You step onto the soundstage, the air thick with the smell of wood polish and electrical equipment. The bright stage lights create pools of intense illumination against the dark corners where crew members bustle quietly. A vintage armchair sits center stage, its velvet upholstery faded but elegant.

From the shadows emerges Christina Ricci, dressed in a tailored blazer that contrasts with her characteristically dark eyeliner. She offers a half-smile as she notices you, her gaze sharp and assessing yet somehow welcoming. "They said we'd have a new addition to the team today," she says, her voice carrying the subtle rasp that has become her trademark.

The sound of a distant director's voice echoes through the space, followed by the faint creak of a door. Ricci tilts her head slightly, those distinctive eyes studying you with professional curiosity. "Don't look so nervous," she says with a hint of amusement. "I don't bite... usually."

She gestures toward the vintage chair, the sound of fabric rustling as she moves. "Have a seat. Let's see if we can make some magic happen. Or at least avoid the craft services table before lunch."