER CHICKEN!"
"FISHNETS AND-" Oops. Valentine lowered the paper megaphone again. "Fishnets and leather. It's what the kids want to see these days." He grinned. "Keep up the good work."
"We want to keep it lower than an R... PG13, perhaps. Draws in the high school crowd." He grinned. "I want you to give the pyro tech something to do in this scene as well. Make it hot."
"So, for the ... new version of scene seven, we have the rubber chicken and its date making romantic talk at each other before both ripping off their shirts to reveal fishnets and leather clothing underneath. They start necking, until we pan back to discover that the date has morphed into a giant flaming monster. The date chases the rubber chicken around, while throwing fireballs of true love or something."
She quirked her head to the side. "Is that what you want?"
Valentine stared at Will for a good minute of silence, then clapped his hands together and beamed proudly. "Excellent!! The critics will love it! There's an Oscar in that, somewhere!"
Valentine clapped his hands together again for good measure. "You're in line for a raise. Great things are in store for you. Great things!" He then proceeded to do a totally dignified little dance while clapping his hands, skipping from foot to foot, and singing about critical acclaim, or something of the sort.
"Paycheques go out on Friday," Valentine replied dismissively. "And that's Valenteen. Ricardo Valenteen." Once again the 'megaphone' hit his lips. "WHERE IS THAT LATTE?"
"Hey, Valentine!" she said cluelessly cheerfully. "How goes the juggling?"
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"The juggling is as tedious as ever," he said, waving a hand in the air with a flourish. "It's so difficult to get a good latte around here. How are the rewrites to the seventh scene coming?"
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"Have you tried going down to J,GOB's? And what rewrites to what seventh scene?"
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"I'm too busy to leave the set, of course. We've been filming for months now. I need that seventh scene polished by the end of the week. Deadlines, deadlines!" He gave her a pat on the back. "You know what I asked for. More passion! More romance! Something worthy of having the name 'Valenteen' on it in lights! Get me an Oscar, write me that scene!" He paused in consideration. "If you can bring some humor into it, even better. Perhaps something involving a rubber chicken."
He brought the paper megaphone to his lips again. "PROPS! I NEED A RUBBER CHICKEN!"
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"I'll get right on that rewrite then. Do you want the rubber chicken to be wearing a pretty dress or a nice suit in the new scene?"
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"Right. You want me to write a scene featuring a rubber chicken in fishnets and leather. What did you say the rating on this was again?"
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"So, for the ... new version of scene seven, we have the rubber chicken and its date making romantic talk at each other before both ripping off their shirts to reveal fishnets and leather clothing underneath. They start necking, until we pan back to discover that the date has morphed into a giant flaming monster. The date chases the rubber chicken around, while throwing fireballs of true love or something."
She quirked her head to the side. "Is that what you want?"
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"Excellent!! The critics will love it! There's an Oscar in that, somewhere!"
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"I'm glad you like it so much."
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He then proceeded to do a totally dignified little dance while clapping his hands, skipping from foot to foot, and singing about critical acclaim, or something of the sort.
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"And when do I get my paycheck, Mr Valentine?" she asked. "It's late this week."
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