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Two: Pretty Plastic People

Ethan woke with three different sets of paws draped over him. The first belonged to an attractive young Doberman that was possibly named Nicole; she was curled up at his side, snoring faintly, a paw shoved down the front of his boxers and gently cradling his sheath as she slept. The one to his right was a fox of a similar age, this one with his head placed near to Ethan's feet, slender orange legs running up and over the border collie's torso. Thirdly a slightly older bear of indeterminate sex lay a little farther down the bed than his feet, their own paw gently resting on Ethan's ankle.

When - and why - had he put boxers on? Last night had been a coke and alcohol fuelled orgy, featuring at least two more bodies (which seemed to have migrated to one of the couches at some point or another), and there was little need for clothing in such situations. His cock stirred slightly beneath the warm paw, but the desire to get up and wash the sweat, lube, and cum from his fur was overpowering by at least several magnitudes.

"Shush... stay asleep, sorry..." He whispered, delicately extricating himself from the cuddle-puddle they'd fallen asleep in. After he'd climbed off the bed, Ethan stretched with a groan. He felt quite foul now that he was up, his black and white patterned fur matted in knots and clumping together the whole way through. He tugged off his boxers awkwardly, leaving them on the floor as he made his way into the bathroom, sighing with relief as he felt last night's gunk begin to wash out of him. He brushed his teeth while under the water, shampooing the most important parts of his body and rinsing the rest. It took him some time to get dry, it was the biggest downside to having long fur, but he got there after soaking through at least two towels and some gratuitous hair dryer usage. Finally feeling clean and fresh, he returned to his bedroom, the sun outside his apartment's window already hinting at midday. The shiny white surfaces of his modern design aesthetic caught the light as it streamed in, small hotspots of light pooling in the most exposed areas. His guests remained asleep even as he dressed, slipping free of the bedroom and padding through to the kitchen. His fiancée sat at their neat island table, eating a bowl of cereal mixed with fruit. As a saluki, Bella carried with her a certain sort of grace and elegance that Ethan had once found irresistible. She'd produced one of his earlier scripts, and the two had been inseparable since. While Bella rarely partook in any of the parties Ethan was drowning in himself in as of late, she had no qualms about him 'enjoying himself' - for lack of a better term - so long as he kept her out of it, and promised no drama. They'd been engaged for almost four years now, and showed no real sign of progressing beyond that point, a situation they were both comfortable in. In his drunkest, most vulnerable moments, Ethan had more than once described their relationship as more of a business agreement than a future marriage. But despite the cynicism, it was stable, consistent, and it worked, which was far more to say than most of the marriages Ethan saw within his social circles.

"How are we today?" He asked as he passed by Bella, opening their spacious, stainless-steel fridge and retrieving a carton of lychee juice. By the time Bella had deigned to answer, he'd already found a small glass and filled it midway.

"Fine, I suppose." She said with a sigh. Ethan raised an eyebrow, sipping at his drink as Bella reached up, rubbing small circles into her face. "Charlie called for you, and I had fucking Trent send me about a dozen emails last night. Apparently something about David and his negotiating practices - he went above Unidex's head and got that fucking, ah what's her name... she was the exec that pushed all those edits for Black Out Nightmare?" Ethan blinked. Unidex was the production company Bella had helped found, and as far as he knew David was one of their larger - albeit more difficult - clients.

"You're thinking of Marie Ellis; she runs Infinite Clear."

"Oh_right_, that... ugh. Anyway, apparently when Trent refused to budge even for Marie and her 'Infinite-power', David threatened leave for Atticus Pictures!" She scoffed, downing the last of what looked like a cold coffee. "So now he expects me to fix this, of course. So I'm meeting with fucking David later to try and beg on my knees for him to come back to Unidex. Puts my hackles up, he always does this!"

"David?"

"No, not David, Trent."

"Ah, right." He said, nodding. "I mean, it has to be a bluff, right?"

"You think?"

"Atticus Pictures offered to buy the rights to Moonlight Requiem, before Fox greenlit it. I'm sure I told you this?" He fingered his glass, delicately tracing the rim. "Their initial offers were insanely_high, but when we actually sat down with them they couldn't attach _any names to it - that's cast or crew. Ridiculous to think he'd go there; it'd be career suicide. You know they actually suggested having Astrid Dunham do it? I don't know why that sleazy fuck is still working, even after all that bad press..."

Moonlight Requiem. Ethan thought, cringing slightly. His agent had insisted he try writing a horror film, since low-budget, indie-directed ultraviolence was so in right now. It hadn't gone well. The film had been terrible, critics and audiences alike were panning it relentlessly.

"Oh." Bella said, relaxing visibly. She grinned, sliding her empty mug to the side and standing, walking over to Ethan's side and kissing him on the cheek - the way an aunty might to a favoured nephew. "Thanks baby, that... actually helps. David always was a coward anyway, so it kinda makes sense. Gotta go." She said, tail wagging slightly. Pulling her scarf tight, the saluki spun on her heel and left the room.

Ethan fell back in his seat, letting out a breath. He gave a brief wave to the Doberman and Fox from earlier, who had evidently woken and were just now making their way out. He hadn't meant to have last night end in an orgy, but with people in these kinds of circles, most parties that involved a lot of alcohol finished the same way. His iPad must look like shit; he hadn't used it for anything but drugs he'd hardly enjoyed for at least the last three months.

It doesn't matter, you can just buy another. He thought, running a paw up and over the top of his head. His mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of Moonlight Requiem, and what an abysmal failure it had been. Another of his films, Neon, had failed atrociously as well, but he mostly blamed the editor for that. The idiotic goat had butchered the plot lines, and totally removed an entire character's arc. He groaned.

No, it wasn't Lenny's fault. He thought. It was Charlie's, really, for pushing for the film to be made in the first place. Neon Saviour had come out only three years prior, nobody - even the people that actually liked that joke of a film - had wanted a gritty fucking reboot. But from what he'd heard, Fox would greenlight anyone that had the phrase 'a new spin on a familiar story' in their pitch. The thought reminded him of what Bella had said earlier; Charlie wants you to call her. Better to get it over with and avoid having her yell at him again. He got up, searching slowly through the house, looking for his phone. He eventually found it outside on the deck, left forgotten on a table. The screen was a little slick from the overnight moisture, but it otherwise seemed just fine. He punched in Charlie's contact and held the thing to his ear, leaning against the rail and pulling out a cigarette, looking out at his elevated view of the city.

"Yo, about god damn time." Charlie answered. Ethan tried his best not to stereotype people, but regardless whether she was a Labrador or not the woman always spoke_so damn_ quickly, she just had so much energy - and he'd say that no matter what species she was. He hated talking to her in the mornings, it always felt like he was playing the hardest difficulty in some frustrating video game.

"Bella said you called." He replied, they never really bothered with pleasantries. Big studio execs rarely did, and while Charlie wasn't exactly an Important Person™, she certainly wanted to be.

"We're gonna have to do rewrites for Stable Thief - they did a screening for season two's first few eps and it played poorly. They want you to make it clearer that Yvonne is the antagonist, from what I gathered anyway." Charlie explained, barely pausing for breath. It sounded like she was running almost.

"W-what? Are you serious?" Ethan scoffed. "They've only just shot the first two fucking episodes! How could there be a screening already? What, are they just looking at the assemblies?" Charlie made the verbal equivalent of a shrug.

"Look, the Cover Me remake also performed poorly, there's no denying that so don't feel bad. But... and I don't want to hurt your feelings here, but it's the truth... from what Jackson and Isaac tell me, the shareholders are a little scared of you right now. I mean, your scripts haven't exactly performed well recently..."

"Fuck's sake." Ethan said, taking a deeper drag of his cigarette, flicking the butt off the edge of his deck. "I dunno how you want to make Yvonne eviller, after the beheading and all that other shit, but I'll come down to your office and we can talk about it."

"Sounds good. I'll see you in...what, like ten?"

"Twenty."

"Fine." She sounded annoyed, but Ethan wasn't going to speed through the city streets just so producers could destroy any shrivelled sense of integrity he had left.

He had originally begun work as a script supervisor's assistant, climbing through the ranks until he finally had a script get noticed by some edgy director looking to do shorts. He started with a short film called 'Cover Me'; it had been rather esoteric and incredibly violent, but the climax had caused enough controversy from those that had seen it that by the time it was submitted to Sundance everyone who mattered had heard of it at least in passing. It had been a good script, and even won an award there, but it suffered from the same trappings most of those edgy shorts did. His second script - and first feature - was called 'Zero Crime' and made through Iron Visor Entertainment, an arthouse production company that no longer existed, after having been absorbed as part of a merger with Highway Light Films (Which had in turn been devoured by Fox). He still viewed Zero Crime as his best script, which was only helped by the fact that the director consulted him heavily during filming, to the point of demanding he be on set most days of shooting. It had been a dark, adult-only kind of cyberpunk film about gays killing people, trying to explore the idea of inherited guilt. In the decade or so since then the quality of his work had really only gone downhill - all thanks to fucking producers, pushing him to write things that were 'more accessible'. He'd done a few series here and there, a big film that wasn't awful, some superhero shit and a Netflix series that had somehow blown up. But the reality was he mostly wrote to pay the bills. His scripts had few lofty ideas and little in the way of thematic plotting, but they got bought so that was something.

He tried not to think about it, and hadn't even bothered to see his last few that had been made. He knew they were empty and vacuous, containing nothing worthy of respect - the kind of shit writing he'd mocked relentlessly as a know-it-all teenager.

He was snapped violently from his reminiscing as his head shot forward, smacking into the steering wheel as he rear-ended some giant four-wheel drive. A honk sounded somewhere, and Ethan shook his head slowly, feeling a little dazed, a painful throb already starting to pound along the top of his muzzle and across his skull.

"Fuck." He muttered, climbing out of the car and rolling his neck. His heart sunk as an overweight deer in a camouflage-fucking-jacket climbed out of the driver's seat, marching over determinedly.

"What the hell man?!" The deer cried in a nasally voice, throwing his arms up. "I wasn't even moving; you just drove right into me! You trying to make me late to work? Who the fuck is gonna pay for this!?" Ethan held up his paws, splaying fingers openly.

"Look, I'm sorry mate - I've got insurance, just chill, and lemme write 'em down. Can I get your details?"

"Don't 'sorry mate' me, you asshole! Look where you're fucking going!"

"I'll try next time." Ethan said tartly.

I bet this guy loved all three Neon movies, and even the remake. You'd eat up any shit I write, wouldn't you? He thought, staring at that hideous jacket. I can't believe people really wear this shit. If I saw you in a show, I'd call it out for lazy writing.

"Don't get smart with me." The deer said, shaking his head. "You got something I can write on? I'm getting your plates too so don't think you can lie to me." He continued muttering to himself as he stepped away, taking a picture of Ethan's numberplate and car with his phone. "Dumb cunt. What were you doing?"

What was_I doing? What_ am I doing? Ethan wondered, scribbling out his insurance details, before passing the still-ranting deer his notepad and pen.

He didn't like Charlie, he didn't care about their ratings, or even the stupid show at all. It was all so worthless and fake, everything he did was just so... false. He lost a breath as the reality hit him. Even his engagement was make-believe, what was the point of it then? Why was he working so hard? For money? He didn't even care about wealth that much. It was cool having a Lexus, and an expensive upmarket apartment, but he hardly needed them.

"Watch where you're going in future, huh?" The deer called snidely, before climbing back up into his huge car. He sped off a moment later, leaving Ethan alone. The border collie sat in his car for almost a minute before starting it up again, slowly continuing down the road with a busted bonnet, eventually pulling into the first open bar he found. He parked the car to one side and hopped out, walking in and finding the place effectively dead. A wolf stood behind the counter, counting the register, whispering the numbers aloud as he went. Ethan took a seat at the bar, head in his paws, massaging his muzzle and swearing to himself.

"Hey." The wolf said hesitantly, glancing towards him, slamming the register closed.

"Please don't judge me, I've had an irritating morning." Ethan said, without looking up.

"Eh. It's past twelve, not really a big deal." The wolf replied. He looked up at that, checking the clock on the wall, laughing.

12:04.Awesome.

"You uh, want something or...?"

"Double vodka and lemonade, thanks." The wolf seemed to resist the urge to give him a look, pouring out the drink and sliding it across the top, turning away to some other detail. Ethan sipped at the drink, wincing at the awful taste. He felt like shit though, he deserved something awful. In the corner of the bar, an old television set, probably bought in the early 2000s, played a grainy holiday ad. The volume was turned right down, but the creators of the ad evidently made sure to include all the vital details via text, so nobody was left out.

"Get away from it all, and clear your head." It read, orange text on a rectangular white background, stock footage of young - straight- families relaxing at the beach playing behind the message. "Forget the stress and let us do the worrying - full holiday packages to Bali, just $592 per person! Go on, live a little." Ethan raised his eyebrow. In his pocket, his phone buzzed relentlessly, he could feel it. It was like Charlie was standing behind him, sinking her claws into his shoulders, trying to pull him away.

You piece of shit. He thought, finishing his drink. Useless, cheap trash. Basically a whore at this point, and a garbage one at that. Might as well be writing the fuckin' Wolfman movies, you've sunk so low.

'But I have to eat! It's no use making a brilliant art piece if nobody watches it.' He argued back at himself, still unsure which voice was his own.

Haneke, Noe, Villeneuve, Von Trier. They don't compromise every one of their beliefs for a payday. They didn't sell out.

_ 'And you're just not at that level! Not even close.'_ He bit his lip, paws shaking slightly.

"You okay buddy?" The wolf asked, hearing Ethan's glass clink against the bar top. "Want...a top up?" The border collie hesitated only slightly, before waving to his glass.

"Go on." He relented.

Disgusting. Trash. Low brow. Palatable. Easy. Cheap. His thoughts ranted on, mentally flicking through his old script catalogue. Ultimate; studio bullshit. Neon Saviour? Laughable superhero garbage. And tell me, besides the shock value, what artistic gift did The Stable Thief grant the world?

"That one wasn't bad." He whispered, to which the wolf looked over, but said nothing.

Then you just... what? Redid your old stuff? Fuck you. Fuck your hundreds of Neon movies, fuck Moonlight Requiem, and fuck your stupid Cover Me remake. Make something good, or just do the world a favour and fucking overdose already, like everyone else. Ethan shut his eyes, pushing his fingers against his eyelids, digging them in so he saw stars in the darkness. He opened them after a moment, vision blurring slightly from the abuse - a small price to pay to shut that voice up.

"Let us do the worrying!" The TV repeated silently, text flashing. "Try Morocco, or Prague! Full packages starting at $2199 per person! Just get away from it all." Ethan tore his gaze away. The words bounced around inside him.

Get away.

He finished his drink, leaving a hundred dollar note on the bar because he couldn't be bothered waiting for change. Wiggling his fingers and rolling his neck, he climbed back into the seat of his car and checked his phone; eleven missed calls.

"Not now." He said quietly, turning the phone off and slowly reversing out of the bar's carpark. He took himself onto the freeway, heading in what felt like the total opposite direction to where Charlie was. He couldn't do it, couldn't talk to her and have his soul cut away again and again. It was degrading, the stuff they wanted him to make. He didn't love his fiancée, he hated his work, he had no real friends, he despised his life, and he realised - with a sudden bolt of clarity - that he didn't even like himself. There was truly nothing holding him back here, at least for now.

I'll come back and talk to her, I just...I just need a break. A little break to clear my head. Few days at most. He told himself, turning the radio up so loud the audio began to crack and distort. Then, I'll finish Stable Thief's rewrites, and we can make something good. Even if it's small and cheap, gotta make something that counts. He rolled down the window, feeling the air rush through his fur as he sped down the freeway, quickly leaving the city limits and heading north.

As the concrete jungle slowly receded in his mirror, it almost felt like a weight was sliding off him. With his phone off there were no reminders, and Ethan just focused on breathing, and driving.