"Chocolates!" enthused Ian, before popping it into his mouth. Chewing briefly, he swirled the sweet around his mouth once before tucking it into the inside of one of his cheeks. "In that case, I'll see you there Mona? I'm just going to finish up--" he paused to unhinge the melting chocolate from his molars. "Filing," he mumbled pointing over his shoulder at the door as his tongue worked overtime.

Wiggling his fingers in goodbye, Hoshino ducked the swinging arm of the cloak stand and waltzed out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Ergghh they were all so touchyyy. "I'm sure it's top of the line," Mona wheezed, her voice echoing. "I just know that my nose can't handle it. Believe, I don't relish having this charm on my head. It's unflattering."

Mona sat back, relaxing into her plush chair. She studied Sergio, from his slicked-back hair to his leather cloak to his taaannned face and his hurt expression. Hm.

"Sergio," she said, "why did you take this job?"

The former quidditch player had trouble understanding what the lady was saying. It was as if she were underwater, but he imagined she was having a fit over his lovely scent. Because he was left to lipreading, Sergio had a very loose grip on Mona's argument.

After a moment, Sergio realised he had been asked a question, but about what? He tried not to look completely clueless, but he stared blankly at Mona. He thought she might have said something about... lunch? "Well I was going to grab a pint at the Leaky Cauldron," he said, slightly confused. He hope she didn't plan on inviting herself, he'd rather attempt apparating again, which he gave up after a very unfortunate splinching incident.

Ana knocked on Mona's office door and peeked inside, hoping she wasn't interrupting anything. She was still rather nervous around her and Getti (especially Getti) but she would get over that with time...

...or so she hoped.

"Can I come in?" she asked tentatively.

Ooh, knocking. Could one hope that they were learning? Was it only too much to hope that they were not only knocking at her door, but NOT knocking at Getti's door!??! Not quite the time to set off some Wildfire Whiz-bangs in celebration.

"I daresay you'll find you caa-aaan," Mona called out.

As an afterthought, "Oh, mind the cloak stand, if you please."

Ana closed the door behind her, steeping carefully around the cloak stand as she did so, eyeing it curiously.

Turning her gaze to Mona's, she tried to smile pleasantly as she spoke.

"I was wondering, seeing as the drafts are all coming in now... do you expect the section editors to look over the first drafts in our section as well, or do we just look at the articles after they've been improved, later on?"

She hoped what she'd said made at least some sense; were she Mona, Ana wasn't at all sure she'd understand what she was trying to say.

Mona surveyed the quiet, meek woman in front of her. Slender, with fine features, she simply looked as if she would hit the wall behind her if you sneezed too hard. This, if Mona remembered correctly, was one of the fools new staffers that had mistakenly tried to introduce themselves to Getti, and had gotten a mouthful for their trouble. Mona was surprised that Ana had escaped Getti's wrath without breaking a rib. This boded well for the new section editor, but she was going to have to develop a thicker skin than this. Mona was hardly the one to fear here.

She grinned ear to ear. "Certainly, buttercup," she replied. "You are responsible for what your writers produce first. Certainly, myself and Getti will have our input, but it is you that must...improoove them."

She smacked her palm on the desk. "Speaking offff," Mona said, "we should all have ourselves a little get-together, huh? The section editors and myself, I mean." She stood and straightened her sheer blouse with the ruffles down the front, and picked up a sheaf of parchment and a quill in one hand and her coffee in the other. "Come, come." And she marched out of the office.

ooc: I'll post in the journalist's desk area, then the conference room.

Mona ducked into her office, deftly avoiding the killer cloak stand. She dumped the several pounds of paper on her desk, taking a gulp of her coffee before dumping her handbag and coat on the chair directly in front of her desk. She turned, coffee in hand, and stared at what appeared to be thin air. Digging her wand from the depths of her handbag, "thin air" became a large board, and she gazed at it steadily, thinking.

You, board, hold the key to this campaign, to the Prophet's immortalizing of this event. Speak to me, board.