[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

[meanwhileback]

Penelope doesn't appear to have realized that.

"Who says it's not a fashion statement?" she deadpans. Let's be real; everything is a fashion statement. Whether or not it's a statement that should be made with whichever line or brand identity is entirely within the purview of the individual designer; Penelope likes it. It just means that people who wear her clothes are people who have lived.

Gathering up her Polaroid camera, she stands, and waves GG off to a nearby blank section of wall. "Alright, if you could just stand there for a second, I'll take a quick snap or two for my records, and then we're done. I'll call you for your fitting in a couple of weeks."

Translation: You're hired.

[lupa]

GG actually gives her a slightly sharp what even look at the suggestion that she's hired already but quickly gets rid of that when she remembers that's actually a good thing.

"--fantastic. Thanks. Oh, and, uh- good luck with the rest of it." Which is probably not what you're meant to say in situations like this, but look at the crowd; Penelope has A Day ahead of her. GG's being polite. ...Trying.

And she heads off to that wall, hands in her pockets, not quite sure what just happened but very slightly pleased. Alright, more than very slightly.

Look, after everything, being a model sounds pretty cool, doesn't it?