Nina closed the heavy wooden door of Dressing Room 4 behind her and released a long, slow breath as she leaned against it. The small room's air hung thick with hairspray's sharp bite and the powdery sweetness of pressed cosmetics… scents that had become as familiar to her as her own perfume.
"Where on earth have you been?" Cynthia snapped before Nina could even drop her bag. The lead makeup artist for the B-team paced between the vanity mirror and a cart overflowing with brushes, her fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against a bottle of setting spray.
Her usually composed face showed the telltale signs of production stress… a tightness around the eyes, a flush creeping up her neck. "I've been looking everywhere for you! The AD just radioed down, we have less than fifteen minutes before Alistair wants the courtyard fully blocked. There's absolutely no time to waste."
