[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 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.

[sinsparrow]

She can't say she didn't warn herself.

"Oh-- ah, yes. I can." Thank Heaven there is a tank beneath it (dark gray and slim-fitting), because she really doesn't know what she'd have done otherwise. Turned around and left? Stripped down to her underwear? From Ms. Penelope Lane's impassive expression, she doubts either of those would have earned her more than a blink.

Briefly, she glances back at the waiting area; confirms that yes, she seems to be dressed woefully different from the other candidates; cringes slightly at the realization.

"I'm sorry about the clothes. They're...what I have right now." Doubtful that an apology makes much difference, but it seems like a better choice than pretending not to care.

[meanwhileback]

"Understandable," Penelope replies without missing a beat. This is her way of ending this line of conversation in a professional way, and still convey the depths to which her lack of caring truly plunge. Okay, so this woman isn't exactly a professional. She knew she was going to get a gaggle of desperate amateurs, that's no big shock, it's not like she's disappointed in Alba's attire.

If anything, she's hoping that the 'shrinking violet' act she's got going on will translate to something interesting on the runway.

"Okay. If you could go over to that tape line marked on the floor over there, walk to me, stop, pose, turn, and walk back, please." Penelope indicates a twelve-inch strip of masking tape stuck to the carpet a catwalk's length from her table. She pauses, and looks Alba in the eye.

"Try to be confident."

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.

[lupa]

But you just saw me walk from the chair to here-- is what GG would rather like to say, but she holds her tongue. Arty people. You can't argue with them, they don't respond to logic.

Anyway, she's still not sure whether she's impressed or irritated by Penelope, and she'd rather work that one out before she starts arguing with her.

It's just a walk, after all. She gives a vague handgesture that means if you insist and gets to the starting point, where she considers strutting but crisse, she's not a dancing bear. Best, then, to walk as she usually does, though she does slow herself down slightly and take her hands from her pockets, keeping her eyes fixed on Penelope with that same...murder stare. Yes.

This is incredibly weird, she thinks, which nearly puts her off, but she sticks to her just don't show weakness strategy as she arrives at the table once more.

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.

[meanwhileback]

Yes. Speak only when spoken to. Like one would with the Queen of England. Penelope is probably scarier than QE2, anyway.

Well, she certainly stands like a model-- quiet and still, like a living clotheshanger. That's a good sign. Hopefully that means she takes direction well. The fact that she's got a little more visible musculature is good too, for Penelope's line; she wants her women to look like they could conceivably kick the shit out of you. So that's also good.

What's not super good is that she's like the third blonde white girl Penelope has seen in as many minutes, and she was really hoping for a more diverse selection from a city like Baedal. Maybe she should have specified for more Xenians on her announcement.

After glancing over Steph's paperwork, Penelope's eyes flash up to the other woman's face.

"How would you feel about dying your hair?" Nice to meet you too, I guess.

[controlledvariable]

That is - not what Steph was expecting, and an eyebrow goes up as the only indication of surprise. But, to be fair, she's also noticed the rather significant amount of blondes. So her response is a one shouldered shrug and, "It wouldn't be a problem."

It wouldn't be the first time, although she's prefers wigs, and she can always dye it back once everything's over and done with. It might actually be the preferable option, this way she doesn't have to worry as much about anyone potentially recognizing her as Batgirl.

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.

[meanwhileback]

"Your Majesty," Penelope replies, barely glancing up from her scrutiny of the paperwork, as if it's going to tell her something useful. To be perfectly honest, she has no earthly idea why Nuala has showed up for this, but she'd be a fucking idiot not to recognize the benefits she'd get from having someone as visible in the city as her associate herself with her campaign. Penelope Lane is many things, but she is not a fucking idiot.

"So." She places the application face down on the table, folds her hands on top of it, leans forward, takes a breath. Holds it a minute. Releases it.

"Would you feel more comfortable walking my runway in heels, or flats?"

[cailisairgid]

“Highness,” but the correction is polite - genuinely so, because there are a lot of people in Baedal who aren't used to having to deal with royalty in person and she's used to this - and she is pleased to see the quickness of Penelope's good sense. As much as this is something she'd not have participated in if not for Lyla, it has the potential to be a terribly mutually beneficial arrangement. “I'm happy to walk in either. Or both?”

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]

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."

[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.

[meanwhileback]

Oh christ. Penelope has seen this douche on the network, plugging his awful artsy-fartsy plays and generally coming across somewhat less like someone she's qualified to deal with without committing murder.

So. You know. This ought to go well.

"Application," she replies, staring at him, unimpressed. Judgemental. Like she's currently devising a spell that will shrink his genitals to the size of a dime. (She isn't, it should be said. She already knows that spell.)

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."

[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!

[charismatic]

Will's eyebrows go up a little because it's not like he's completely irresistible or something, but he just smiles and says "Sure," and hands the paper over. He's certainly not going to complain about getting paid to prance around in nice clothes. He just hadn't expected it to be quite so easy, judging from some expressions in the waiting area.

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.

[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.

[paradoxlol]

Arthur raises his brow, but he doesn't say anything as he withdraws his hand. He just hands that application over wordlessly, then rests his hands in his pockets. Well, at least she said please...