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INGRID.
âAbandoned? No!â On that point she is emphatic. A couples costume didnât mean a couple. âHeâs okay, heâs justââ Talking with Ruby, and itâs not the first time sheâs heard whispers that she should be paying more attention to what those two are doing. Theyâre both her friends, and she shouldnât care for anything else, no matter how many people feel the need to point it out. Even if she trusts Ritaâs judgement far more than her own. âWeâre mingling.â A perfectly non-offensive word for her indecision. âBesides heâs not my date or anything fancy. He can talk to Ruby.â Or sweet talk, she shrugged off the notion. âI guess the costume doesnât work as well alone. But I couldnât compare to you anyways!â She gestured at Ritaâs outfit, lingering on the cane that sheâd seamlessly adapted into part of her persona. âThis suit looks way too good!â
The way the girl stumbles over her words tells Rita everything she needs to know, and when an unsatisfied look falls on the blondeâs face the last she tries to do is hide it. It was cute, really, how she was justifying his actions. However, she also saw it as a bad habit. âMingling.â She repeats the word with a soft laugh. âFor the whole night.â Itâs not a question. But it is also not her business. Or, maybe it was, it would explain a lot of conversations and decisions being held for the night. âYou know,â she nods as the thought comes to her head, âyouâre quite adorable, little Roth.â Rita manages to muse aloud before Ingridâs compliment is said but when it does she has no hesitation in accepting. On the contrary, she takes a step back for Ingrid to take a good look at it. âWhy thank you.â She smooths her free hand over her coat, âCouldnât let myself be out shined by the boys, could I?â
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TALIESIN.
        Taliesin studies Rita with interest, itâs rare for him to come across a somewhat unfamiliar face. Heâs could pick almost any person in this room and list a handful of facts about them. But Rita, he knows her name, her face, but the details are fuzzy. He has to remind himself not to press for information, a habit picked up from so long interviewing others. âWouldnt go to a fortune teller for that, reading are often cryptic, personal. Though if youâre not opposed to eavesdropping she could be helpful.â He points out, shoulders lifting in a slight shrug. He isnât sure how Cora would feel about someone listening in to a reading, though he doubts she would actually care. His gaze flickers to the woman across the room, hands hovering over tarot cards. When he turns back to her, heâll act as if he doesnât notice Ritaâs gaze on glass in hand.
        you can tell me, and it sounds like you can trust me. Brings a smile to his lips. âBoring? No.â He chuckles, shaking his head ever so slightly. âweâve got two children running around with vodka filled squirt guns. Even if I did find it boring, it certainly wouldnât stay boring for long.â Taliesin avoids the question, doesnât mean to do it, doesnât really realize he has.
"Iâm afraid thereâs not much Iâm opposed to.â She lets the comment come out like an after-thought, meaningless and light. In spite the truth behind it she doubts it lacks any new information and because of it, she moves past it, much more interested in what Taliesin has to say about the party. When Rita had first heard about the theme from Coraâs own lips sheâd been left speechless, mouth slightly ajar and eyebrow quirked with interest. It was undoubtedly completely Coraâs style, and although Rita was not of the spiritual kind she could appreciate the creativity behind it.Â
The woman had a gift.
When Rita smiles back its because itâs the polite thing to do. âNo?â She pushes him for more just before he has more to say, the mention of a certain couple running around making her turn away from him- eager to find the mentioned pair. Sheâd seen them of course, though rarely together. âBonnie and Clyde, yes.â There had been talk about them. Or him, rather. âTheyâre quite the pair.â Again, her tone implies sheâs not very interested, though for certain reasons she most certainly is. As if remembering his presence, Rita turns quickly to face Taliesin once more, âbut what about you? Is your attire our show for the night? Beautiful, by the way, but you canât blame me for wanting a little more out of you for our entertainment.âÂ
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INGRID.
âThe night is young. Iâll rob a bank soon.â She laughs along, glad to have amused Rita, if only for a moment. The two were hardly close, still she wanted to get along with Cyrusâs coworker. She wanted to get along with everyone, but Rita of all people felt important. âIâm great, itâs a party. Whatâs not to like?â She twirled the gun, clunky but successful. The joke died quickly, but what mattered was that it stuck at all. âNot everyone is game for armed robbery, but so far this olâ gun has served me well. Besides itâs colorfulâwarns people Iâm serious.â If she knew anything about Cy, it was that the dress code was black suit, black accessories. Whatever heâd brought had to fit that code. âI havenât seen him yet, think heâll be threatened?â
Rita leans forward when asked the question, tone suddenly stern though no real harm behind it. "Heâs a dead man walking.â She assures her with confidence as she motions to the toy gun, the blank look on her face replaced with a grin as she leans back. âWhereâs your Clyde, Bonnie?â Rita tilts her head when the question comes to mind, realizing the other half of the costume was missing. âWhatâs a Bonnie without her Clyde, right?â Sheâs distracted when she says this, invested in finding out who Clyde is supposed to be. Rita had her suspicions, after all there were only so many people sheâd seen socializing with the girl. Either Ingrid was very picky with her company or her brother was. She looks at their surroundings for only a moment longer before giving up, a deep and disappointed sigh passing through her lips. âDonât tell me heâs abandoned you.â The cane moves from one hand to the other, âitâs that kid Thomas, yes?â She pretends to ask in spite of knowing the answer already. âThe one sweet talking little Ruby Torrance?â
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JEROME.
Jerome pursed his lips at the mention of his own name, and heâs tempted to let out a cynical laugh. The implications of this pseudo-religion were outright bizarre, and if he were to ask Eve Austero about it, he was sure she might point out some odd hint of misogyny that he himself cannot name. He can imagine the benefits of being the mother of a contract, rather than a contract herself. Actually, he doesnât have to imagine; he knows his mother, once destitute, is now living in a comfortable home bought on Jeromeâs dime, and her children â his siblings â can now rely on him, rather than on a version of her that had lived paycheck to paycheck.Â
The thought sickened him.
âWhat if they give birth to the next Joseph Naor, thinking they have a Ruby Torrance?â Jerome asked. âI should hope the organization has the smarts not to turn the children into cash cows before theyâre old enough to be liable for their own actions.â
Rita stares at him in blatant disbelief but it isnât long before sheâs laughing at his statement, unable to stop herself for that brief moment. âI couldnât bear the disappointment.â Sheâs honest with him as she places the paper back on the table, pushing it back towards Jeromeâs general direction. She read everything she needed to know about it. Still her thoughts linger, mentally comparing the two young adults mentioned. The differences were vast, her job description not necessary to tell them both apart. She pitied the young boy, though she knew little of him he was but a number to her like the rest of them. âYou canât completely disregard the runt of the litter, Mr. Castillo.â Sheâs quick to point out the flaw, âthis kid, Joseph Naor is proof of that, no? Have a little faith. Thereâs a job for everyone.â
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TALIESIN.
        Taliesin isnât particularly interested in party activities, while he loves the chance to dress up heâd much rather be at home in his bed than surrounded by people who despise each other. But attendance is mandatory, a way for Cora to get what she wants, and that only bothers him slightly. Heâs survived seventeen years of parties and drama, he can survive another night of it. Or so he tells himself. Glass is raised to painted lips, a generous sip taken before eyes flicker to the barâs newest occupant. âHaving fun yet?âÂ
Bored with forced conversations and socialite like duties, Rita heads to the bar in hunt for a martini when her thoughts are disrupted by Taliesin. Itâs not hard to recognize him, even under his makeup and his lovely choice of attire, he is still that friendly face on everyoneâs television at the end of the night. If only the rest of the country could see him now, him in his full glory. âIâm having a blast.â She doesnât fake it with him, her tone monotone, shooting him a pointed look. The bartender stops by and Rita wastes no time in ordering her drink, taking a deep sigh before reminding herself the man is still next to her. âMaybe Iâll stop by the fortune teller.â She muses aloud, eyes landing right back at the man but not for long before sheâs entranced by the drink in his hand. âSee if sheâll make my job any easier.â Sheâs staring, she knows, and so she returns her gaze towards Taliesin himself. âAre you enjoying yourself tonight? Or are we all a little too boring for you? You can tell me.âÂ
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INGRID.
âfreeze! hands where i can see them!â she pointed her squirt gun at the unsuspecting target, as if thereâs any threat to her, a smile with flush already burning high on her cheeks. the bright green plastic gives away any malice that might be behind her intentions. the night is meant to be fun, and she can always be guaranteed to go along with that. âi demand youââ and then she stops, unable to think of anything, and dissolves into a fit of laughter. âi demand you have a good time. something like that.â she drops the gun, demeanor shifted back into a casual slump. she never was one for the formalities on these events. only the conversations. âhow are you?â
When Rita turns at the sound of a very non-threatening voice and eyes land on Ingrid, she has to laugh, specially when she notices the plastic toy pointing at her. Itâs a rather amusing sight and because of it, the blonde plays along, the way her hands move up as if to surrender done lethargically. She had heard about a Bonnie and Clyde roaming out and about, she just didnât figure it would be Rothâs little sister. âYouâre not very good at this.â Rita warms up to the idea, hand falling back to her side, instinctually leaning her body on the cane sheâd brought along. âIâm doing fantastic. How are you?â A smile settles on her face, eyeing the young girl with curiosity. âHaving fun with your toy? If not I know someone very fond of you who just happens to have an extra one of those lying around.â
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For Coraâs birthday, Rita keeps it casual yet elegant with a simple striped pant suit. With no dress shirt under her coat, an untied bow tie hanging from her neck, and a cane as her chosen accessory, the least of her concerns is being overshadowed by the other members of the cancellation department. Her makeup is kept to the minimum and her hair is pinned back, opting for a more masculine look for the night.
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JORDAN.
Jordan furrowed her eyebrows. Obvious? Not quite, but Jordan got the impression that this woman underestimated her taste and intelligence. That, or she fancied herself as the true artiste. The clash in appearance might have established a similar impression in everyone else. Rita Bower, in carefully brushed blond hair and an even slicker pantsuit, walking briskly about the office as if she needed no justification to be here. And behind her, only because of the walking space between the wall and the cubicles suddenly narrowing, was Jordan Ryder. Easter egg hair, military jacket with metal studs with blue and yellow paint splatter, and shimmery track pants she picked up at a thrift shop.
And when Rita asked about the possibility of boring repetition, Jordan rolled her eyes.Â
âYeah, actually,â Jordan crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. âHow far up your ass is that stick?â
Rita walks ahead without any regard as to whether the wild-haired girl follows her or not, the answer given to her the moment Jordan begins to speak again. It makes her come to a stop, the insult gathering her attention. It makes her laugh weakly yet smile broadly as she turns on her heels. Rita could see why Cyrus kept her around, she was funny if not stupid. Irritating. She blames herself for expecting better from someone who had nothing better to do than to follow others around. Was her own life that boring? That uneventful? At that moment the blonde wonders the real reasons behind the strange friendship between the head of cancellation and a paparazzo. Was it a genuine one or a transactional one? One could never know with him.
Her heels click again as she takes the short walk back towards Jordan and blatantly stares at her up and down. Her clothes, her hair, her smell. Ah! Thatâs why she wasnât on the screen. She didnât belong. Thatâs why sheâd chosen the ugly task of stalking. âFar enough.â She acknowledges her question, monotone and unbothered. âShould I reserve a spot for you for our next cancellation? Iâd love for you to come along and give us your valuable input.â
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JEROME.
Jerome put down the paper and folded his hands on the table, giving Rita a look. âI have my own religious convictions, Ms. Bower.â If anyone asked formally, he could simply point to the crucifixes that had been in his motherâs house for as long as he could remember. But, for the most part, he didnât describe his beliefs at length. A virtue of his own reluctance to confront the self-righteousness of others. Why do you even believe in God? A question he wasnât willing to answer, based on the tone alone. Why arenât you being more open about it? Another question often asked in bad faith â or perhaps a challenge to out himself. He would accept neither.
âAnd just where do they get these girls?â The whole project sounded insane. From what Jerome had read, it attracted plenty of wannabe-stage parents. All driven by a desire for fame. A drive for narcissism. A delusion of grandeur. And, for some reason, a hatred of men. The amount of power men had in this industry made such an idea all the more ironic. âActually, what I want to know is, why Lilith?â
The answer Jerome gave her was not what Rita was hoping for, but nevertheless she cunningly smiles. Perhaps he wasnât comfortable with sharing his ideas on God and frankly, Rita wasnât going to blame him. If Rita believed God was real sheâd say sheâs the wicked of them all.Â
Moving on to the next topic, Rita crosses her legs, her hand finding its way across the table in hunt for the paper he has put down. The headline was intriguing enough to catch anyones eyes, her eyes looming over the words before she curiously begins to read the first sentences. âThey come to them.â She answers him with ease, the answer feeling obvious. âWhat young girl doesnât dream of giving birth to the next Meryl Streep, Marlon Brando, or Jerome Castillo?â Her teeth bare as she smiles widely, all too proud of herself. âYouâd have to ask them, Mr. Castillo. Some little fan mail to their organization might answer all your questions.â
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ISOBELLE.
Isobelle could feel the sarcasm filling the space between them like a physical thing she wanted to karate chop. Why the blondeâs attitude annoyed her, she couldnât say but it did which was even more annoying. âThatâs true. Iâm just throwing out there that thereâs no need to trash my favorite just because you donât agree.â Iz would openly describe herself as passionate about the things she loved. There were times in her life when that had become an issue but apparently not enough of one for her to want to change. Eyebrows shot up, mouth slightly open in shock that she got an answer at all, let alone musicals being it. She could hear her mother now, âyouâre being rude mon lapin.â Most people only had to hear their parentâs voices when they passed but her own was very much alive and very insistent. With a soft laugh, the woman knocked herself back into the moment. âI mean, obviously I need you to break out into a song now. You started it.â Her hand swept out in invitation.Â
Sensitivity was something Rita often failed at, and the way she disregards Isobelleâs comment with a wave of her hand and a disillusioned eye roll can be used as proof of that. It was so tedious to watch what you said every single second of your life, and so Rita had decided ages ago that she simply wouldnât. What she wanted to say she would and if someone didnât like it, then that was their problem. One thing was for sure though, Isobelle appeared to share that same trait, so at the least there was one redeeming quality Rita could pin point.Â
She can also pin point the exact moment her generous act of answering Isobelleâs question was a mistake, eyes widened in slight mockery at the sight of the girlâs mouth falling open in shock. Then she starts talking again and Rita can only puff out a breathy laugh. âWhat?â Rita narrows her eyes though they mean no harm this time around, âno dinner first?"
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JORDAN.
âNothing to do with standards,â Jordan said, following Rita around. Everything went without a hitch, she was sure, but there were still things about it that puzzled her. Like the sloppily done murals outside, the odd camera angles⌠just little things.Â
âI wouldnât change anything. Iâm just confused by it. This isnât Cyrusâ usual style. Heâs usually more⌠I donât know how to put it.â Obvious? Artistic? Self-referential? Jordan isnât sure what to use this time, if only because much of his most recent work seemed to deviate from whatever standard he had set for himself. Unless, of course, Mr. Roth was playing everyone for a fool.Â
Rita hums in response, her hands finding their way inside the pockets of her pantsuit coat as she and Jordan walk side by side. She was curious to hear what Jordan meant by weird, was everything about the American film industry not weird? Maybe weird was just the wrong word, different and exciting feeling like a better fit.Â
âWould you have preferred something more obvious?â Thereâs a tone of disappointment in her words when Rita glances at the other, almost as if she expected better of her. Like Jordan said, Cyrus Roth had a style, and Rita hadnât been the only one to notice. âSee, that would make things boring. Repetitive. Donât you agree? â Sheâs not really asking, but she does come to a stop, the clicking of her heels taking a break. âI guarantee you the cancellation department takes all the cancellations very seriously, Ms. Ryder. They are all planned extremely diligently and Mr. Roth executes said plans with the upmost care in the world. You pondering on our latest installment only lets me know we are doing our jobs right.â Rita regards her for only a second longer, no attempt given to hide the way she sizes her figure with a simple up and down look. âAny more questions?â Sheâs on the move again before Jordan has a chance to reply, the clicking sound making its grand return.
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JORDAN
Having missed last nightâs cancellation, Jordan took a moment of free time to watch part of it on her phone, bumming off a complete strangerâs wifi. This one was⌠unusual, for Cyrus, but she couldnât pinpoint why. So, naturally, she asked a passerby for a second opinion.
âDid anyone else think this cancellation was⌠a little weird?â
Rita stops while on her way to her office solely because she is interrupted, looking down at the woman with an unimpressed look on her face. She had always found Jordan to be a pesky little thing, always wanting information one way or another. Rita supposed she was only doing her job, just like she would argue about herself, but the blonde could think of a hundred better things to do.
She doesnât have to look at her screen to know what sheâs talking about, but she does grant her the benefit of the doubt. âWeird?â Rita scoffs lightly. âIs it not up to your standards?â It was a genuine question in spite of the way it could have come out. âWhat would you have changed?â
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ISOBELLE
At the blondeâs words, Isobelle could feel her eyebrows moving up into an expression akin to excuse me? People who were miserable just to be miserable would always be a mystery to her. At least have a good reason for it if youâre going to be rude. âIâm not asking you to believe in God here. All I was doing was talking about super hero. And movies at that. Something you have to like in some way, shape or form.â Sheâd yet to meet anyone who hated all types of movies. It seemed like itâd be a miserable existence to work in the industry and absolutely hate everything it produced. Not to mention that Rita got a kick out of the cancellations. The thought made her want to be physically sick. âIâm only interested because Iâm trying to make a connection here. You know, like people do. Although at this point I wonder if youâre not a robot of some sort.â The last thing Iz wanted to discuss was the fact that Rita thrived off of cancellations. The very memory of the few sheâd been forced to attend were burned into her brain and often woke her up at night. âYou canât tell me that you have no favorite kind of movie. Come on. Anything?âÂ
"My apologies.â Ritaâs sarcasm is paired with a grin that pulls at the end of her lips, amused by Isobelleâs response. It was no secret that Rita wasnât everyoneâs cup of tea, whether it be due to her blunt personality or choice in career, but that had never bothered the blonde. Isobelle on the other hand appeared to wear her heart on her sleeve, her almost immediate response towards Ritaâs careless words proving it. âDonât take it to heart, Isobelle.â Rita continued, âif we all enjoyed the same type of movies this industry would be a bore.â She sighs out of satisfaction, mulling over the idea that she should answer her question. Itâs a simple one, really; everybody had a favorite type of movie. âBut to answer your question I think youâll be surprised Iâm a fan of musicals.â She caves in the end. âNothing says drama like unnecessarily stoping halfway to sing your little heart out.âÂ
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JEROME.
âHave you read about this?â Jerome held up a paper copy of the Los Angeles Times, betting good money that whomever he spoke to had never read it. At least, not in print. But he didnât doubt that this story â a feature length, front page, about a new celebrity religion giving Scientology a run for its money â was likely trending online.
âThis has got to be the most fascinating and bizarre Hollywood religion I have ever encountered.â Plenty of actors in Hollywood were in the closet about their respective faiths. Plenty were professed Christians, some were devout Jews, and plenty others had pursued alternate paths. Cora Samson herself was a spiritualist of sorts. But nothing, not even Scientology or Kabbalah, was attracting the attention this new thing was.Â
As a self proclaimed atheist, Rita had no interest in religion or anything it had to offer. She found the practice outdated and full of badly written fantasies, though she understood how the feeling of comfort of knowing someone or something was watching over you could be desired. In her case, she was the one doing the watching. With that logic, was she not a God?
She pays little attention to what Jerome goes on about until she sees it with her own two eyes, her eyes narrowing at the headline. Tragic. Pathetic. The rumors were true then. âDo you believe in God, Mr. Castillo?â She shifts her attention to the actor, tilting her head in interest. âOr have you fallen prey to Lilithinism after reading more about it?â Rita motions to the newspaper in his hand, âThey steal babies, you know. Or, try to anyway. These girls, they just wish to raise the next best thing. Think itâll give them their own fame and that Lilith will reward them in the afterlife. You could be one of their servants. I donât believe theyâre very fond of men.âÂ
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ISOBELLE.
âAll Iâm saying is that if someone asked me to work on a superhero movie, I would do it for free. No questions asked.â Isobelle leveled the other with a look that said, yeah I know Iâm easy for a cape. Donating her time to further the genre was something sheâd do without a second thought. âYou wouldnât though? I feel like everyone can relate to a good origin story.â Especially those who had to deal with this godforsaken industry. Thinking that one day a hero could come in and crash it all to the ground? Now thatâs something sheâd like to see. âOkay so whatâs your favorite type of movie? Iâve done some work for them all at this point.âÂ
Her choice of movie genre worries her, but it doesnât surprise her. It was always the most mundane people who fell for the blockbuster aesthetics and overall genres that appeased the general public. âThatâs cute.â Rita grants her a moment of her time, âbut no. Silly fantasies donât interest me.â She pauses, another thought crossing her mind. âThatâs like asking me to believe in God. Sheâd have to show her face every once in a while.â The look on Ritaâs face shows that, despite the general disinterest with the conversation at hand, she finds Isobelle to be a good distraction to pass the time. Sheâd get bored of her soon enough, though. âWhy so interested, Isobelle?â She questions her with a satisfied smirk, âmy interests in movies lays solely on the ones that will plummet. They give me something to do.â
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RITA BOWER, CANCELLATION ANALYSTÂ
voted most likely to be cancelled first, is here just for the fame, here for the wealth, wants to actually make art, pro-cancellation process, anti-cancellation process, neutral, works the system, is behind the scenes, works in front of the camera, is new to Hollywood, seasoned veteran, workaholic, phones it in, watches the cancellations, avoids watching them, paps love them, paps hate them, paps have no idea they exist, keeps up with the fame leaderboard, is obsessed, ignores it, would stab someone in the back, is loyal af
read more about rita here.
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