[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

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.

[meanwhileback]

...Well, she's got a signature style, Penelope will give her that. The staring is a little unnerving, admittedly, but in a huge room full of several hundred people and reporters and flashbulbs going off, it will probably be a benefit. She can work with this.

"Okay. Cool. How do you feel about dying your hair?" Not that there's anything wrong with GG's coloring as it is, she's just seen a fuckload of white blonde women today, and she'd like to cut down on the number of wigs she has to use. A pause. "...Or shaving your head?"

[meanwhileback]

Penelope makes a little note at the bottom of Steph's application, to remind herself of this later. Also a checkmark. Whatever that means.

"Okay. Can you put your heels on and walk for me?" She points with her pen over to a line of masking tape stuck to the carpet a little ways off from the table. "Just down, turn, pose, and back. Nothing too fancy please, I just want to see you at your natural."

[meanwhileback]

Oh thank every single god in Baedal, it's not another blonde. Penelope would hire her on the spot, if she knew she could walk. Well, she'll just have to keep her fingers crossed.

She takes Clarice's application, looks it over, taking her time. No experience, but she's tall enough, and she's certainly got the edge her collection needs. So it's struttin' time.

"Okay. If you could put your heels on and show me your walk," she says, pointing to a strip of masking tape stuck to the carpet about a runway's length from the table. It's not really a question. "Just down, pose, turn, and back, please."

[meanwhileback]

"I'm hoping to get enough people that we won't have to do any quick-change acts backstage. I want the clothes to speak loudly and carry a big stick, rush-jobbing the application is kind of counterintuitive, and anyway, we'll have plenty of time to get it right."

She's perfectly kind and polite, and ever so accommodating, but jesus is Nuala intimidating. Not in a way where Penelope is actually afraid of her in any way, just in a 'you really don't want to fuck up in front of this one' sort of way. Like she's an elephant that never forgets. A really pale elephant.

"It'll depend on what I've got you wearing, and I've got some ideas about that already, but let's see your walk first. Just... you know, as a formality." Because there's no question as to her being accepted or not, here, is there?

[controlledvariable]

A checkmark is good, right?

"Sure thing," It takes her about five seconds to step out of her boots and slip into the five inch pumps she pulls from her bag - it seemed like the best height to go for - which then gets dropped near the table, as she huffs out a breath and walks to the masking tape line.

While her walk isn't necessarily a model walk, her steps are even, confident and there's a certain grace to her movements, her posture perfect, born of five years of martial arts and even more of gymnastics (which will be on the paperwork somewhere, if there's a place for that sort of information). The pose might leave a little to be desired, but Penelope said natural, so Steph doesn't try too hard and she figures if she gets approval there's always time to work on this bit.

Once she's back at the table, she clasps her hands behind her back and tilts her head to the side in a silent how'd I do?. Penelope does not inspire her to be talkative, apparently.

[andyoullmissit]

Clarice switches out her shoes and complies. She's clearly never done any modeling before, but she's been trained in movement from childhood. (In a world that had turned out differently, Clarice would have enjoyed being a dancer, she sometimes thinks.)

Her movements are powerful but controlled: precise. She has no real idea how to pose, but does her best based on hazy memories of catwalks on TV in her childhood.

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.

[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."

[controlledvariable]

It's the hey that gets her attention, and her gaze snaps up to him, briefly assessing before she smiles.

"Are you saying I don't look like a model?" It's clearly teasing, her eyebrows up in an exaggerated questioning look and a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Obviously she does not look like a model, but she'll cover any of her sheepishness about being here with the easy joke.

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."

[charismatic]

"Nah," Will says, waving a hand and plopping himself down in a nearby seat. "It takes all kinds." Like he actually knows more about fashion than loud and shiny and makes my ass look cute. Whatever, it's all he really needs to know.

[controlledvariable]

"I don't think that's helping," If she was the sort of person with a fragile ego, but she's not really fussed. The idea of her trying to be an actual real model is hilarious, considering the effort that goes into it (Apparently constant training and fighting supervillains is... different... somehow...).

"So are you here to make the rest of us look better by comparison?" Ouch.

[charismatic]

Will raises a hand to his chest, clicking his tongue with an exaggerated grimace. "Ow," he says, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his shirt. "You go right for the heart, lady."

[controlledvariable]

"It's the most nutritious organ," Which is, admitedly, an even worse joke considering they live in a city where a gore tax is a thing that exists.

But she grins at him, clearly amused by her own terrible sense of humour, "You ever modelled before?"

[charismatic]

"Nope," Will says cheerful. "But just look at me," he adds, like he hasn't spent the last couple minutes being ragged on that very topic. He laughs before he can finish the voila, I'm fabulous gesture though, and shakes his head. "I'm just happy to be out and about. I figured I might as well check this out."

[controlledvariable]

"Oh yes, you can't tell, but I'm swooning right now," Her teasing is a little unfair, but good-natured because she does think Will is kind of cute; she'd be nicer if she didn't think so, which is a logic that only makes sense in her head, "And I had heard that strutting down a catwalk was an appropriate 'I'm alive!' celebration."

It's so much easier, she's decided, to be friendly with people she doesn't know that well. It's a lot different than spending time with her close friends in the city and wondering if they'll be leaving next.

[charismatic]

"Exactly," Will says, stroking his chin in his best approximation of 'wise sage.' It's not very good. "Plus, it's probably safer inside, since we have floating monsters again. Less aggressive, though, so that's nice."

It's Baedal. He'll take what he can get.

[controlledvariable]

"They're prettier than the last lot, but it's only safer inside if you don't count the fact we had to walk through the floating monsters to get here," Steph isn't always a worst-case-scenario kind of girl, but she does feel the need to point that part out.

She wonders how many people didn't turn up today, just because of the jellyfish, and feels a little bad for Penelope.

[lupa]

GG runs a hand through her hair as she speaks, her other hand on her hip. "I'm not shaving my head. Quite likely it wouldn't work anyway." See also: body hair. GG shaved her underarms last night for the first time in God knows how long and there's already dark stubble visible. "But I could dye it. Uh- preferably natural colours."

She doesn't have anything against unnaturally coloured hair- it's just that if it transfers over to her wolf shape, then not only will prey likely see a bright pink or blue wolf coming a mile off, GG suspects they'd crack up laughing.

You know, figuratively, because she (very firmly) doesn't hunt anything which can actually laugh.

[cailisairgid]

There isn't, and she doesn't. Forget, that is; psychic.

“Of course,” she agrees, with the sphinx smile that so contributes to the air about her that suggests not only will she remember, she may be grading your performance - she's always been demanding, but in Baedal she's cultivated not having to demand anything. It's an interestingly effective strategy.

She came in heels, so she'll walk in heels; they're not exceptionally high and not remarkably low, either, and she's comfortable enough in them, having honed her walk under pressure in Hellsing's halls. Not unsurprisingly, it is in a word regal - at her age what's natural and what she was once taught are largely indistinguishable in her mannerisms, and there's an artlessness to her arrogance, the way she carries herself and the way she seems to expect the air in the room to change when she moves through it.

It has a habit of doing so.

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.

[cailisairgid]

“I have every confidence that Ms Lane is a shrewd businesswoman,” she says, placidly, not lifting her eyes from where she's filling in the paperwork that she collected with Lyla on arrival. This entire experience is arguably odder to her than the bizarre threat of the jellyfish in the sky, which she's responded to mainly by checking her security and acquiring a ward-enhanced umbrella to move to and from the carriage with; monsters and magic are her areas of expertise. Filling out an application for something that could actually be termed a job is a wholly new thing, and she'll more than likely donate her time in the end.

(Even Hellsing doesn't actually pay Nuala; she's Integra's princess, and thus taken care of.)

[meanwhileback]

Just the fact that he looks rather remarkably like Rex, whom she is already vaguely acquainted with, but clearly isn't, given how he looks a lot less like he woke up in a landfill in the morning, is enough to garner suspicion from Penelope. Thus, the Bitch Switch is flipped firmly into the On position for this interview.

"Application, please." And she holds her hand out expectantly, pointedly ignoring his offer for a handshake. We're not equals here, meat.

[meanwhileback]

Oh thank every single wacky-ass god in Baedal, he's not white. If one more blonde person were to walk in the door, the Grand Bitch of Baedal's Fashion Scene may have had to flip some tables and demonstrate why she's got the reputation she does.

"Hi," Penelope replies, and gives his hand a shake. "You're hired. Can I see your application."

...Well that went well!