His Majesty, the King of Baritaria (tzarohell) wrote in hollywood_13,
His Majesty, the King of Baritaria
tzarohell
hollywood_13

Horus Davenport

Davenport arrived at the studio gates in his Silver Ghost, before the sun had peaked over the green California hills. There was a thick humid haze and Davenport never let anyone drive him to the studio. As ever, he wore his dark-tinted glasses. All of these factors contributed to the reality that he'd run over someone's cat on the way in. The animal escaped, sans a tail.
Davenport recieved a nod from the sleepy gateman and the Silver Ghost slid into the 13th lot.

No one seemed to be in yet, which suited him fine. He found the switchboard and lit most of the floor. Light gleamed momentarily from his lenses and made his slicked back hair look stark and yellow like wheat. The last time he'd seen this particular lot it was for a dopey two-reeler about a man selling cigarettes to Arabs. He'd choreographed some slave girl dances and hated it. Methodically, Davenport surveyed the lot once more (occasionally peeking from under his smoked glasses) and took note of every exit, before deciding to pop into the cafe for a coffee. Soon the set men would be around, then finally the talent. He'd have to meet them all.

Davenport reacted to the early morning light like a creature of the night. He pulled his black coat around himself and sank his chin into the folds of his scarf. Surely the cafe would be open by now. He'd have a chance to look over the production notes Monumental had sent to him. It sounded quite strange...
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