trans_9 | Multiverse's Next Top Model: Get Gone

[OOC: tag in and the judges will appraise your character. Please each start your own subthreads.]

Ruffnut had on the face of stern nervousness, like she was torn between stomping out the door before being told she failed, or making a run for the judges to take a swing.

But there was a sort of humbled look there as well, like she never expected to make it past the first round. After all who was she to be in a beauty contest?

A tape of Ruffnut's runway 'performance' plays on the screen behind the panel.

"Well, I think it's revolting." Noted Fashion Photographer then returns to his nap, uninterested in the rest of Ruffnut's performance.

"It's..." Jay opens and closes his mouth a few times, as if speaking, but no sound comes out. Finally he shrugs and looks away.

"Well I, for one, will support you, whatever your name is. I find your dancing ecstatic, uncontrolled, frenetic. You can practically feel the heat cooking up your soles when you walk. It was amateeeeeur, certainly, but artistic." Talleyho gestures wide with his arms. "I would have you dance for dignitaries."

"Yes, but this is Multiverse's Next Top Model, not ballerina." Tyrant looks back up at the runway clip and then back to Ruffnut. "Dear, you have some raw grace. You just need to channel it through a confident adult exterior. Then you can win your love interest or whatever."

"Yeah I'd like to see how you guys acting being accidentally set on fire." She muttered then louder said, "Those heels through me off. If I make it to the next round you can bet I'll have those things down so hard I could use em to fight."

Which was a fair enough promise because she'd already wondered just how useful stabbing someone like the Fashion Photographer in the eye with one of the heels. She turned on her own heel and made for the back stage once again, fully expecting to be told she was done and all the prettier girls were being passed onto the next round.

Simon...was still a little confused. And also bandaged up from his fall on the catwalk. At least he had his coat back, though. He stood there with arms folded, a rather uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

"Simon," Tyrant says, dripping disdain. "Do you understand what it even means to be a model? You are there to sell other people's designs. That is what you, if you pursue this as a career, will be paid to do. You are not, in fact, a designer. You are not a creative director. You are the model."

In the background, Jay Emmanuel sobs quietly, remembering the demolition and replacement of his carefully-chosen chicken outfits.

Tyrant continues. "What you did on that runway was not only disgraceful, but entirely disrespectful. I wad ashamed to have entered you in the competition."

She sits back down. "And you didn't even get the type of poultry right."

Simon finds himself rather unmoved from what Tyrant says. "It was either salvage that thing or go naked, and I had no intentions on doing the latter. And no, I still don't get this model thing."

Aya walked forward. What was it going to be this time? Her face displayed nothing but a combination of boredom and annoyance. She couldn't stay in this place any longer and all she wanted to do was just go back to the ship. Even if it meant her pride and dignity were shattered along the way.

"Aya," Tyrant says. "We're very disappointed in you. When we interviewed you, you were so vibrant and artistic. You took no nonsense. You stayed focused. And then you had your first challenge and you did this."

The footage plays in the background, showing Aya with her parasite energy and vacant expression.

"We thought you would rise to the challenge, but you wilted." Tyrant shakes her head. "I couldn't believe this was the same girl at the interview. All the pyrotechnics in the world couldn't hide that you truly didn't want to be there."

Tyrant turns the clip off. She looks as if it physically pains her to be playing it. "So tell me, Aya - do you even want to be here?"

"... Not really."

Well, she had to be honest about it. There was no way she was going to lie about it. She wanted to be here as much as a frog wanted to be in hot water. This whole model business was being tedious.

"I came here to be a diplomat, not a bloody show puppet."

Rachel's body language seemed to be that of someone who is making absolutely no show of caring one way or another. She's fiercely determined to make it through, sure, even if the judges and stylists piss her off to an incredible degree.

On the other hand, she'd gotten her fight, no matter the motivation behind it.

"I think she was brilliant," Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel says quickly. "Completely brilliant."

"Yes. Rochelle, you embodied 'fierce', and we're so glad to see you're come to terms with your new look." Tyrant nods in approval. "And to do so after what must have been a devastating fight with Sirius! It speaks to your iron will."

"You'd be an admirable top model. We underestimated you," Talleyho concedes. "And the makeover did improve your...plain attributes."

Well, at least Angie had been able to get rid of the hat. And the dress. Not the heels, but she could live with that.

She didn't really feel nervous. Didn't really feel much of anything at the moment. She did try to give anybody who was looking too nervous an encouraging smile, though. All in this together.

Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel makes a little clawing gesture and a 'rawr' at Angie. Jay rolls his eyes a bit.

"The judges were split on you, Angie, three to one. Jay thought you were over the top and hoochie. Talleyho, Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel and I thought you were an empowered woman in control of her sex appeal." Tyrant smiles at the clip of Angie's walk on the screen. "Your age is still a factor, but you have enough confidence that I wish we could wring it out of you and give a little to everyone else. Good job."

Caz could have won an award for the sheer amount of smug he went wearing to the judging. The only thing more overpowering might have been his complete and utter sense of victory. Not at the catwalk- at how they clearly had to send him home after it.

Yeah yeah, tell him he had to leave. Go for it~

The judges don't even look Cazali in the eye, except for Tyrant, who glares at Cazali from down her nose.

"We have nothing to say to you. You were blatantly rude and didn't even try to show off your new Ty-over. It's almost like you don't appreciate all the hard work we did for you."

Jay sniffs a little. Talleyho pulls a tissue from the folds of his muumuu and hands it to him.

"Go. Stand in line and wait for us to eliminate you." Tyrant shakes her head at him and pats Jay on the shoulder.

Cedric was very aware that he hadn't done well. He stood before them, stony-faced, not quite glaring but serious.

If enough of the others had managed to do worse, he'd regroup. If he was dismissed, he would get to work on regrowing his hair and training for more important missions. Would this information even be relevant?

"Cedar," Talleyho says, choking back a sob until it's just an unpleasant-sounding grunt. "You tossed Louboutin shoes. You tossed them. Like trash! Have you no respect for the history? No respect for the fine tradition of patent leather shoes? Have you no..."

Talleyho loses his composure and cries, tears getting lost in the great folds of his poncho-muumuu-plaid-thing.

Tyrant just sadly shakes her head, though it's hard to tell if it's pity for Cedric or Talleyho.

Asuka sulkily steps forward, arms folded and glaring defiantly.

She's going to give someone a piece of her mind, that's for sure.

Jay gives Asuka the mother of all wounded puppy looks as she steps up for evaluation. The audio from the clip still rings in his ears - "it's all trash! Trash!". He looks on the verge of tears.

Tyrant, by contrast, is stone-faced. "Asuka. Your behavior on the runway today was unacceptable. It wasn't Jay's fault you were too fat to wear the costume right. It wasn't Jay's fault you're too clumsy to walk over coals in eight-inch platform shoes. That's your own incompetence and terrible attitude."

She sighs. "I don't know if we can have a model in the competition whose entire demeanor is so unpleasant."

"You're still hot though, so that's something," Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel chimes in.

Asuka starts advancing on Tyrant, looking like she's going to throttle her. JAy (alas) gets no reaction from her as her voice starts to rise into a shriek, "What did you call me...? You're going to tell me that I'm incompetent? You're the one thaewears the ridiculous outfits! You're the one who lets that idiot design anything! I'm-going-to-kill-you-!"

While Sabrina's outward demeanor would tell the casual observer that she didn't really care much what the judges thought of her, she remained thoughtful. She wasn't sure what she was really doing here, but Sabrina knew the information (whatever it was) must be important. Otherwise what was the point of all this?

[OOC: sorry, I didn't see a tag to the runway challenge itself so I'm handwaving. If you want to change it we can go back and do that.]

"What was her walk again?" Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel asks. "Something with chickens or something?"

"That was the entire shoot, Nigel." Jay rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "Sabine here was just unmemorable."

"Well, it must not have been terrible!" Talleyho says. "Or we'd be yelling at her."

"Right. Move along then, Sabine," Tyrant says, turning the television back off.

Sirius walked to the judges and gave them his most charming grin. It was the one he always tried on McGonagall whenever he was in trouble. It was also the one that never succeeded with her.

Fortunately for Sirius, it completely succeeds with this crowd. At least, with the half that's already pulling for him. Tyrant and Jay seem wooed; Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel and Talleyho, not so much.

"I, for one, found your walk pedestrian." Talleyho folds his arms and pouts or emphasis.

"Your walk is fantastic," Jay gushes. "Don't listen to Talleyho, he's an old bat. You could have modeled every single outfit on that runway and sold the entire wardrobe out."

Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel rolls his eyes.

Tyrant nods along with Jay. "Yes, Black, you do have excellent swagger. I hope it translates to your photos."

Inwardly, Stephen still wasn't sure how much he cared about a modeling competition. Despite the fact that he'd had experience with being looked at like a prime side of beef, in the past.

Still, he arched a brow and gave the judges a smile, lifting his chin again confidently, before pursing his lips and blowing a kiss at Tyrant.

This pleases Tyrant. THIS PLEASES TYRANT. ~~And also makes Jay jealous.~~

"Steve, I was a little unsure about your walk this week. I thought it was tacky. But Talleyho here..." Tyrant strokes the other judge's head like one would a fluffy cat. "Has convinced me that your artistic merits know no bounds, and that it's brilliant to marry such high camp to the extremely serious world of haute couture. Good job this week."

Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel chokes on his own drool a bit as he snoozes.

He grimaces a little at the "Steve"--Stephen HATES that name--but it mostly just shows as a tightening of his broad, broad grin.

"Thank you all very much. I'll do my best to keep it up--if not aspire to new heights."

Stephen hoped it just didn't mean also sinking to new lows. He showed himself out pretty quick.

Soren showed up in the judging room, but he wasn't happy (but when was he ever?)

At least he'd gotten to sabotage someone's goggles earlier. Wait, maybe he should keep the smug grin off his face. Attempting to disengage smug grin... ... ... failed.

"Fantastique! Merveillous! Perfeción in a tiny package!" Talleyho practically runs up and throws his arms around Soren, but Tyrant holds him back at the last minute. "You, my boy, are an inspiration to the rest of this plebeian rabble!"

Tyrant nods sagely. "The ice was an inspired touch, I have to agree. We thought we didn't really have an ice queen this season but there's something special about you. Something dark and magical."

In the background, Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel makes booga-booga fingers.

"Keep it up and you have an excellent shot at winning this," Tyrant concludes.

Clef looked kind of unassuming, for once, standing there in creepy makeup and a black dress. And holding a kitchen knife. (It was a rather understated kitchen knife.) He didn't feel anything in particular about the possibility of being eliminated, nor about not being eliminated. In fact, he wasn't even sure what beauty was anymore. When he got back to the ship and took this ridiculous weave out, would he even remember how to do his own hair? Could he walk in flat shoes?

What were pants really for, anyway?

Unlike some of the others, Clef receives a fairly lukewarm response from the judges. There is none of the gushing and borderline sexual harassment from the judge favorites, but neither is there the tangible fear that Tyrant's about to spit acid on Clef's face. Possibly literal acid, knowing Tyrant.

"Losing your clothes was a no-no," Tyrant says, arms folded. "That said, I felt you maintained a good fierce energy even after losing them. It's just a shame the audience will never see it, since the FCC threatened to repossess my diamond-studded car if I showed nudity on the public airwaves.

"What do you all think?" she asks the other judges. The all shrug, and Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel snores a little.

Clef is sure this means he'll be eliminated, and although that in itself wouldn't be such a bad thing he didn't want to leave in disgrace.

"I'm sorry my dress caught fire," he said, sincerely. "I didn't know it would do that."

He had assumed the dresses would be harder to burn if they were going to be worn so close to hot coals.

[OOC: Wait for the NPC tag, then go wild!]

Tyrant stands in front of the panel with a stack of glossy papers in her hand.

"Fourteen beautiful people stand before me, but I only have ten screencaps in my hands. Today you all struck a blow against animal cruelty that will reverberate throughout the ages. But some of you are just...fried."

She pauses for maximum drama before announcing "the winner for best runway performance is...Rachel."

She holds the screencap out for Rachel to collect, then calls the rest out in order. For once, she uses their legitimate names.

"Angie."

"Soren."

"Black."

"Stephen."

"Ruffnut."

"Clef."

"Sabrina."

"Asuka." She gives Asuka a meaningful gaze. A 'you're on thin ice, buddy' gaze.

Finally, Punchy, Cedric, Aya and Simon stand before her.

"Four beautiful people stand before me, but I only have one screencap in my hand. The person I call will still be in the running towards becoming the Multiverse's Next Top Model. The people I do not call must return to the Casa Smize, pack their bags, and go home."

She straightens up. "You all stand before me for similar reasons. You have gorgeous faces and have had exquisite Ty-overs, but your behavior on the runway was unprofessional. Swearing, vandalizing costumes, throwing things, or radiating apathy. None of these are acceptable even for amateur models. And it makes me question why any of you are even here."

She gingerly holds the screencap. "The name I am going to call is...the person still in the running towards becoming the Multiverse's Next...Top...Model...is..."

She holds the photo out. "Cedric."

[OOC: Create subthreads, threadjack, bemoan your lost comrades, chat with fellow survivors, cheer, whatever. Do as you please now!]

The admonishments mean nothing to him. Well, all right. Maybe they mean a little. But he threw the blasted shoes to save his life and he would repeat that story until the end. If they wanted a beautiful shot of charred shoes while he roasted, well...that was their problem, and this was clearly an illegitimate competition.

In that light, it wouldn't be so bad to leave, even if he wanted to help. He could steal a hat, attempt to find a corner of the ship in which to try every spell that could possibly regrow his hair, and bemoan the traumas of modeling.

But that's not the case today. He's allowed to remain, though he knows deep down that it's not for long. The judges dislike him, he's a weak link, and the most competitive among them will be after him as an easy mark. It's the classic strategy in Quidditch: separate and eliminate the weak link.

Well, he thinks to himself as he accepts the screencap, still stony-faced, I won't hurt anyone, but maybe we can have a bit of a match before I go.

He turns back to smile apologetically at the people leaving, though. He rather likes all of them, and he's glad they're going to be returning to surroundings with a higher percentage of rational people. "Good luck. Be sure to let the others know how much fun we're having."

He really hopes they get the hint---that it's not fun at all.

[OOC: for eliminated characters.]

Oh, you know he's going to take this opportunity to laugh in to the camera for all the allotted time they'll give him. They won't air it, but everything's totally worth it.

Simon pays the camera no mind on his way out. He's had enough of this, and his elimination gets the group as a whole closer to their goal, so no need to drag it out longer than it has to me.

Multiverse's Next Top Model: Get Gone

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