"Baby! You really are just a baby!"
After the start of autumn the temperature in Ashford City dropped fast. Everyone had layered up in jackets and hoodies. The crew filming Emberfall was shooting in a classical garden estate with paths stretching every which way; the cold wind sliced through everything and made people ache.
The director had even brought a windbreaker, but standing in the draft didn't help much. His cheeks were noticeably red—whether from the cold or from anger, no one could tell.
"Evan White! What is wrong with you again?! Are you even in any condition to shoot? If not, we'll put someone else in!"
When the call came, the young actor rolled his eyes at an angle no one else could see, but facing the director he instantly resumed a mild, harmless expression. "Sorry, Director Shaw. I'm just not really in it today. Can we shoot someone else's scenes first?"
Grant Shaw almost exploded at Evan's flippant tone. He couldn't lash out too hard, though—this guy had connections.
"You're not the one who needs to apologize to me, you need to apologize to Ollie Blake! Every time you NG, he has to jump back in the lake one more time. A scene that should have taken ten minutes has been going on over an hour because of you! Don't you have any idea what the temperature is right now? Get your act together and stop wasting everyone's time!"
There was menace in the director's words. He'd been in the business long enough to read through little tricks.
"If you're here to act, act. Put your energy into the work. Fine—move along."
When he spoke to Evan White, Grant's tone softened by several degrees. "Ollie—get up. Take these next two days off. Drink some ginger tea and sleep. Don't get sick."
Ollie had been pulled from the lake by an assistant, soaked down to his thin undershirt and bundled into a furry blanket. He looked pale; tiny beads of water clung to his long lashes and his eyes were rimmed red. He looked pitiful.
Grant's heart clenched. That damn Evan White—this wasn't over.
He hurried over and pressed a hand to Ollie's forehead. As he suspected, Ollie's skin felt warmer than Grant's palm. Grant's face went dark.
"Liam! Call a car and take Ollie to the hospital!"
Grant was about to say more when Ollie shook his head. His voice was soft and a little hoarse from the cold. "It's okay, Director Shaw. Rosa already called Caleb. He's on his way to pick me up."
Grant rubbed at Ollie's wet hair. He suddenly noticed something sticky under his fingers. He glanced down and found his own palm stained black.
Grant: "..."
Ollie: "..."
Ollie: "Um—sorry QAQ. I ran out of the dye I usually use and grabbed a different brand these last couple days...maybe it's low quality..."
Ollie grew more sheepish and quieter as he spoke, shrinking inward. Grant couldn't help smiling at how ridiculous he looked and decided to tease him back.
He smeared the black dye on his own hand across Ollie's face. Ollie didn't know what Grant was doing, but obediently tilted his head into the motion and looked at him with a bewildered expression.
Earlier the assistant had tried to wipe some of the dye from Ollie's hair, revealing a few streaks of pale gray underneath. Grant couldn't resist—he pulled out his phone and snapped a couple photos, then messaged Caleb to give him a heads-up before posting the pictures to Instagram.
@GrantShawDirects: Wet little cat-fish [photo][photo]
Ollie hadn't been very active lately, and his fans knew he was on Grant's set, so a fair number were watching.
Comments poured in:
"Oh my gosh it's the little tabby baby! Why so soaked? If you ship him over I'll dry him off [doge face]"
"Baby, you're a kitten—kittens are meant to be nibbled by aunties!"
"He looks freezing—go change before you catch your death!"
"Wait, how did the baby end up in Grant Shaw's hands again?!"
"Baby didn't want photos, baby's so cute! Grant is bullying the baby, Grant is mean!"
"FYI he took Grant's new drama. From the publicity shots it looks like his character is literally a cat demon. Oh no, our star's gone full kitty! What do we do?"
"Disaster."
"Disaster."
Fans in the comments demanded more pictures of Ollie; Grant just shrugged and felt even better about casting him.
"Evan! Get over here. I'm taking you to the clinic."
Caleb Ross's expression was grim. On his way to set he'd already been briefed, and he'd been scanning every corner as soon as he arrived—unfortunately Evan had run fast and avoided him.
Rosa had used a hair dryer to get most of the water out of Ollie's hair, but the cheap dye had done its work: his head looked like someone had split it down the middle—half white-gray, half black.
Caleb: "..."
Caleb: "Put a hat on, now. Don't let your mommy-fans see this or they'll never let me live it down."
Ollie's face was the sort you couldn't scold; his gray streaks were natural enough that they'd suit a rebellious look on someone else, but on him it just looked—right. Just now, though, the styling was spectacularly unfortunate; you could be incredibly pretty and still not survive this look.
Ollie obediently pulled on a hat. Caleb exhaled, then turned to glare at Grant. "What the hell? Can we fire that guy? This isn't the first time—if I had proof I'd have called the cops already."
This script was an original period piece mixing court politics with a little urban fantasy. There were flying stunts galore; Ollie's role was a cat demon, which meant not only fight choreography but a lot of animal-like, high-difficulty moves. He was one of the actors who worked on wires the most.
When the production was filming in a neighboring town, Evan had been out of it and kept NG-ing, so Ollie had been suspended on the wires for a long time. The rigging had "reached its limit" and snapped just as he was coming toward the ground.
If it hadn't been for Ollie's own physical skill, a fall like that would've broken bones. Afterward, the crew investigated. No matter how they checked, the conclusion was deterioration and normal wear; the production took responsibility and compensated Ollie—Evan came out of it unscathed.
Caleb wasn't an idiot. He'd pushed whenever he could because he suspected Evan had stolen the role. In reality there was no stealing—Evan thought the part was guaranteed because of his connections, but Ollie had come out of nowhere and won it fair and square.
Grant's family also had means and could have influenced casting, but Ollie fit the role better; Grant didn't care for the spare favors. Besides, Ollie wasn't completely without support either.
Caleb might not have known exactly who was behind Ollie, but when Ollie joined the company the powers that be had made it clear: handle him well, and report any problems immediately. All signs suggested the production should treat him with caution.
"Look...he's tricky to deal with," Caleb said, not wanting to worry Grant. "I'll give you an explanation. For now, go get Ollie checked. Don't let him get sick."
"Fine. This is the second time. Anything else and I'll pull rank with my boss."
Caleb's meaning was obvious: if this happened again, Starline's higher-ups would step in and it wouldn't be pleasant. The studio's artists tended to be mellow and avoid drama, but that didn't mean they'd let anyone walk over them.
Ollie followed Caleb wordlessly. He trusted his ever-capable manager to handle it.
Caleb's car had the heater on full; he took off his coat and had the driver raise the divider panel.
The next second, the person who'd been sitting next to him vanished with a little whoosh, leaving only a pile of clothes. Caleb dug through the pile and found a small, furry thing.
Ollie wasn't scared at all. He burrowed into Caleb's hand and arranged himself into a mouse-shaped loaf.
Caleb resigned himself and pulled a long snack stick from a small drawer. He handed it to Ollie, who hugged it and started to chew.
The stick was several times longer than the hamster's whole body, yet Ollie chomped it like a tiny automatic biscuit-processing machine. In under two minutes the snack was gone.
"Caleb, about that time the rigging broke—it wasn't really the human's fault. It broke because...um...something was gnawing on it."
Ollie hesitated, unsure whether to tell the whole truth. He didn't want his manager to get scared. Caleb, though, was perceptive—he caught the pause and understood.
"Hush. You don't have to tell me the details. But why didn't you say anything before?"
Ollie paused mid-bite, turned his back a little guiltily, then chewed again.
"I honestly didn't notice anything wrong back then. I thought it was sabotage—someone messed with it," he admitted. "But today, after jumping in the lake so many times, I ran into...well, him. He thought I came to catch him, and before he even did anything he confessed to the last time."
Caleb: "..."
Caleb: "Okay, so what did you do? Do we need to call the police? Wait—he's been following your unit all this time?"
When they were shooting in that other town, the location and late hours had invited some weirdness. But they'd moved city—how would it be the same thing again unless it was following them?