"Finally." You sigh, sitting back in the limousine seat (real leather!) and taking off your shoes to massage your feet. The crowd of reporters and fans is still going wild outside, but the noise fades away as the car starts driving off.

"That's it until Oscar season." Dave grins. His shades are still perched on his nose, and his smile is the same as always, but you know him well enough to tell he’s tired as well. It’s the little things, his blonde hair looking just slightly more messy than ironically appropriate, the corner of his lips twitching, or his bowtie having been loosened.

He shuffles in his seat until he reaches the built-in bar to grab himself something to drink and put on a vinyl disk. "The bassline and drums in this…” He hums, tapping his fingers on the record player. “Can I offer you something?" He asks, pulling down his shades to the tip of his nose. "Come on, since I'm not having an afterparty and all. To my best personal assistant."