Rewriting today
I'd started a new plot thread about Seki having to get a new job to stay afloat, and asking Sadako for help—and Sadako getting her a position as a production assistant on a cooking show. It was a fun idea, but it needed to lead into a much more major plot point, and it just wasn't working out very well.
So, goodbye production assistant; I've gone another way. But I had to tear out 750 words—alas.
The discarded words went into my file of cut scenes, which I keep in case it's ever helpful to refer back. (Doesn't happen often, but you never know.) Here, if you're interested, is some of the cut material:
On Thursday morning, Seki went to her first job interview in more than two thousand years.
After laughing at her for an irritating length of time, Sadako had steered her to the Third Tokyo World Online hiring system, with suggestions on where to look. T‑TWO was mostly hiring people with media credentials, but there were areas where you could get a foot in the door if you knew the right buzz-words.
(And, okay, maybe Sadako put in a word on her behalf. Seki didn’t want to know, but she damn well suspected.)
The interview went by rather easily—Seki did have decent people skills when she wanted to show them; she’d been a public figure for long enough that they were essential—and in a dizzyingly short time she had a “we’ll give you a call” along with a handshake which suggested that the delay was purely a matter of form.
Late that afternoon, she got a call to ask if she could start the next day. (Yes, Sadako had definitely put in a word in.) Seki gritted her teeth and smiled as she said yes.
And so, somehow, on Friday morning she was suddenly a production assistant on—of all things—a cooking show.
How Makoto and Artemis laughed.
*
“Production assistant,” she quickly discovered, meant that she was a general dogsbody who did anything and everything needed on the set, that wasn’t being done by somebody more experienced.
For a while she thought she would go mad, constantly being called to do dozens of things at once, all of which seemed to involve technical terms that she did not recognise. “Call sheets?” “Wrangling?” What was any of that supposed to mean? After she got shouted at for opening a tool box to look for something called a “gaffer,” she almost lost her temper.
At that point, thankfully, she was taken under the wing of a fiftyish man with a long, mournful face who seemed to have worked in the industry for most of his life. He started to explain things, and after a while she began to follow what was happening around her.
In the afternoon, she even had a chance to shine, when one of the chef’s assistants tripped over a cable and ruined a trayful of something (by this time Seki was no longer paying attention to what anyone was actually cooking), and had a meltdown on-set. To Seki, who had been Queen Serenity’s major-domo for several hundred years, a stressed-out servitor was nothing new. She stepped in, drew the crying man aside, and spoke to him quietly. He reacted to firm, level-headed authority like most people do, and within a few minutes the crisis was over; the chef, working quickly and expertly, managed to replace the ruined tray; and production wrapped for the day only ten minutes late.
Nobody said thank you to Seki, but she felt the producer’s eyes on her, and suspected that her job was secure.
Progress update: 13,658 words.
