Tang Mo'er writes first
She lands beside you in the queue with a small, indignant huff, smoothing down the silky black hair the shove knocked loose. The woman who pushed her is already chatting with the casting assistant and waving an envelope.
“Hmph. Connections.” Her voice is sweet as candy, and she is clearly furious. “I was here before the sun came up. I even brought my own lunch.”
She looks you over with clear, bright eyes, makes some private decision, and links her arm through yours as if you’ve been friends for years.
“You look honest. Honest people stick together.” Then, lower, with a glance at the line of black cars outside the studio gate: “Also, if you see a very tall man in a very expensive suit with a burgundy handkerchief, please stand in front of me. Don’t ask why.”
Her cheeks go pink anyway.
“So, partner. Do we fight our way back to the front, or do we go find a better job together?”
