[OPEN] i hate to tell you but it's all an illusion

[meanwhileback]

Who: Penelope Lane, a very traumatized-looking Wolfgang Einhorn, and YOU! YES, YOU!!! GET OVER HERE
What: The open casting call for Penelope's fashion line! Also known as "Models A-Go-Go" or "The Trolliest Place On Earth".
Where: The Valhalla Inn. Specifically, the Ballroom. (Yes, it has one. It's a hotel, isn't it?)
When: Coardi, Ceidary 16th. Also known as "Today". Doors open at noon!
Notes: I'll post two thread starters, one for mingling amongst one another in the waiting area, where you should feel free to post WILDLY about how ridiculous this all is, get into fights, etc, and another for your own personal threads with Penelope, where she will decide if you are ~what she wants~. If you want to post elsewhere (outside the Valhalla being attacked by jellyfish, having a smoke break out back, snorting coke in the bathrooms, whatever) feel free!! Just make a note where it is in the subject. Y'all know the drill!
Warnings: Cursing, trollery, diva behavior. Possibly giant sky-jellyfish harassing the building. The usual.

Signs posted in the lobby and hallways of the Valhalla direct interested parties back past the dining hall to a large, seldom-used room, helpfully labeled "Ballroom" in several different languages, many not remotely native to Earth. Inside, the carpeted room is otherwise similar to general design scheme of the Valhalla, except slightly dustier. Several rows of folding chairs have been set up in a sort of airport-style waiting area to the side, and far to the end of the room sits a long table.

Seated smack in the center of that table is Penelope Lane, The Grand Bitch Herself, smoking a cigarette and looking for all the world like she's enormously dissatisfied with just about everything she can possibly think of. On the table in front of her is a notebook and pen, an ashtray, and a polaroid camera. Somewhere, a radio is playing through slightly crackly speakers.

At the entrance, a small table has been set up with a stack of carefully typed applications and a handwritten sign, instructing that applicants should take one and sit in the waiting area to fill out the paperwork until the number at the top of their form is called.

It's all very professional, or it would be, if there weren't the threat of giant killer sky-jellyfish floating around outside eating people. This has, understandably, put something of a damper on the occasion. But as they say, the show must go on. Because Penelope says so. Damnit.

Comments

The Waiting Area

[meanwhileback]

The chairs in the waiting area are not what could be kindly termed "comfortable", but at least you won't be sitting on the carpet to fill out your remarkably thorough applications!

waiting area | alba

[sinsparrow]

An opportunity is an opportunity.

It's what she's telling herself, trying not to hyperventilate, which is a bit more difficult than it might already have been due to a morning spent watching the lovely, unnerving sky jellyfish -- "sky cnidaria," the announcement had called them. For now, she was grateful she didn't actually need to leave the Inn to get to the casting. Maybe if this worked out she could buy herself a cheap lighter. Twenty cheap lighters... though the idea of fending off one of the creatures with that flimsy amount of fire seemed as unlikely as their strange floating beauty.

In case she was wondering what the city would be like, she supposes.

She picks up an application, finds a chair, crosses and uncrosses her legs. She still has the headache -- almost nonstop, since she got here -- and nightmares, always about the void. But this is something to do, even if it seems almost as impossible as the jellyfish. It is significantly better than doing nothing at all.

[gramarye]

Why he has to be here is beyond Wolfgang, considering Penelope made it extremely clear he has no choice in the matter -- not that he'd turn it down, because she also promised to shower him with fistfuls of cash, and. Okay, he's not going to complain about a paying gig, either. He just feels really superfluous sitting next to her while she terrorizes a series of tall, skinny people, doing nothing. He did the best he could with her dress code, but plain jeans and a tank top is... not his usual attire.

He slips out at several points for coffee and a cigarette -- not that she'd care about the latter, she's been chain-smoking all morning, but he really does need the caffeine since he keeps nodding off. It's on one of these expeditions out that he notices Alba there -- how can he not, he basically has the same expression on his face 24/7. He pauses, stirring his cup of shitty burnt coffee with enough sugar in it to make a spoon stand up straight. "Hi," he says. "All right?" She seems nervous, is all.

waiting area | nuala (yes really)

[cailisairgid]

It isn't that Nuala didn't already own white trousers and a tank top - she does, both staples of her wardrobe when she's not wearing a gown buttoned up to her throat - it's just that she's accustomed to this involving layers, blouses and blazers and coats...but Lyla had been persuasive, and she likes the idea both of supporting a young lady within her cohort (which, it has occurred to her, her public relations can spin to her advantage) and of participating in something with Lyla that she seems interested in. They've suffered so many losses - she'd like to do something for her, and so she sits neatly in one of the seats with a pen and an application, conscious of Logan not far from her and trusting him to keep an eye on where Lyla is as well.

This is, most likely, the most dressed down anyone in this inn has ever seen her.

[perfectcameo]

This is one of less likely places Logan pictured himself standing in when he took the job, and his discomfort is gently simmering down to acceptance. He is dressed about as neatly as he gets, in a button-down with the collar open, nice jeans, boots that don't have mud on them, and a jacket from which he has rescued a cigar, turned in slow pivots between his fingers as he makes note of about everyone in the room and their proximity to Nuala - that first, before their attractiveness, to his credit.

He hasn't lit up. He doesn't usually smoke when on duty as it stands, although now and then he's dismissed for whatever reason and can sneak in a few puffs if the mood takes him. That is not right now.

There is some leggy lady who is wearing white pants that do good things for her ass, and although Nuala doesn't necessarily need to be guarded from asses, Logan's attention drifts by along with it before this is dismissed as well, tipping his head enough for his neck to pop. He hasn't been back to the Valhalla Inn until now, not since he roughed up the desk guy on his way out, and that in combination with giant flying jellyfish outside, juxtaposed with this place full of people who do not look like him--

"Wonder if they're gonna try and keep you waiting," he gruffs out.

The Waiting Area

[agrat]

Lea is not really attired to correspond with the casting call--despite what Penelope says, Lea has a hard time believing her, and thinks her look is a lot more swimsuit or just plain Playboy model than any kind of fashion. The way she is dressed certainly highlights as much: all impressive cleavage, stacked platform boots, lace-up black hotpants, and partially exposed leopard print bra, accentuated with what is probably considered too much layered jewelry, including heart-shaped door-knocker earrings. She is here because she thinks GG would be better in the part, and she's obviously got to provide moral support.

And maybe because she wants to peer impishly at all of the others in the waiting room, well-aware she's a walking spectacle and not really caring. Currently she is leaning against the wall near a chair, but eventually, surely, she'll sit down. From here, she can see Penelope, and Lea tilts her head, arching up onto her toes despite already being in heels, to get a better look.

"I should have brought more candy," she tells GG, "I could share with everybody."

She's still on her 'not smoking' kick, so these days it's mostly blowpops. Look, she missed candy in the apocalypse.

[lupa]

GG looks...hungover.

She's not, it must be said, but she is wearing sunglasses (...indoors) and clutching a coffee because Jesus, noon? Noon for GG is like five AM for everyone else. That said, it's not like she's unused to disrupted sleep patterns.

GG is dressed the part; well, a tank top and jeans isn't too far away from her usual garb, after all. She too is standing, leaning against the wall and projecting a general air of being unimpressed.

It's not entirely genuine. She vaguely admires Penelope's ability to sit on that chair like a throne, at the very least, though it also manages to grate on her. This is like discovering an alien civilisation- by being abducted. Very interesting, but not particularly pleasant.

"To share with models?" she asks. "They'll think you're trying to sabotage them or something. Anyway, almost everyone here is too scared to eat...or they're Penelope Lane." Following Lea's gaze with a slight grin- "And I don't think she'd accept. You can't smoke candy."

waiting area

[controlledvariable]

This is stupid.

The thought runs through Steph's head as she walks into the ballroom, picks up the forms and slinks off to a chair to fill them out. It's stupid because she's very much not a model, despite being dressed to Penelope's specifications, she's got a sweater thrown over the tank top, conscious of her scars and unsure whether they'll mean she'll be deemed inappropriate for the campaign right off the bat. Not to mention the fact she's never done anything like this before. But money is money; something she can always use more of.

And maybe, just maybe, there's a part of her that's still the girl who stuck posters of models and actors and superheroes on her wall and wished that one day she'd get out of her hellhole of a life and be like them. There's no chance she'd ever admit that, even to herself, but she can't deny there's appeal to the idea of being able to say she's modelled. So she's here, legs tucked underneath her on the seat and looking equal parts apprehensive and excited.

[charismatic]

Will doesn't really have a reason to be here -- he's not low on cash and his ego doesn't need really need a boost (or a pointed take down, depending on how things go down), but he has the day off and he's so pleased about being back at full mobility that trotting around the neighborhood in a tank top and his best jeans seems like an appealing prospect. And if he does end up getting some extra money for it, that's even better.

All in all, he's in a pretty good mood. It's a nice day out, other than the giant jellyfish, and he's alive and well and not in any direct danger, even if he does have to do some paperwork. He doesn't pay much attention to anyone until he finishes that up, and then he catches sight of Steph.

"Hey," he says easily, stepping over to her seat. "Fancy seeing you here."

edges of the waiting area | hal

[incaptivity]

Hal isn't dressed for this. Which is appropriate, considering he had no intention of showing up for it in the first place. He'd noticed the announcement when it went out, of course, but hadn't seen fit to pay much attention to the details until it was right here, in the middle of the inn, directly in the path of his current jogging route. (Indoors today, because he doubts a run-in with a sky jellyfish would be good for his self-control.)

And so he is here in his workout clothes, a close-fitting shirt and a pair of yoga pants, hovering awkwardly at the threshold and furrowing his brows at the lot of them. What in God's name are they doing? He's supposed to go through there. This is his route, guys.

The Waiting Area

[andyoullmissit]

Clarice is pretty much just curious. Curious, and maybe a little passively aggressively trying to see just how far outside of Mafaton the city likes its visibly xenian population. Since coming to Baedal, she's been re-negotiating a new set of rules, and quiet resentment comes and goes, checked by the knowledge that it could be much, much worse.

She's never done anything remotely like this before, though, and she realizes that she may be deeply out of her element almost the moment she's there - not because she looks xenian, but because the closest she's ever come to anything like fashion is looking at magazines as a little girl.

Still, pride won't let her turn tail, and she figures the worst that can happen is a rude dismissal. That she can cope with.

So she perches on a chair, and starts trying to make heads or tails of the application.

[captainredwhiteblue]

Why One Should Never Take Stupid Bets With Coworkers, Exhibit A: Captain Steve Rogers.

He doesn't take a chair, because the place seems full of ladies, and it would be rude for him to do so and leave any of them standing. So he leans against a wall, clipboard and pen in hand, filling in the form with great care (and ridiculously nice handwriting, what even).

Of course he's filling out the form, he lost the bet fair and square, he's gonna do this properly.

[agrat]

Nearby, there is a young lady in quite an outfit, a blow-pop in her hand. Though she is on the taller-than-average side, she is not a model, and thus hasn't bothered to dress the part. She is also leaning against the wall, and tilts toward Steve just slightly in order to address him, with curious eyes.

"Have you done this before?"

The Interview

[meanwhileback]

Everyone who applies gets seen, so eventually, Penelope calls the number on top of your form. Approach with caution. Do not feed the designer.

interview | alba

[sinsparrow]

And then it is her turn. And, once again, Alba reminds herself that she has no idea what she's doing.

Well, that's not precisely true. She has had interviews before, after all: with Hellsing, back in Bête Noire. But that was something entirely different. Nervously, she smooths her skirt; there has been an opportunity to wash her things, at least, since arriving, but it doesn't change the fact that she has only the one set of clothes, the outfit completed by an oversized sweater and low-heeled pair of lace-up boots. Really, it could be worse: at least she likes the sweater.

"Ms. Lane?" Her voice is quiet as she approaches. "You spoke to me on the network. A few days ago."

[meanwhileback]

Oh. That's not even remotely close to what a model should wear. Well, she's new, and probably didn't think to look back at the notice she put on the network, and also there's crazy sky jellyfish outside, so it's likely she hasn't gotten out to get more clothes.

Still. Strike one.

Penelope nods once, curt and to the point, and holds out her hand to take Alba's paperwork.

"I remember." She scans the paperwork, her face an impenetrable brick wall of business intensity. The cigarette pursed in her lips twitches for an instant until she plucks it away and abruptly fixes Alba with a fairly scrutinizing look.

"Can you take your sweater off?" If there's a tank or something under that. Hell, a bra would be better than a baggy sweater.

interview | GG

[lupa]

GG's number is called; GG sighs, gives Lea a Look and strides over. She doesn't walk like a model- she has a predatorial sort of gait, prowling more than anything- and nor, really, does she look like someone who does this kind of thing often. She's vaguely uncomfortable in the Inn and distinctly adrift in the situation- but she's clearly made the conscious decision to act like nothing can bother her.

"Hey," she says, putting down both her application and her sunglasses on the table. The application: no experience modelling, currently working as a bouncer at the Vault, skills including three languages and an ability to badly injure people (...reading between the lines of 'police training' and 'experience in crisis situations', she did not actually write that), and if there is a section for species, 'werewolf' written in careful handwriting. "I'm GG."

No smile, just a stare, because this is how you treat difficult situations; you stare them down. (Interview skills, werewolf style).

She's tall, at least, and pretty in a very blonde way which rather contrasts with...everything else, such as the expression of intense and watchful challenge and the tattoos- her tank top leaves a sliver of stomach visible, along with a few inked black stars at the top of her hipbone, and there's the M and cross of a miraculous medal on her shoulder.

[meanwhileback]

If there's one thing Penelope appreciates in a model, it's a look in the eyes that says they're currently thinking about murdering everyone in the room. That and some edge, and height, and a killer walk, and the ability to show up on time and not whine about anything, but mostly the murder thing.

"Hey," she says, not so much intimidated as impressed, and takes the application, looking it over. Good, she's tough. Maybe in photos she'd be less likely to deliver than some others, but on the runway? Penelope doubts GG would be intimidated overmuch by stomping a catwalk. This bodes well.

"So. Wanna show me a walk real quick?" She points to a 12-inch line of masking tape stuck to the carpet a runway's length from the table, indicating a starting point. Not even going to bother telling her how to do it. Penelope thinks she'll get the idea.

interview | steph

[controlledvariable]

The first thing Steph does when her number is called is to pull off her sweater, tucking it into the bag she brought with her before walking over to the table, depositing the paperwork in front of her. The white tank top she's wearing is fitted and plain, but means both her muscles and scars are noticable; the most obvious being a bullet scar under her left collarbone. Her jeans are dark blue and tight, she's curled her hair loosely and left it down (though there's elastics around her wrist), and there are heels in her bag to replace the ankle boots she wore on her way over, if she makes it that far into the interview process.

She doesn't introduce herself, doesn't bother with a greeting - she's met Penelope once before and she feels like both would be superfluous. Her demeanour right now is one of cultivated, practised stillness as she waits for Penelope to speak first.

interview | nuala

[cailisairgid]

In due time, Nuala's number is called and she rises, leaving her cardigan (grey, knee-length, belted) in Logan's care and taking the form she's neatly and thoroughly filled out in the intervening time to sit down opposite Penelope, crossing her knees and offering the paperwork forward, the natural gold of her nails a contrast against not only the white paper but also her alarmingly pale skin, the silk tank she's wearing and her trousers and white pumps. At her knuckles, in the creases between her fingers, at her collarbones - the places where human coloring varies slightly, hers is subtly gold.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lane,” she says, politely. ...presumably even with Penelope, she doesn't actually have to introduce herself.

Interview | Clarice

[andyoullmissit]

She's respectful, even if she thinks this might be foolish; she's no wish to waste Ms. Lane's time, but presumes the designer knows well enough to simply dismiss her if she's terrible.

When called, Clarice comes in quietly but without hesitation. She's about 5'9" in flats, a pair of heels in hand. (She'd already owned the black tank and the jeans, but the heels are recently broken in.) The markings on her face are striking, but they certainly aren't makeup.

"Clarice Ferguson," she confirms professionally, along with her number, then waits for instructions.

Interview | Marty

[theworstmagician]

And here's Marty, dressed in a fitted white shirt and jeans. Despite the fact that it's not raining, he's carrying a simple black umbrella with him, his line of defense against the giant jellyfish in the sky. Who knew it could be so handy? When it's his turn, he walks up to the table with a cocky gait, miraculously refraining from swinging the umbrella around like he's Gene Kelly. He's feeling pretty good about his chances so far. There aren't as many guys at the casting call, and he's got the youthful aesthetic down, if he says so himself. Also, his hair, tousled like he's just rolled out of bed (which he probably did), is standing up magnificently today, which only boosts his already sizable confidence.

Modeling. Why hadn't he thought to try this before? It's like acting, only easier because there aren't any lines to remember.

"Hey." He offers a hand, fingertips smelling of nicotine from the cigarette he'd just had about half an hour ago. "I'm Marty." Cue grin.

interview | will

[charismatic]

Will's not much for nerves. By the time it's his turn, he's more curious than he was when he got here, glancing around at some familiar faces and more that he doesn't know, but that's about it. He's dressed appropriately in dark wash skinnies and a pale green tank, his application is filled out, and he's maybe not quite as tall as the handful of other guys in the room, but his gait is easy and confident and he's not insecure about his looks. It'll go how it'll go.

"Hi," he says, offering a hand. "I'm Will."

interview | arthur

[paradoxlol]

Modeling. There's something he never thought he'd do. In fact, it's something he's never been remotely interested in. But right now? He needs money. With Mal's departure, he and Ariadne are saddled with a rent that's higher than they anticipated, and he's having to make ends meet by taking what odd jobs he can when he's not working at his "real" (legal) occupation.

When his number's called, Arthur stands and walks purposefully to Penelope's table. Arthur doesn't really want to be here, and he hopes it doesn't show in his expression. Really, what's more likely to leave an impression is the fact that his face bears an eerie resemblance to one Dr. Rex Lewis. Of course, there are some differences. Arthur, for his part, looks healthier, better put together, and there's clear muscle definition beneath his shirt. He may also be slightly taller than his doppleganger. Call it the benefits of a healthier lifestyle.

"Arthur," he says, offering his hand for a shake.

outside the inn

[gramarye]

Wolfgang slips off at several occasions, mostly to get coffee, because he is tired (he is always tired) and the caffeine... well, it's not waking him up but it is keeping him from falling asleep. Maybe that's actually all the sugar he dumps into it to make it palatable.

At one point he heads outside for a cigarette because he comes from a time and place where smoking indoors is rude. He's sitting, knees up to his chest, hand-rolled cigarette in hand, and eyeing a smallish sky jellyfish as it floats serenely over the building. It's high enough off the ground to not be a threat, it's just kind of eerie watching them, and he, for one, is not going to kill something that isn't hurting anyone.