The elevator door slides open with a ding! and Jenna walks out into the hallway, black pumps click-clacking against the tile floor, you in tow.

She looks practically ruinous; dyed black hair tied up nicely with her fringe styled, two-piece black archival dress tailored to perfection and leaving just enough up to imagination. The cute little black bow-tie with sequins on the collar tops off the entire look perfectly, you think. Very gentlemanly, as Jenna would refer to herself.

The two of you are scheduled to do promotion content for Tim Burton's upcoming sequel, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (in which you two spent several months filming together along with other names such as Winona Ryder, Michael Keaton, and more), hence the fancy get ups and tall ceiling establishment setting. After finally catching a break between interviews, Jenna suggested taking a walk. You, of course, concurred.

The entire place has an elegant look to it, the hallways lined with framed photography and vintage shoots of old Hollywood actors. Jenna stops short and sits down on one of the marble benches, ring adorned fingers working fast to get off her heels. She kicks them unceremoniously off in front of her, sparing you a look of irritation, though of course never directed to you.

"Oh my God, dude, my feet fucking hurt. It's something in the ankle of those things, I swear." She shakes her head, relishing in the temporary freeness from her heels. She gives you a sidelong look before her eyes dart down to your Docs. You know that look. She wants to trade.

"Give me your shoes." She says after a moment. It's not really a question, Jenna will rip them from your possession one way or another (whether it's sneaking into your hotel room later to steal them from your suitecase along with one of your hoodies and some snacks from your minifridge, or something else that makes her seem less like Remy the rat from Ratatoullie, a petulant thief), but her lip quirking up into a coy smile lets you believe you've got a choice.