The soul electric (Ghostface x reader)

𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍

"Jesus fuck, the guy playing Dewey brought a newborn," Randy whined.

Your time in the writers room was quite short.  And so Randy had you follow him around.  Assistant to the assistant director and all that.  And Milton made sure to keep the two of you busy.  He said that he thought the director was something special, and wanted to make the movie go as well as possible.

But some people didn't seem to share the same sentiment.

"You're kidding, right," you asked.

"Nope.  I've heard that guy's unprofessional, but this is insane."

"Oh, Tom," an intern questioned as they walked by.

"Yeah, Tom Prinze," Randy confirmed.

"He has quite the reputation," the intern stated.  "And be careful.  If you don't look like the poster child of peak masculinity, he might try to pass the kid off to you."

"Oh, so all three of us are fucked," Randy groaned.

"Yep," the intern nodded.  "Worst part is: no one knows the kid's name.  Not even Tom."

"Holy shit," you muttered.  "How does that even work?"

"Tom fucked around, the kid's the find out.  And he found out by the mother showing up out of nowhere, claiming she didn't want a kid, and passing them off to the baby daddy," the intern explained.  "Now we're all just... stuck with it."

"So... did the mom just not tell him anything about his own kid," Randy interrogated.

"Yep.  And Tom keeps swearing he's 'gonna drag the bitch to court,' but he forgot her name," the intern finished.

"Jesus Christ on a bike," Randy mumbled.

"Hey Markus," someone shouted.

"Yeah," the intern replied loudly.

"I need you to run to my office!  The fax machine should-"

"I got you," Markus responded, quickly leaving to follow orders.

Randy smiled and gave a small wave at the man as he ran off to the mystery person's office.

"Wow, you seem to like him," you pointed out.

"He gossiped like a middle aged white mom, and I am eternally grateful to him for it.  Oh look, here comes my boss."

Looking over, a man your age was walking over.  He was adjusting a pair of glasses that rested on his face, looking over a clipboard in his hands.  And the dude seemed both pissed, and calm at the same time.

"Meeks, they re-wrote the script.  Again," the man announced.

"Hello Roman," Randy greeted.  "(y/n), this is Roman.  Roman, this is my friend (y/n)."

"It's a pleasure," Roman said, quickly offering you a hand to shake and a smile.  "I've heard a lot of great things about you."

"The pleasure is all mine," you responded with a small smile.

You still didn't like new people all that much.

And Roman just unnerved you a little when he masked all of his anger to meet you, then let the façade go and got pissy once more as he turned to Randy.

"This is getting ridiculous," Roman groaned.  "Personally, I think the second script was the one to stick with.  Milton's making everything cliché and sellable.  It's a mess.  It's the stripped back realism that we want."

"Well, what if I told you," Randy began.  "That one of the main writers of the second script was dear old (y/n) here?"

"You're kidding," Roman muttered.  "You're serious?  Well, I am a big fan of your work (y/n)."