2012-10-17 Interview With The E

Interview, Wednesday, 3pm. Janis Ayers, E's personal assistant made it very clear, interviewees need to be a minimum of 15 minutes early to interviews, or they can just not bother showing up. She said it sweetly though, with a touch of southern belle to her voice. he directions to the office were easy enough to follow.

At a quarter till, the manufacturing guru and budding superhero fashion design Edith Edna Mote, aka E, lounges on her overstuft sofa in her office, flipping through a fashion magazine idly. "JANIS!"

"Yes, Ms. Mote?"

"Oh, there you are, dahling. Don't sneak up. I'm out of coffee, dear."

Janis sets down the fresh cup she was bringing as well as holding out the resume of the prospective employee. E lowers her magazine to her lap to take the papers, one hand shifting her glasses upon her nose to read the words.

"What is /this/?"

"You have an interview."

Terrance has been ready and waiting for this chance. Securing an interview definitely has not been an everyday occurrence for the teen, and he wanted to make sure he did everything he could to improve his chances of turning the interview into a job and his ticket away from home.

The result had him waiting in the lobby about twenty-five minutes before the three o'clock hour, folder containing copies of his resume, and a letter of recommendation... admittedly from his father sitting on his lap. He was nervous, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he went over how it might work in his head. It might work out great!

It could also work out that he would say the wrong thing and let his snarky side out, so he had to remember to bite his tongue. The thought of something Worse happening? Not even crossing his mind.

So when he's called for his turn, he's up to his feet, taking a moment to straighten out his jacket - black, over a red dress shirt - and then walking in Janis' shadow. Head held high, shoulders straight -- is that a smile he's managing? Well, it's about as close as he comes to one.

E leans over to peer at the youth behind Janis. Her magnified eyes obviously trailing up and down the boy's frame.

"Well? Sit down," E states putting the resume into the magazine like a book mark, closing the magazine, then setting it down on the sofa next to her. Her feet fail to touch the floor.

"So... what's your name?" E sounds very pleasant, while Janis moves to bring the boy a bottle of water before letting herself out.

Upon instruction to sit down? He does so. Maybe a bit too quickly, really. He blinks a couple times in thought as he tries to run things over in his head just one last time. It goes something like: No, you didn't come here with a 'will work for food' sign, and you're willing to do pretty much anything, so that's hireable, right? ... right?

Inclining his head so that he can look E properly in the eye - and blinking once more at the magnification caused by her glasses, he speaks. "I'm Terrance Ward, Ms. Mote, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thanks for taking the time to see me." His tone is friendly enough - the pacing of his words slowed by the filter he's running ideas through in his mind before speaking them. When he's brought the water, he nods his appreciation to Janis and takes it. That should help! If nothing else, it keeps his hands steady and holding onto something.

Steady hands is probably why Janis brought it to him. But poor Terrance's friendly words are met with a wave of Edith's hand and a click of her tongue.

"Yes, yes. You're welcome, all of that. What did you come here for?" Because clearly the word interview isn't description enough.

The woman's words catch him briefly off-guard, and he opens his mouth to say something before thinking better of it. Think back to the lines you've rehearsed, Terry! "Well, I had done some research on your company, and it seems like a wonderful--" he trails off for a moment and shakes his head. No, he can't do this. It's not him. His dad will be mad if he blows it... but with all the registration or worse talk going on, it might not really matter in the end.

"Okay, let me be real here. I'm here because I need a job, Ms. Mote. I'm just out of high school, and I'd rather not live under my old man's roof for the rest of my life. I applied for the mailroom, but pretty much anything you need done I'm willing to do. I'm not above cleaning toilets or running across town at rush hour for coffee if that's what I've got to do to secure a spot." A pause. "All I'm asking for is a chance, not a million bucks, or a penthouse suite, just a chance. If not? Well, I can show myself out." his body language indicates that he expects rejection at this point, tensed and prepared to stand.

Edith blinks once at the boy, noting his complete sidewise shift in how Terrance presents himself. She studies him a moment, then turns her magnified eyes to her magazine, collecting it again.

"If you're here to kiss my ass.. I won't have it, dahling. I just won't. I've got no time for gibber jabber froo froo talk. If you got something to say, just say it, dahling. We waste too many words some days. I should collect them in a jar, but I'd have to find one big enough. Bah! No matter. You want to work for me, you have to be ready."

Her reaction.... is surprisingly a relief to Terry. Posture relaxes a bit now, although he does straighten up in his chair anyways. She's not like any of the other managers he's spoken to, which is definitely a plus. "I'm not all that good at ass-kissing, so I'm glad to hear that... and hey, they say actions speak louder than words, right? I'm ready to start acting right now, just let me know what you want me to do." He seems more confident now, more... in his natural state, if nothing else.

Edith nods sagely at the boy's comment of action. The sage nod turns into a slightly manic smile, eyes once more trailing over the boy's body. She suddenly flings the magazine onto the sofa next to her then hops off onto the ground. Without preamable she moves to her desk and collects a remote control. This she brandishes at a wall in a very Dr. Who fashion. THe wall opens into a mini-lab. Not as state of the art as the one at her house, but enough to work on designs while at the office before she goes home to make prototypes. She's still 'homeless' ever since her lab blew up.

Terry's response? Surprise. His eyes widen at the result of her movement, and his mouth gapes open for a couple moments -- but true to his words, he's up to his feet a moment after, stepping closer and prepared to follow Edith wherever she leads. He said he was ready, right? Well, it's time to put his money where his mouth is.

...besides. This is /really cool./

Edith moves into her mini-lab, tossing the remote control behind her. What? Someone else'll pick that up. Or she will. Unimportant. She moves to her computer terminal and crawls up into the seat. A few taps, and a picture of Dazzler appears, along with an address and phone number.

"She hasn't told me who she wants her fabric sent to. I /told/ her the second run was ready, dahling, but she's been busy. Janis has other people to call, so be a dear, knock on her door or something and see if she has a designer or if I'm making something. I'd rather make it, of course. It's my fabric, but I suppose I could let someone else touch it. Oh! And then go to the University and talk to Laser. He teaches art, dahling. Bring him in for a fitting, two weeks, dahling. two weeks. My studio should be ready by then. Oh, and where did you get that jacket?"

Terry's quick, but not when he's already holding something. So the bottle of water is stuffed into a pants pocket, and he dips down and scoops up the remote, tucking it into the hand already holding the folder. Moving into place a few steps behind Edith's seat, he opens up the folder and grabs a pen to start writing. He's making assumptions, but with a little luck they'll be correct and a couple of words later it's revealed. "Got it - I've seen her before, I think." At an impromptu riot, for that matter. "Laser, university, got it." Nodding as he jots down more and more notes - the whos, whats, wheres and whys of each instruction. To the last question? It catches him by surprise, and causes a bit of a sheepish grin. "Ah... my father's closet, actually." He's honest, at least!

"It's dreadful, dahling," E states very matter of factly, eyes on the boy. "Don't wear it again." Pause. "Ever."

Terry smirks a bit - he'll have to pass that style judgement along when he gets home. "Can do. What's the, uh, dress code then?" he asks, curiousity laced in his tone.

"Fabulous," is the answer, and said with a flaboyant sort of wave of a hand, a lifting of a chin, and a brightening of her eyes. The only issue is that E's idea of fabulous and the rest of the fashion world's idea differs... greatly.

"Fabulous?" Terry echoes, arching his brows slightly. He's certainly not a fashion magnate by any means... but he's got a feeling that he's going to pick up a few tips during this process. "Is there a handbook to that or something?"

Edith laughs brightly at this, hand patting at her pockets for something.

"Ah, dahling, dahling, dahling..." Pat pat pat... "Where are my cigarettes," she calls out suddenly, leaning so far back in her chair that there's a real threat of her falling out of said piece of furniture.

Terry moves in turn to step behind the chair -- that way at least he'll be in a better position to prevent her /from/ falling out of the chair if it comes to that. "Did you leave them back in, ah, your other office?" he asks, glancing back towards where the interview had began.

That Janis doesn't come running immediately must mean the secretary is on the phone. Terry's question makes Edith grump and she spins her chair to watch him look back toward the interview space. It puts her sitting properly in her chair once more, and not looking like four year old leaning too far in her chair.

"At any rate, I should get to work finding those clients of yours and start laying the groundwork. Two weeks before they can come in, right?" Terry echoes her earlier statement, nodding to himself. "I've got a feeling that my fashion sense is going to be improving pretty quickly in this position." He's aware that it's one thing he knows little to nothing about - he's a realist in that way.

"What? Oh, yes. Scoot, before this lab blows up too," E states, turning back to her computer to eye a molecular formula she was working on. She frowns at it, as if the expression would force the compound NOT to explode when exposed to oxygen.