Besca had expected…well, she didn’t know what she’d expected, exactly. Some strange interview strategy, or a sort of protest like they got recruiting city-side now and then, or maybe just a prank. 

What she didn’t expect was for the girl to start collapsing in on herself right away. She did her best in these things to come across easy, to make it feel like a coffee house meet rather than a proper interview, but now and then people cracked anyway. Normally it happened after the icebreaker. 

She was breathing funny, and her hands were wound up for a fight. Besca could almost see the gears in her head churning, choking her with smoke. The things she said were strange, almost nonsensical. One thing became perfectly clear to her—this girl had not left home today wanting to be a pilot. 

Which was good, because sixteen was too young. Not by management’s standards, maybe, or by the standards of any other country, but Besca would burn this girl’s application in a trash fire before she put it into the system. She’d done as much in the past, and even just today she’d managed to [i]‘lose’[/i] a few sheets from interviewees who’s ages began with “1.”

So then, if neither of them had any intention of seeing her pass this thing, what was the point of putting her through it?

“[color=FFE63D]I don't—feel quite right.[/color]”

“[color=gray]That’s because you’re having a panic attack, hun. Hey,[/color]” she leaned over the table, smiled. The girl was almost as young as Dahlia had been when RISC picked her up—she’d had troubles like this, too. “[color=gray]Breath.[/color]” Besca took a few deep breaths to demonstrate. “[color=gray]You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? I didn’t come in here to get mad at you, I just really liked your application. I wanted to say hi, that’s all. Quinn. That’s a pretty name. My parents called me Besca, sounds like a soda brand. Where’re your folks?[/color]”