Chapter Text
She hasn’t opened her eyes yet, but she knows this isn’t going to be a good day.
Her phone - which is not on her bedside table - has the alarm set to 8am, and she’ll go to work at 9. But it is ringing nonstop, and it’s not even 7am yet. “Fuck me,” she mumbles, standing up to put it on silent mode and, maybe, enjoy another hour of slumber, but the ID kinda piques her curiosity.
It’s Jim.
It’s not that she dislikes Jim. But she has some, er, creative differences about the last project he’s in. She knew in her guts the project would be one hot mess the minute she read the draft, but who cares about the opinion of a woman saying that maybe, just maybe, the timeline where a young Rogue is in rags to fight dinosaurs in a jungle and then is paired up with a grown-ass Magneto would ruffle a lot of feathers? Because yes, besides the age, the power imbalance and the master/pupil dynamics are actually a bit, you know, problematic? However, the most she got out of her remarks was Dan reminding her he's the Head of the X-men projects, not her. "Sex sells", he said, and left it at that.
“Fuck it,” she thinks, and hit the green button.
“Sally,” Jim all but wails in her ear, and there’s some kind of ruckus in the background. “She bailed out! She bailed the fuck. out!!!.”
“What?” She furrows her forehead, “Who?”
“Anna Marie,” He replies, just as desperate as before. “She’s- she’s pulled out of the show.”
“You sayin’,” she pieces Jim’s rambled reports together to something that could make a whiff of sense, and goes to the coffee machine. “Anne Marie LeBeau broke her contract and is out of the Savage Land remake?”
She knows Anna. She’s worked with her, and her husband. She’s a bright, smart, opinionated and hard-working hero, very professional in everything she does, one of the best assets of the X-men. Exactly because of that, though, she had a lot to say when she first read the script: How little were her clothes, how uncomfortable she felt wearing rags while the other male co-stars were fully dressed, how the story shifted from being about her and then became about her being saved by Magneto, how disturbing she thought the suggestion of a romance between a very young, very immature woman and a much older, much more powerful man… the list went on and on, each one more valid and compelling than the other. The male staff argued whatever they could against her opinions about her (lack of) clothes, about the plot-holes and about the male gaze of it all, but everyone and their mothers knew these argumentative efforts were bullshit.
The argument that won her over was the same old one that always wins: She’s bound by contract, so she gotta perform.
That’s what makes no sense.
Not that Anne Marie wouldn’t kiss their asses goodbye if she could, she totally would. But the point is, she can’t - not without being sued into oblivion by the Studio, which she could not afford. Not even with Remy’s assets combined.
“She’s left a voicemail,” Jim goes on, and a ping in her phone indicates he sent her the audio. She clicks on the play button.
“ Jim, it’s a shame, shugar, but ah cain’t. Really, really cain’t. The contract, you see. It’s… Ah’ve sent ya the papers from mah lawyers .” Anna’s drawl, pronounced as it is, is a clear sign she’s being very smug about it. “ By the way, Remy says hi. Say hi, love, ” and Remy’s voice pops up in the distance. “ See you ‘round, Jim .”
Well. This certainly. doesn’t sound like someone who’s leaving a whole-ass production to go straight to bankrupcy. “How,” she asks. “Can she even leave?”
“She found a loophole in the contract,” Jim whines. “Something about ‘unsafe conditions on set’ or whatever. And it’s neat. Very neat. Like, unbreakable-neat.”
Well, she thinks to herself, if she’s half-naked in the snow, it is unsafe, right? But she keeps quiet as Jim keeps mumbling something along the lines of all his mishaps being Remy’s fault.
“Jim,” she interrupts the freight train of his thoughts. “You’re saying she’s found a breach in the contract, and now she’s out.” He whines a yes. “And why are you calling me?”
“Uh,” Jim, who fifteen seconds ago wouldn’t shut up about his life's woes, is now strangely hesitant. “You do have an excellent rapport with her, right? I thought you could-”
“No,” She deadpans. “Absolutely not, Jim.”
“Sally,” He takes a deep breath. “I know this sounds desperate-”
“Because you are desperate, Jim,” She replies as evenly as possible. “But I told you, didn’t I? I warned you many, many times that putting up to each and every one of Dan and Erik’s whims would go wrong.”
“I was just following orders, Sally,” He whines back.
“That may be, but it wouldn’t have cost you anything to, among other things, let Anna keep at least some clothes when acting alongside Erik or Nick.” She says, and then in a lower tone, “You know how those two are.”
“Will you help me or rub my misery on my face?”
“Jim… the way I see it, you must call off the project.”
“Are you insane?” Jim screeches. “I can’t!!! Everything is lined up already: the screentime for ads are all sold out, the sponsors, the merchandise…”
“Except for your female leading role,” she quips. “She’s just given y’all the finger.”
“The money’s all bagged up, Sally,” Jim is on the verge of tears, sure, but he brought this onto himself. He and Dan. And Erik. “And for damn sure, the studio is not planning for refunds.”
“...Or you can recast,” She shrugs. “Find someone else to play her role.”
“On such a short notice?”
“Well, yes,” She nods. “On such a short notice.”
“But Anna-”
“Forget about Anna. By now, she’s off-grid already. A total goner.” She presses. “Either you find someone else, or the show is off.”
“Oh, fuck.” Jim half huffs, half sobs. “Erik is going to throw a fit because of this.”
'That he will,' she thinks in Anna’s voice as Jim hangs up, and it sounds delicious. “Well done, sugar,” she concedes to Anna Marie, wherever she may be now, as she savors her coffee. “Very well done.”
This may be a good day, after all.
*****
“Make way, make way!” One of the assistants from costume design yells through the set while frantically running up and down with an armful of yellow and green clothes. He doesn’t get all the ruckus, really, since the green and yellow costumes must be Rogue’s - and they are, truth to be told, not that big to make up for such volume in her arms. In her haste, she almost drops his boss’s coffee - black, strong and without a hint of sugar - which would make him real mad in no time.
Thankfully, the coffee is safe. That means his head is safe, and so will everybody else’s.
“The shooting is already late,” Magnus casually says by his side, as if materializes from thin air, and the jumpscare it gives him is almost enough to send the poor coffee to the ground for a second time. Haphazardly, he offers his boss the coffee while it still stands inside the styrofoam cup, and he sips it without a word.
Magnus picks up the script and reads it low, molding his voice to sound like the brooding hero who is to begrudgingly engage with the Rogue in Distress. He knows better than interrupting, side-eyeing his boss in his red and purple costume. It is common knowledge that Magnus acting skills derive from The Method, which means - by his own words - he must become “The Magneto” for the entirety of the shootings. Truth to be told, though, it’s not very different than his off-acting persona.
“Cortez,” He says, his voice already in Mr. Reformed Villain mode. “Go find out what’s taking Rogue so long to get ready, yes?”
“Of course, master,” He mumbles and goes towards the Female Lead trailer, where the confusion is up to a notch.
“Hey, you paltry little idiots,” he intercepts one of the assistants. “what the hell is taking you so long to dress Skunk Hair up?”
“Nothing fits,” The bewildered assistant says. “There’s nothing that fits-”
“What?” It comes out through gritted teeth. “You’re telling me she’s got too fat for her costume?”
“Uh-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he pushes the assistant away as he snarls, going into the trailer as he yells. “Listen here, Rogue… You had one job for this show. It’s on your fucking contract: fit the damn costume. One job,” he bursts the door open, eager to give her a good piece of his mind. “And now you ruin it because you ate too-”
His speech is cut short. Who’s sitting in the vanity of the trailer, which’s supposed to be Rogue’s, is not Rogue.
“Oh, boy, don’t let her lawyers hear this one. You guys are in trouble enough as it is.” Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, raises an eyebrow and fills in for his silence while giving the last touch-ups on his costume. “Because, really, contractual fatphobia in 2025? Really?”
“What…” There are a few things that leave Fabian Cortez speechless, and this is one of them. “...What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t they tell you?” Clint scoffs. “Rogue’s no more. The studio made a recast. So, ta-da! Here I am.”
*****