Wilford Warfstache (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cottoncandypink) wrote2018-05-18 02:24 pm
cottoncandypink) wrote2018-05-18 02:24 pm
“Mandy,” Wilford said automatically. “He wants his own show. Give him the air time.”
He called. He couldn’t get the idea out of his head now that it had been put there, so he called and scheduled another meeting. This time, the discussion went a little more in-depth about what would be done. A lot of fancy words were thrown around - code for re-breaking the bone and driving bolts and screws and pins into it.
“We’d need to do a graft in this area,” Dr Clarke said, pointing at the X-rays with his pen. “You’ll probably lose these teeth, but the benefit of the graft is that it’ll let us put posts in once it’s all healed.”
“I can’t film with no teeth,” Wilford said, frowning at the mess of crooked teeth and bent bone on the X-ray. He hadn’t realised those teeth were that fucked up. He wondered if it looked that bad on camera.
“We’d fit you for a temporary denture. Unless you’re filming in 4K, the camera won’t even see it,” Dr Clarke assured.
Wilford wanted to say something to refute that, but he knew this guy worked with A-listers. He probably knew what he was talking about.
“We barely film in 1080,” Wilford said instead.
Dr Clarke chuckled. “Typically, we’d use a graft from a rib or hip, but I like to use a synthetic substitute. It’s less invasive, but it can take a little longer to heal.”
Less invasive sounded good. Wilford listened carefully as Dr Clarke continued to explain the procedure, using words that barely made sense. But the farther they got into it, the better Wilford felt about it. Side effects and recovery time didn’t seem like such a big problem if this guy thought he could actually fix the problem.
“I need some time off. Arrange it for me.”
Nichola looked up from her desk, more than a little shocked. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”
Wilford frowned. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. “Nothing.” He sat down in front of her desk. “I’m getting this fixed.” He pointed vaguely toward his face. “June twenty-sixth. I want a month off, in case it complicates or something.”
“They can do that?” Nichola asked.
Wilford shrugged and nodded. “I guess. I’ve been talking to a surgeon about it. He thinks he could fix it in about two hours.”
Nichola made a sound like she was trying not to laugh. “Why didn’t you fix it before?” she asked.
“Nobody told me I could. It’s been fucked up half my life. You’d think someone would have said something sooner.”
She did laugh this time. “Well, they said something now. You sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah,” Wilford said, nodding. He didn’t even have to think about it. “I get hit the right way, and I hurt for a month. I’d like to try to not do that. It sounds nice.”
“Wow,” Nichola said. She looked down at her keyboard, and then back up at Wilford. “All right.” She pulled up the calendar on her computer and clicked around a bit. “Why don’t we make it easier on ourselves. Start on the 17th, and give you the whole of July? Come back the fifth of August?”
Wilford nodded. He’d probably be a nervous wreck in the week leading up to it anyway, so taking extra time off before was probably best.
“Who’s helming? Or are we going dark?” Nichola asked.
“Mandy,” Wilford said automatically. “He wants his own show. Give him the air time.”
Nichola nodded, writing all of this down on the pad on her desk. “What are we saying?” she asked. “Publicly, and within the network.”
Wilford had to think about his answer for a moment. “Network might hate it. Health leave for the public. Feel around when you tell the network and see what seems best.”
She nodded, and wrote that down as well. “All right. I’ll get the ball rolling on this.” She sighed and looked up at Wilford again. “Important question. Where are you staying?”
“Home. I’ve got…” Wilford stopped, suddenly remembering Autor giving his notice. Fuck. “I’ve got a phone if I need anything,” he said instead. He didn’t want to stay anywhere else if he were going to be miserable. And if it went better than he expected it to, he’d have some relaxing alone time for the first time in years.
“Will you use it?” Nichola asked.
“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” Wilford said, getting up to go do some real work.
“We’d need to do a graft in this area,” Dr Clarke said, pointing at the X-rays with his pen. “You’ll probably lose these teeth, but the benefit of the graft is that it’ll let us put posts in once it’s all healed.”
“I can’t film with no teeth,” Wilford said, frowning at the mess of crooked teeth and bent bone on the X-ray. He hadn’t realised those teeth were that fucked up. He wondered if it looked that bad on camera.
“We’d fit you for a temporary denture. Unless you’re filming in 4K, the camera won’t even see it,” Dr Clarke assured.
Wilford wanted to say something to refute that, but he knew this guy worked with A-listers. He probably knew what he was talking about.
“We barely film in 1080,” Wilford said instead.
Dr Clarke chuckled. “Typically, we’d use a graft from a rib or hip, but I like to use a synthetic substitute. It’s less invasive, but it can take a little longer to heal.”
Less invasive sounded good. Wilford listened carefully as Dr Clarke continued to explain the procedure, using words that barely made sense. But the farther they got into it, the better Wilford felt about it. Side effects and recovery time didn’t seem like such a big problem if this guy thought he could actually fix the problem.
“I need some time off. Arrange it for me.”
Nichola looked up from her desk, more than a little shocked. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”
Wilford frowned. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. “Nothing.” He sat down in front of her desk. “I’m getting this fixed.” He pointed vaguely toward his face. “June twenty-sixth. I want a month off, in case it complicates or something.”
“They can do that?” Nichola asked.
Wilford shrugged and nodded. “I guess. I’ve been talking to a surgeon about it. He thinks he could fix it in about two hours.”
Nichola made a sound like she was trying not to laugh. “Why didn’t you fix it before?” she asked.
“Nobody told me I could. It’s been fucked up half my life. You’d think someone would have said something sooner.”
She did laugh this time. “Well, they said something now. You sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah,” Wilford said, nodding. He didn’t even have to think about it. “I get hit the right way, and I hurt for a month. I’d like to try to not do that. It sounds nice.”
“Wow,” Nichola said. She looked down at her keyboard, and then back up at Wilford. “All right.” She pulled up the calendar on her computer and clicked around a bit. “Why don’t we make it easier on ourselves. Start on the 17th, and give you the whole of July? Come back the fifth of August?”
Wilford nodded. He’d probably be a nervous wreck in the week leading up to it anyway, so taking extra time off before was probably best.
“Who’s helming? Or are we going dark?” Nichola asked.
“Mandy,” Wilford said automatically. “He wants his own show. Give him the air time.”
Nichola nodded, writing all of this down on the pad on her desk. “What are we saying?” she asked. “Publicly, and within the network.”
Wilford had to think about his answer for a moment. “Network might hate it. Health leave for the public. Feel around when you tell the network and see what seems best.”
She nodded, and wrote that down as well. “All right. I’ll get the ball rolling on this.” She sighed and looked up at Wilford again. “Important question. Where are you staying?”
“Home. I’ve got…” Wilford stopped, suddenly remembering Autor giving his notice. Fuck. “I’ve got a phone if I need anything,” he said instead. He didn’t want to stay anywhere else if he were going to be miserable. And if it went better than he expected it to, he’d have some relaxing alone time for the first time in years.
“Will you use it?” Nichola asked.
“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” Wilford said, getting up to go do some real work.