Jack/MJ: Interview
MJ arrived in Repose early that morning for her interview. She had already settled a sublease with a couple of other people on an apartment off Main Street that she was going to move into around the middle of the month, but for the moment she stayed at Mama’s house in the Capital. Some things needed to be squared away, some classes needed extra attention, and her grandmother wanted her to stay around just a little longer. MJ wouldn’t protest too much up to a point. Besides, Webbed Up gained some steam in the last couple of weeks with the new(er) vigilante activity along with the Spider’s antics. She didn’t want to miss the opportunity to snap the perfect shot of him or of the two new guys on the scene. Becoming an influencer needed hits, and hits equaled great pics of them. Particularly great ass pics.
But, she didn’t think much about that as she sat in the coffee shop near the paper’s offices, glancing over her resume and the questions she’d written down to ask Mr. Penhaligon. She had gone through some of Repose Weekly’s past work (and okay, totally found some stuff about this drama with the guy she was interviewing with), and a tiny part felt disappointed about the fact that everything seemed so...boring. But, this is what her professor had suggested, and maybe she would be able to write about some more exciting things. Plus, she had already gotten passed on for other internships, and she like, really really needed one.
Dressed smartly from some clothes she’d gotten at a thrift shop near home, MJ arrived 15 minutes early for her appointment. She stuck her head into the doorway, where a plain, empty office greeted her. “Hello?” She turned sharply around the room, curls bouncing to and fro. She spied a glass office off to the corner and a stern looking man sitting at the desk. Well, there he was. She approached with assuredness, shoulders back and click of heels dulled on rug, and even though the man was surrounded by glass, she still knocked on the door jamb. A smile fixated on her face, she held the folder with her resume, cover letter, and notes on her hip as her fingers from her other hand wrapped around the doorway. “Mr. Penhaligon?” She prayed she didn’t butcher the name. Her accent, if thought about, was hard to place. MJ’s lilt was a hodgepodge of all the different places her daddy had dragged her around to, and she struggled to correct it into consistency. Most people might say she could be from the Capital, but there was always a question.