Chapter Text
Of all the places you could've been today, you certainly weren't expecting to be sitting at an interview for the studio of the Dark World's biggest celebrity.
It had all been such a blur: You'd arrived a few days prior, hoping to make a name for yourself, and bounced around from place to place looking for a good starter job. At one point, you found yourself sitting in a coffee shop chatting with a lady about your aspirations. She seemed friendly enough, if a bit disinterested in what you were saying. However, once you mentioned your connections with a certain Lightner, she immediately snapped to attention, and hastily offered you a job opportunity.
Apparently, she had been holding out on the information that she worked as an associate for Mr. Tenna himself, the biggest star of this and many other Dark Worlds. Although he had been waning in popularity the past few years, he was still an icon in most Darkners' eyes. And now, you were being offered a chance to work directly with him. Well, under him, at least.
For now, you were nervously fumbling with a pen, filling out paperwork as you sat outside an office waiting for your interview. You knew you couldn't afford to screw this opportunity up, because there was practically no better place to work in TV World than here. So, you put on your best brave face, and finally head into the interview room.
The woman interviewing you resembles a key ring, and she wears her long, blonde hair in a tight bun. As the interview goes on, she frequently narrows her eyes at you, staring down through her wiry glasses, which only makes your anxiety worse. You answer each question honestly to the best of your ability, and silently pray for whatever deity was out there to throw you a bone and let you pass through.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the woman shuffles a few papers, and lets her expression melt into one of a sincere smile.
"Well, everything seems to be in order, and you seem like just the person for the job. Welcome to the team!"
You gasp and your face brightens to match your emotions. You thank the woman profusely with a slightly-too-tight handshake and gather your things, ready to head out the door as she tells you the details of your first day.
"I'm sure Mr. Tenna will be very pleased to meet you."
Your smile drops. "Wait, what?! I'll be... meeting him?"
She chuckles softly. "Don't get your hopes up. It's just a common courtesy thing with all new employees. But yes, you do get to meet him on your first day."
Your mouth goes a bit dry as you thank her one last time and head outside with the plan to return in three days for your first day on the job. You already thought just being affiliated with Mr. Tenna was overwhelming, but now the fact that you were actually going to meet him sends you right back down into an anxiety spiral, despite the good news you'd just received.
There were certainly bigger fans of TV Time than you out there, you were sure of that. But you were one of the many, many people who tuned in every night to see what shenanigans Mr. Tenna had cooked up for the evening. He had a magnetic personality, perfect for that of a television host, and somehow, he could always tell the corniest jokes without it coming off as cringeworthy. So to say that you were nervous to meet him in person was a bit of an understatement.
You try to relax yourself as you walk back to your motel room. It was probably only going to be a brief meeting: A quick handshake and request for your name, and that would be it. He'd probably forget your name as soon as he heard it, and head right back up to his office on the highest floor of the building. Although you deflate a little at this thought, it does somewhat soothe your worries about meeting him. There would be little reason to worry about making a bad impression... right?
Those three days trudge by, and despite your best efforts, you still find yourself staying awake much longer than usual, buried in thoughts about meeting Mr. Tenna. What would you say? What would he say? Would he like you? Would he hate you? What if he gossiped about how awkward you were to all his buddies? What if he completely forgot about you as soon as he left the room?
You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration. "What if he notices your huge eye bags because you didn't get enough sleep?" you think to yourself. You roll over once more and fall asleep on your last night of unemployment.
Against all odds, you feel moderately well-rested once you wake up. You go to turn your alarm off, but you realize it's not making any noise. Frantically, you double-take at the clock and realize it's 7:45, far too long past when you had set your 7 am alarm. You scramble out of bed and rifle through your clothes to pick out something mildly presentable for your first day, grab a granola bar, and bolt out of the motel to try to make it to the office by 8 am.
You know you look like a mess. You don't even have time to comb your hair as you stumble over yourself running to the studio. Your position didn't seem too demanding in the fashion department - you were essentially a glorified custodian, being tasked with cleaning and organizing various things throughout the studio's offices, with the added responsibility of assisting any lower-level employees who needed help with something. It was grunt work, but you couldn't complain when the pay was as high as it was, even for a position as low as yours.
For any other job, your unruly appearance wouldn't be too much of a stressor for you, but the thing that had been bouncing around in your mind for the last few days was now the only thing you could think of: You were going to meet Mr. Tenna.
Suddenly, all your squashed fears about him disliking you come back full force and wrack your brain with anxiety, and you shake your head to try to dismiss these thoughts as you enter the ground floor lobby of the studio. You show your brand-new employee ID to a remote control Darkner and head into the elevator, punching in the number of your floor as fast as you can. You have about two minutes to make it to your floor and clock in, and you're determined to meet that deadline by any means necessary. You take the momentary elevator time to straighten out your outfit, and try to make your hair look somewhat nice in any way you can. You pray that the courtesy meeting with Mr. Tenna will come later in the day, and you can borrow a comb from a coworker, or something like that. For now, your mind is focused on clocking in on time.
As the elevator finally reaches its stop, you push the doors open and sprint out onto the floor, ready to punch in for the day. Unfortunately, your mission is abruptly cut off by you running full force right into someone, and you immediately fall backwards onto the ground, thrown into a dizzy state.
You begin to profusely apologize, when you look up to see who you had accidentally accosted. There, looking right down at you, is the grinning face of Mr. Tenna.