Can you even imagine? Waltzing casually into a meeting with the Disney brass, sweating over one MCU flop after another, absolutely glowing with desperation as you take a seat at the negotiating table. No briefcase, no phone, no notes; this isn't a negotiation. It's a hostage situation, and you're the maniac in charge.
"My client's fee will be ninety," you tell them with a sunny smile.
"Ninety million? Th-that's not so bad-" the gathered flock begins, frittering over their pages, but you cut them off with a vague gesture.
"Ninety percent." Silence reigns. Your silence. They're exchanging glances with one another, communicating through a series of panicked grimaces and winces that none of them want to be the first to acquiesce.
"B-but... the role is... w-well, he'll be in a mask. Focus groups will scream blue murder if he takes the mask off. What does it matter if it's n-not... him...?"
"Ninety-one."
The entire meeting takes less than ten minutes and you are thanked for your time.
Can you imagine.
