As the they drew closer to the ground, Quinn could see the bounds of the area that had been marked off for their arrival. They touched down in a vacated parking lot outside of a modestly tall and very wide building that must have been the studio. One side was blocked off by a wall, and a few hundred feet away at the other end, there was a minor blockade set up with police officers behind lines of tape. There must have been a hundred people there, and the moment Quinn and Besca stepped off the elevator they [i]exploded[/i] with excitement. Shouting, cheering, volleys of camera flashes and signs—[i]full signs[/i]—with [i]Ablaze[/i] printed onto them, held up above the crowd. 

“[color=gray]C’mon, hun. Let’s head in.[/color]”

Besca didn’t hold her hand on the way, but she didn’t stay entirely distant either. There was a level of professionalism she had to maintain planetside. Her past as strictly handling RISC’s pilots afforded her some leeway when it came to how close she appeared to be with them, but as commander now, it had been made clear to her that she was to present as their superior. 

It was bullshit, but like this interview, it wasn’t her call. She’d shuck that order the moment they were inside, anyway.

Two soldiers remained outside, two more at the door, and two in the hallway. The rest followed behind. Crew darted between rooms, speaking into headsets, scribbling onto clipboards; they were frightfully efficient, no one ever bumped shoulders or came anywhere close to Quinn—though a few did eyeball her as they passed. Curiosity, mostly, but an undeniable level of wonder as well. 

Eventually the hall opened up into a tall room that was dark along the fringes, and further in, where all the lights were pointed, was the set of “[i]Dinner with Mona[/i].” Hard wooden flooring, upon which sat a small, round table and two cushioned chairs. Behind it was a backdrop of a cityscape, though Quinn wouldn’t have known which. It was framed in such a way that they might have been sitting by a window of some penthouse restaurant. 

Just out of the light were an array of large cameras, each manned by two or three people. Off to one side was a long table stacked with plain food, catering for the crew. To the other was a fully functional kitchen. It wasn’t meant for the cameras, obviously, but with a moment’s thought it did seem necessary. It was [i]Dinner[/i] with Mona, after all—it seemed they just cooked that dinner on-set. 

And it seemed like it was being cooked as they spoke. The smell had been there before they’d left the hall, but now it was [i]much[/i] clearer. Aromatic spices filled the air, the smell of seasoned oil and the sizzling [i]pop[/i] as it cooked on the fire. It was floral, buttery, faintly heated, and [i]familiar[/i]. 

Then, a man popped up from behind the kitchen counter, aproned and sweating but his face was split with the grin of a man [i]in love[/i] with his work. It was the chef from Tohoki Grill. He caught sight of Quinn and Besca as they entered, and waved, before returning to his pans. 

“[color=gray]Oh yeah,[/color] Besca said, giving Quinn a wink. “[color=gray]They wanted to know what you’d like for dinner. I asked our friend, and he insisted he make it for you himself.[/color]”

“Oh my [i]gawsh![/i]” 

From the dark behind the cameras, an old woman came scuttling up to them. She must have been in her sixties, small as Quinn and quite skinny. She’d let her hair whiten with age, curled and puffy, with a single black streak dyed up the side. Behind her circular glasses was a pinched face, powdered and smiling through pearly teeth and dull red lipstick. Her dress was simple and elegant, red with a black stripe up the side just like her hair, and with every step she took, her ruby heels clacked against the ground. 

She threw her hands up, painted nails long and black, and put an arm on either of their shoulders as if she meant to hug them both at once. 

“Wow, wow wow wow—just [i]look[/i] at you!” she said, earthy eyes turning to Quinn. “You are just the [i]cutest[/i]! Honey, I [i]love[/i] your jacket, and—oh my [i]gawsh[/i] look at that braid. That is just [i]powerful[/i]. Wow.”

“[color=gray]Miss Dunway,[/color]” Besca said, holding a hand out. “[color=gray]We’ve met before, I—[/color]”

“Bessy!” she took Besca’s hand with both of hers and shook vigorously. “Oh a’[i]course[/i]! I never forget a face. Hah! You were so nervous, now look at you! Feels like I oughta salute. So nice to have you back, honey.”

“[color=gray]Quinn, this is Mona Dunway.[/color]”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Quinn—can I call you Quinn? So much better without all the formality.”

“[color=gray]Listen,[/color]” Besca said, still with a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “[color=gray]I’m gonna go check on our friend, see how the food’s coming along. Why don’t you two take a few minutes before this gets started, get to know each other a little bit?[/color]”

Mona clapped her hands together. “Bessy, honey, you took the words right outta my mouth! Quinn,” She started off towards the set. Besca gave Quinn a confident nod, and stepped away to the nearby kitchen, making sure not to leave eyesight. “I’ve just gotta say, I am [i]so[/i] happy you agreed to come here. You’ve probably heard this a lot recently but I am a [i]huge[/i] fan!”

She led them to the table, taking a seat. Off-set, people scrambled like they thought the show was about to start, but she waved them down. “So please, [i]please![/i] This is your first interview, right? Ever? We like to take things easy here, keep it casual, nothing serious. Let the daytime suits have all that junk. Me? I just want this to be fun, so if there's anything I can do for you, lemme know!"