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A shadowy figure curled in a chair in a dark ill-lit—
<"Actually, the room is very well lit, and the so-called shadowy—"
"Shut up! I'm trying to create some dramatic atmosphere here."
"Well I've got to edit and provide continuity. How can I do that—"
"Look, you're just a minor editor. Just make sure my seplling is correct, and keep quite. Now, were was I.">
A shadowy figure curled in a chair in a dark, ill-lit room that could have been anywhere in the world—
<"But it clearly says Uni—"
"SHUT UP. I'm drying to keep some sense of anticipation here."
"But how can I—"
"Listen, you'll do what I say. What do you think you are? A director?"
"Well, actually I also—"
"I don't care. Just let me get on with the story.">
A shadowy figure curled in a chair in a dark, ill-lit room that could have been anywhere in the world. The screen in front held a single message, flickering—
<"It can't flicker. LCDs don't flicker. Can't—"
"LOOK I'm writing this. Shut up or write it yourself. Now."
"Oh for heaven's sake," exclaimed the figure from the chair. "If you can't get your script together, I'm going back to my Winnebago. And if you don't get it sorted out, I quit." And with that the figure uncurled from the chair, leapt off. As he stalked off, he shook his head and triggered his Bluetooth headset. "Hello, Silvester? It's Felix D'Omesticus here; this gig is awful. Is that basement cat gig still open? I need something I can get my teeth into."
"Wait, wait…" shouted the editor/director running after Felix.
"Good. Now maybe I can get on with this now—">
"The producers would like to apologise for the disruption to this thread of the story. Rest assured that the author and editor/director have been sent to both therapy and a highly reputable conciliation service. In the unlikely event that they survive both with mind and wallets intact, we will attempt to include this story thread in future."
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