Hustle | Red | MM.3 | ATTN: Mellow
If Red looks disgruntled as she continues her stalking back and forth across the room, don't think it's because her pet theory got shot down. Sure, she might not get to beat the ass of a Universal Personification or whatever - yet, now that she knows that's an option on the table she's definitely gonna find one later - but taking big swings means sometimes you make big misses. If Mellow's just Mellow, that's fine. It's not like she feels particularly betrayed, either; they were never close enough for her heart to break over this.
What irritates her, the thing that's like a pebble in her non-puppet shoe, is that she's looking at a Good Person. Torturing them, sure, but for the sake of all existence, for something great and noble. The heroine here to save the day even if it costs her the friendships she's built and whatever she has going on with Lucille. It's sickening. Where's the ego, where's the selfishness, where are the things she understands?
At least when Red had put herself on the chopping block, it was entirely out of a desire to take a swing at Long Pengi. She'd had no lofty ideas about saving everybody. She wasn't placing her trust in others to help her change the universe with the power of theater. She just wanted that little fucker dead and did everything in her power to accomplish it.
What a headache.
So how do you deal with the brave but tragic star of the show? Normally she'd play to it, give her the opportunity to shine bright. Give the audience the show they want. But all this is a pointless distraction, isn't it? She's not going to be satisfied until they've got both of the heroes of this little story dragged out and gutted.
There's really only one thing she wants to know from the producer right now. Let everyone else vent their spleen, let them make the moral arguments and the interrogations that mostly all come down to 'how could you do this to me?' in the end. Someone's got to keep their eyes on the real prize. She takes her seat for the first time all trial and gets out her phone to start working the calculator, muttering as she does.
"This's theatrical release, big budget, so figurin' standard rates weekly ain't changed when I wasn't lookin', should be four grand, three hundred'n twenty six... we got kidnapped, uh, woulda been what, early February? 'bout nineteen weeks all up, I think. We've been on camera overtime every fuckin' day, so that's time an' a half for two hours an' double time another six, an' I'm very kindly not chargin' y'all for eight hours spent sleepin' even though I bet y'sure as shit got footage of it. 'til I died, anyway, after that I ain't slept much, so that's fourteen hours at double time for the last, ehhh, figure it's about six weeks, kindly resettin' at the twenty four hour mark instead'a just countin' it all as double time which I really ought t'do since there ain't no real break..."
"Comes out to, let's see, two hundred an' eighty eight grand, two hundred'n nineteen bucks, seventy five cents? Half'a that was under unsafe an' hazardous work conditions, an' we sure as hell didn't get no twelve hour breaks between overtime days an' at one point we weren't even gettin' proper meal breaks, not t'mention hostile behavior by management, lookin' at you Pengi, so I'm gonna go ahead an' double it for all that as a penalty. Plus another ten percent for my agent, who's also me, obviously."
Obviously.
Math complete, Red sets down her phone and slams her big shiny diamond hands on the table. Very rude, but this isn't a negotiation, she's not here to make a deal, she doesn't give a shit if anyone walks out of this room thinking they're never going to work with her again. You're allowed to be impolite when you're making demands. Mozzarella's etiquette concerns hold no sway here, she can put her dirty ass boots anywhere she damn well pleases.
"You clowns owe me - an' I am bein' deeply generous to you here, practically cuttin' my own throat on this deal - six hundred thirty four thousand an' eighty three dollars. An' forty five cents. Before we even start t'talk about residuals, merch rights, all that shit, which you bet your ass I'm gettin' if y'don't want me t'start tackin' on zeroes an' eatin' into your budget for colorful wigs 'n' li'l squeaky noses 'n' tiny cars. An' y'better believe you're payin' out the nose for the return trip whether we're still shootin' or not, but I ain't worked all that out yet, so this'll do for a start."
"Here's a question. Where's my damn money?"
