Lady Selune

High Castles, Ivory Towers

As Ben rotated for a better view, Jacqueline would swagger into the office and toss her handbag down onto a chair. Stretching out a little, the man sitting behind the desk would offer a chuckle, standing up and stretching out in turn. He was young; perhaps a year or two younger than Jacqueline, far too young to have served as anything but a boy scout in the war, but built like an athlete. The California sun had given his skin a lovely bronze tint to it, and his hair was a slightly washed out brown, as if he frequently spent time in the sun which, considering his likely vocation, wasn't that unusual. The clothing he wore was a little nicer than the usual blue-collar apparel though, and the watch on his wrist was flashy enough to reflect the sun back out the window.

"Jacky. How lovely to see you darling."

"And you as well. Don't sell yourself short." The actress would sprawl herself out across a chair, rummaging through her handbag once she was comfortable. She drew out a case of cigarettes, not a packet or a bundle, but a snakeskin-leather covered, silver waterproof snap-closed cover with store bought ciggs contained within. She would draw a single one out, twirl it between her fingers and offer it to Vince, who would shake his hand and reach down into a drawer and pull out a cigar to match her light. She drew out a matchstick and handed it over to the man. Vince would light his cigar and offer the match back, but it would snuff out before she could light her own smoke.

The pair would look at each other for a second, and then laugh, Jacky standing up and leaning across towards the well-built manager. They would touch the tips of their smokes together, Jacqueline would breathe in, and her own cig would light in what could almost have passed for a kiss before the pair of them had sat back down, pleasant silence passing as both of them filled the interior of the room with tobacco smoke.

"So. Johnny says you wanted to see me," she would say at last.

"Oh yes." Vince grinned eagerly. "We've got something for you to take to the boys at the Glamour Hawk. Europe isn't all jackboots and Hitler salutes. The Limeys especially; those boys put up almost as good a fight as us, and their rightful rulers are still alive and well, outside of the grasp of the war machine. We've got some news from their underground cells, and we think it could be a big boost to the boys to hear what others are doing to kick Fritz in his damned balls."

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

The door practically burst open. Standing behind it, a ferocious grin on her face, was a tall, flaxen-haired woman wearing what looked to be an oversized suit of armour, what could only be described as a bear skin rug thrown across her shoulders. "Innkeep!" She practicaly roared as she strode into the establishment. "The night has been good! A tankard of mjðd, if you would please!" A flutter of snow followed behind her as she entered, laughing as she took a seat down by one of the tables and let a gigantic axe fall down to the ground next to her. Her face was unblemished and quite pretty, but had had a long smear of blue bodypaint daubed in a gash vertically over her left eye and down to the jaw.

She would slide her hands out of a set of huge metal gloves adorned in glowing runes, the green light behind them fading as they disconnected from the main suit with a hissing clunk. The cape would come next, the heavy fur falling into a heap by her side and she stretched out with almost casual ease, the weight of her causing the booth she had located herself on to groan slightly in consternation.

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

No worries. Have a fun character waiting to come in for whwnever we kick back off.

EDIT: Actually, Hells Belles, why not introduce her now?

High Castles, Ivory Towers

She continued along the line until it stopped just before the changeover to the Santa Monica trams. The transition at the station was quick and quiet, done as fast as posisble to avoid anyone paying her too much attention. This one had already filled up before she had arrived, and so she stood intead looking out of the back at nothing in particular as the cable car made its way closer and closer towards the scent of salt and the sound of gulls. Of course, she wasn't exactly heading towards the beach, and this was made all the more clear by the exact route she was on; this particular line went towards the industrial part of the city, nowhere near the warm sunshine and sweet cocktails that you'd expect a starlet to head towards.

Dismounting from the tram at one of the stations, she would briefly take her hat off and use it to waft some cool air her way, and then set off again. Her high heels clacked out a steady rhythm as she walked through streets, flanked by cranes and dockworkers, until at last she would stop in front of what seemed, at first, to be another utterly unassuming seafront cargo area. The Germans had standardised international shipping almost instantly, and the flock of embossed eagles on the side of each and every one of the 40ft long crates was just another testament to the regime that now held sway over more than half the world.

"Johnny!" Jacqueline would look at one of the burly Americans standing by the door, a warmth in her voice that had been entirely hidden when she had been at the Glamour Eagle. "I thought you had today off?" She would lean back slightly, even as the man laughed and gave her a gentle poke in the chest.

"And I thought you were working today doll. That makes two of us not doing what we were supposed to do." He would toss a head towards the site, nodding at her. "Anyway, good that you're off. Vince was hoping you'd show up at some point this week. He's just in his office."

"This week? I thought he'd have more trust in me, gosh. I come every week, he should know that." She gave the broad-shouldered worker a smack on the shoulder, striding past the gate that was held open for her as easy as you please, before turning towards a small building squatly sat in one corner of the yard, windows thrown open in a vain attempt to combat the heat.

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure - Operation: Ground the Harpy

"It doesn't matter if she gets away or not." Reaper would chuckle darkly. "Stand Command will hear of an entire squad of their goons gunned down in a cafe." The stand turned to where the ballerina had fled to, chest still heaving with exertion. "What was it you were talking about back then? With the pompus cienias dupek and his orders? Bludhund Protocol? I think this stunt has just gotten you a little more than just that."

"You remember what I was doing? Even when you weren't summoned?" Till looked at his stand warily, although one eye was still on the multiple people holding guns out at him.

"Let's be honest. You were my suka whilst they had your mind fucked. Not the other way around." He would grin wickedly and lean back, hovering slightly in the air.

"... As much as a psychopath as Reaper is, he doesn't lie to me. You can shoot me later, but for now I think you might want to listen to what he has to tell us about what's coming." Till would unsummon his stand at last, holding his hands out towards the rest of his once-attackers. "My name is Till Lindemann. I'm a German-Pole, I was the son of a butcher but I was a student of history at Jagiellonian University until the war broke out. After the Germans invaded I was put in a ghetto and then taken to a work camp. I don't remember how I got here, why I'm fighting you or what Reaper is talking about but I trust my own stand, and you can see him so you're the best shot I have at getting answers as well."

High Castles, Ivory Towers

Jacqueline left the studio, took in a deep breath of warm California air and then... Slip into an alleyway. Now this? This was interesting. Looking down both ways of the street to make sure nobody was watching, she would sidle into an alcove and tighten the buckles on her jacket and pull up the collar. Then, to complete the look, she would draw out a wide-brimmed hat from her handbag, shake it a little to puff it out to its correct size, and tug it down low so it covered much of her upper face. It wasn't a perfect disguise, not by a long shot, but it was enough for her to be reasonably safe she wouldn't be randomly accosted in the street, even if it was slightly less stylish than was expected of her.

The heels were something of a giveaway, but it wasn't as if she could change them on a whim; she had to stuff enough things into her bag already. Walking out the alleyway calmly, she would cross the street briskly and take up a position in the shade of a palm tree, looking intently down the road. Or, to be more precise, down the rails. If there was one thing you had to commend the regime on, it was their dedication to transit. The American Highway system had never seen more support than it had now, and even the LARy lines were quicker, quieter and more comortable, and it was this line that Jacqueline was clearly hoping to hop onto.

When the streettram came along, she would hurry towards it, and in a display that was as impressive as it was dangerous hopped up and onto the rear of the open streetcar as it slowed to make a turn. She had a weekly pass in her purse should the conductor question her; but a long time ago she had found that waiting around at stations was just begging to be recognised. Besides, she was young and fit, why not enjoy a little excercise and fun? Normally, such an act would have thrown off a casual paparazzi, but a private detective might just know that this particular line happened to be heading west, to Santa Monica, and that if one was quick enough, they could head off anyone headed towards the coast as they made the changeover from the Hollywood lines to the Santa Monica lines.

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

Oh shit! No bother then :)

The Wayward Stool (Open To Everyone, JUMP-INS WELCOME)

@Silent Showers

?

High Castles, Ivory Towers

"Jacky, Jacky, Jacky!" Came a call from the busiest of the trailers. A tall, dark haired woman would storm out with a shorter, portly man carrying a stack of papers in one hand and wildly gesticulating with the other shortly after. "I know you're upset doll, but it's really not as bad as it looks! You won't even actually be naked for the shot, it'll just look like you are to the cameras. Nothing explicit, I swear." The man's thoroughly awkward smile would fade as the woman turned towards him, and it was clear, if the loud 'Jacky's' hadn't already, that this was his target. No smile though; oh no, she was spitting mad right now.

"Don't you 'doll' me you overpaid twerp! I'm... Not going to do that! Do you have any idea what the tabloids are going to do to me if it 'seems' like I'm naked in a set?! Why does it have..." The woman would press two of her fingers against the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. "Besides, doesn't this go against the Reich censors for decency?"

"... Well, since this is based off of a German folk story we get some more leeway, and we'll be able to get it designated as 'demonstrating feminine physique' rather than have it be slapped with a degeneracy charge." The man would reach with one hand to touch Jacqueline's arm, only for the starlet to swat it away angrily. Even annoyed she was still pretty; her lips were in a tabloid-perfect pout, and she reached for one of the small little sandwiches set out with precision few people managed when they were sewing.

"I won't do it. I can't do it, my husband'll kill me. You gotta rewrite it somehow Jerry. You're the writer for chrissakes, how come you can't change the writing?" She chewed on the sandwich slowly once she had said her piece, only for 'Jerry' to sigh and run a hand across his sweaty locks, rapidly rubbing the slickness off onto his long-suffering trousers.

"Alright, alright. I'll talk with Donitz. He should understand, he wasn't the biggest fan either, we'll get a rewrite done." He stopped and put a hand on his hip, a shorter, pudgier mirror of Jacqueline. "Means no shooting for the rest of today. Fack's sake. Studio's gonna kill me if we keep having these delays." 'Jerry' would turn and hurry off, leaving most of the rest of the staff milling around.

"Well, if we ain't filming, I ain't sticking around. I'll see you all tomorrow." The woman would duck back into the trailer, emerge with a handbag and a light jacket to go along with her summer dress, and move confidently through the crowds of people, clearly heading for the exit.

High Castles, Ivory Towers

It was known that Herr Hitler was not a very big fan of smoking, and the regime was, by and large, one that by and large, attempted to stamp out tobacco consuption. Although prior to and during the war smoking had spiralled out of control after it, with their control tight around the throat of the world, the anti-smoking campaigns had become far more prominent. Cigarettes were packaged with scary looking drawings of cadavers, the Hitler Youth would tell off indiviudals smoking on buses and trams, and now, as he approached the gate for the Glamour Hawk studios, a prominent sign had been put up. Rauchend verboten! | Smoking Forbidden! Then, a smaller sign had been added below looking much less official and only in English. Outside of designated smoking areas.

Perhaps then, it was a surprise (or, indeed, maybe it was the opposite of a surprise,) that the first person Ben saw inside the facility was standing outside, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers. He was wearing the denim overalls of a literal blue-collar worker, one loop down to show his grease-and-oil stained shirt. He would look at the man, frown, look down to his staff badge, then roll his eyes and return back to his cigarette.

The studio itself was a sprawling thing, but there was method to its madness. There was a gigantic warehouse-looking building in the centre of the compound, likely where filming was occuring, and then various other facilities for the non-stars. Although Glamour Hawk wasn't one of the Native American Big Fives, it was part of the growing German-backed American film industry, and 20th Century Fox had already been throwing money behind its productions. Such large studio oversight naturally lead to a bigger and more impressive operation than some United Artist poverty row indie film, and it also meant that not a single individual of the dozens that moved around were any darker than a light tan. As if to rub this in, the 'For Coloureds' water fountain was not only noticably worse quality, but actively in disrepair, having clearly not being used for months, maybe even years. Along the back side of the complex as far away from the street as could be possibly arranged, a series of trailers had been located, one of them a hive of activity, men and women streaming in and out.

If one had to guess, that would be where any talent would be found.