Erran Serfaty (yahey) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2017-01-24 01:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 064, erran, gemma, marisa |
Who: Erran, Gemma & Marisa
When: 5 p.m.
Where: The Serfaty abode
Erran liked a retro aesthetic just fine, although his preferred vibe was more "early '60s heroin-addicted jazz musician" rather than "early '50s clean-living suburbanite." Still, kind of cool. Neat, as their characters would have said. But the bunker thing was already getting old. He was trying to take a good attitude to the robo-baby's inability to sleep through the night—Gemma had to take care of Julie all day, after all. But the interruptions to his own sleep had their expected effect, and a couple of times that afternoon he'd suddenly come to at his desk with a fifteen-minute chunk of time missing from his memory, drool on the paperwork in front of him. Complex partial seizures didn't cause the same painful hangover as grand mals did, but he still wasn't at his best for the rest of the day, tired and struggling to think clearly.
Since Marco and the others actually had to do their fake jobs, Erran was trying his best to do the same, even though he didn't have a lot of tolerance for meaningless work. He knew that was entirely a function of his real-life privilege, that he'd never had to flip burgers or do data entry all day; his real job involved a lot of paperwork too, not unlike this stuff, but in social work every chore had a serious impact on other people, no matter how inane it was to actually do. That wasn't really the case with filing forms for the imaginary union that August and Daniel apparently belonged to, or reviewing some update to an inspection of the diner (from three weeks ago, the documentation said) which couldn't have actually occurred.
So it was pretty easy to play his one character note of "overworked." The situation with the food was especially frustrating because it was the kind of thing he might have been good at resolving if it were real, making phone calls and cajoling and defusing conflict while being just annoying enough to get things moving. Instead they just had to accept it, and the stupid part was that Erran felt somehow responsible. Congrats, Zenith, you got to me this time.
At five o'clock he left the office at the town hall and walked the extremely short distance back to the house, unreasonably annoyed by the fake "daylight" and trying to get his usual composure back before he got in the door. It really did feel like being back in Hollywood, stuck on a soundstage for hours on end. One more take. Get it in the can.
He let himself in, embracing the clichéd nature of the moment. "Honey, I'm home."