UNHOLY.

AS PENNED BY ELLIE.

[lilpieceofmyworld]

[ritabower]

INGRID.

“Abandoned? No!” On that point she is emphatic. A couples costume didn’t mean a couple. “He’s okay, he’s just—” Talking with Ruby, and it’s not the first time she’s heard whispers that she should be paying more attention to what those two are doing. They’re both her friends, and she shouldn’t care for anything else, no matter how many people feel the need to point it out. Even if she trusts Rita’s judgement far more than her own. “We’re mingling.” A perfectly non-offensive word for her indecision. “Besides he’s not my date or anything fancy. He can talk to Ruby.” Or sweet talk, she shrugged off the notion. “I guess the costume doesn’t work as well alone. But I couldn’t compare to you anyways!” She gestured at Rita’s outfit, lingering on the cane that she’d seamlessly adapted into part of her persona. “This suit looks way too good!”

The way the girl stumbles over her words tells Rita everything she needs to know, and when an unsatisfied look falls on the blonde’s 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. “Mingling.” She repeats the word with a soft laugh. “For the whole night.” It’s 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. “You know,” she nods as the thought comes to her head, “you’re quite adorable, little Roth.” Rita manages to muse aloud before Ingrid’s 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. “Why thank you.” She smooths her free hand over her coat, “Couldn’t let myself be out shined by the boys, could I?”

[ritabower]

TALIESIN.

                Taliesin studies Rita with interest, it’s rare for him to come across a somewhat unfamiliar face. He’s 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. “Wouldnt go to a fortune teller for that, reading are often cryptic, personal. Though if you’re not opposed to eavesdropping she could be helpful.” He points out, shoulders lifting in a slight shrug. He isn’t 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, he’ll act as if he doesn’t notice Rita’s gaze on glass in hand.

               you can tell me, and it sounds like you can trust me. Brings a smile to his lips. “Boring? No.” He chuckles, shaking his head ever so slightly. “we’ve got two children running around with vodka filled squirt guns. Even if I did find it boring, it certainly wouldn’t stay boring for long.” Taliesin avoids the question, doesn’t mean to do it, doesn’t really realize he has.

"I’m afraid there’s not much I’m opposed to.” 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 Cora’s own lips she’d been left speechless, mouth slightly ajar and eyebrow quirked with interest. It was undoubtedly completely Cora’s style, and although Rita was not of the spiritual kind she could appreciate the creativity behind it. 

The woman had a gift.

When Rita smiles back its because it’s the polite thing to do. “No?” 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. She’d seen them of course, though rarely together. “Bonnie and Clyde, yes.” There had been talk about them. Or him, rather. “They’re quite the pair.” Again, her tone implies she’s not very interested, though for certain reasons she most certainly is. As if remembering his presence, Rita turns quickly to face Taliesin once more, “but what about you? Is your attire our show for the night? Beautiful, by the way, but you can’t blame me for wanting a little more out of you for our entertainment.” 

[ritabower]

INGRID.

“The night is young. I’ll rob a bank soon.” 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 Cyrus’s coworker. She wanted to get along with everyone, but Rita of all people felt important. “I’m great, it’s a party. What’s not to like?” She twirled the gun, clunky but successful. The joke died quickly, but what mattered was that it stuck at all. “Not everyone is game for armed robbery, but so far this ol’ gun has served me well. Besides it’s colorful—warns people I’m serious.” If she knew anything about Cy, it was that the dress code was black suit, black accessories. Whatever he’d brought had to fit that code. “I haven’t seen him yet, think he’ll be threatened?”

Rita leans forward when asked the question, tone suddenly stern though no real harm behind it. "He’s a dead man walking.” 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. “Where’s your Clyde, Bonnie?” Rita tilts her head when the question comes to mind, realizing the other half of the costume was missing. “What’s a Bonnie without her Clyde, right?” She’s 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 she’d 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. “Don’t tell me he’s abandoned you.” The cane moves from one hand to the other, “it’s that kid Thomas, yes?” She pretends to ask in spite of knowing the answer already. “The one sweet talking little Ruby Torrance?”

[ritabower]

JEROME.

Jerome pursed his lips at the mention of his own name, and he’s 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 doesn’t have to imagine; he knows his mother, once destitute, is now living in a comfortable home bought on Jerome’s dime, and her children – his siblings – can now rely on him, rather than on a version of her that had lived paycheck to paycheck. 

The thought sickened him.

“What if they give birth to the next Joseph Naor, thinking they have a Ruby Torrance?” Jerome asked. “I should hope the organization has the smarts not to turn the children into cash cows before they’re old enough to be liable for their own actions.”

Rita stares at him in blatant disbelief but it isn’t long before she’s laughing at his statement, unable to stop herself for that brief moment. “I couldn’t bear the disappointment.” She’s honest with him as she places the paper back on the table, pushing it back towards Jerome’s 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. “You can’t completely disregard the runt of the litter, Mr. Castillo.” She’s quick to point out the flaw, “this kid, Joseph Naor is proof of that, no? Have a little faith. There’s a job for everyone.”

[ritabower]

TALIESIN.

               Taliesin isn’t particularly interested in party activities, while he loves the chance to dress up he’d 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. He’s 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 bar’s newest occupant. “Having fun yet?” 

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. It’s not hard to recognize him, even under his makeup and his lovely choice of attire, he is still that friendly face on everyone’s television at the end of the night. If only the rest of the country could see him now, him in his full glory. “I’m having a blast.” She doesn’t 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. “Maybe I’ll stop by the fortune teller.” She muses aloud, eyes landing right back at the man but not for long before she’s entranced by the drink in his hand. “See if she’ll make my job any easier.” She’s staring, she knows, and so she returns her gaze towards Taliesin himself. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight? Or are we all a little too boring for you? You can tell me.” 

[ritabower]

INGRID.

“freeze! hands where i can see them!” she pointed her squirt gun at the unsuspecting target, as if there’s 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. “i demand you—” and then she stops, unable to think of anything, and dissolves into a fit of laughter. “i demand you have a good time. something like that.” she drops the gun, demeanor shifted back into a casual slump. she never was one for the formalities on these events. only the conversations. “how are you?”

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. It’s 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 didn’t figure it would be Roth’s little sister. “You’re not very good at this.” Rita warms up to the idea, hand falling back to her side, instinctually leaning her body on the cane she’d brought along. “I’m doing fantastic. How are you?” A smile settles on her face, eyeing the young girl with curiosity. “Having 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.”

[ritabower]

For Cora’s 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.

[ritabower]

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. 

“Yeah, actually,” Jordan crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised. “How far up your ass is that stick?”

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! That’s why she wasn’t on the screen. She didn’t belong. That’s why she’d chosen the ugly task of stalking. “Far enough.” She acknowledges her question, monotone and unbothered. “Should I reserve a spot for you for our next cancellation? I’d love for you to come along and give us your valuable input.”

[ritabower]

JEROME.

Jerome put down the paper and folded his hands on the table, giving Rita a look. “I have my own religious convictions, Ms. Bower.” If anyone asked formally, he could simply point to the crucifixes that had been in his mother’s house for as long as he could remember. But, for the most part, he didn’t 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 wasn’t willing to answer, based on the tone alone. Why aren’t you being more open about it? Another question often asked in bad faith – or perhaps a challenge to out himself. He would accept neither.

“And just where do they get these girls?” 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. “Actually, what I want to know is, why Lilith?”

The answer Jerome gave her was not what Rita was hoping for, but nevertheless she cunningly smiles. Perhaps he wasn’t comfortable with sharing his ideas on God and frankly, Rita wasn’t going to blame him. If Rita believed God was real she’d say she’s the wicked of them all. 

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. “They come to them.” She answers him with ease, the answer feeling obvious. “What young girl doesn’t dream of giving birth to the next Meryl Streep, Marlon Brando, or Jerome Castillo?” Her teeth bare as she smiles widely, all too proud of herself. “You’d have to ask them, Mr. Castillo. Some little fan mail to their organization might answer all your questions.”

[ritabower]

ISOBELLE.

Isobelle could feel the sarcasm filling the space between them like a physical thing she wanted to karate chop. Why the blonde’s attitude annoyed her, she couldn’t say but it did which was even more annoying. “That’s true. I’m just throwing out there that there’s no need to trash my favorite just because you don’t agree.” 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, “you’re being rude mon lapin.” Most people only had to hear their parent’s 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. “I mean, obviously I need you to break out into a song now. You started it.” Her hand swept out in invitation. 

Sensitivity was something Rita often failed at, and the way she disregards Isobelle’s 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 wouldn’t. What she wanted to say she would and if someone didn’t 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. 

She can also pin point the exact moment her generous act of answering Isobelle’s question was a mistake, eyes widened in slight mockery at the sight of the girl’s mouth falling open in shock. Then she starts talking again and Rita can only puff out a breathy laugh. “What?” Rita narrows her eyes though they mean no harm this time around, “no dinner first?"

[ritabower]

JORDAN.

“Nothing to do with standards,” 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. 

“I wouldn’t change anything. I’m just confused by it. This isn’t Cyrus’ usual style. He’s usually more… I don’t know how to put it.” Obvious? Artistic? Self-referential? Jordan isn’t 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. 

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. 

“Would you have preferred something more obvious?” There’s 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 hadn’t been the only one to notice. “See, that would make things boring. Repetitive. Don’t you agree? ” She’s not really asking, but she does come to a stop, the clicking of her heels taking a break. “I 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.” 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. “Any more questions?” She’s on the move again before Jordan has a chance to reply, the clicking sound making its grand return.

[ritabower]

JORDAN

Having missed last night’s cancellation, Jordan took a moment of free time to watch part of it on her phone, bumming off a complete stranger’s wifi. This one was… unusual, for Cyrus, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. So, naturally, she asked a passerby for a second opinion.

“Did anyone else think this cancellation was… a little weird?”

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 doesn’t have to look at her screen to know what she’s talking about, but she does grant her the benefit of the doubt. “Weird?” Rita scoffs lightly. “Is it not up to your standards?” It was a genuine question in spite of the way it could have come out. “What would you have changed?”

[ritabower]

ISOBELLE

At the blonde’s 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 you’re going to be rude. “I’m 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.” She’d yet to meet anyone who hated all types of movies. It seemed like it’d 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. “I’m only interested because I’m trying to make a connection here. You know, like people do. Although at this point I wonder if you’re not a robot of some sort.” The last thing Iz wanted to discuss was the fact that Rita thrived off of cancellations. The very memory of the few she’d been forced to attend were burned into her brain and often woke her up at night. “You can’t tell me that you have no favorite kind of movie. Come on. Anything?” 

"My apologies.” Rita’s sarcasm is paired with a grin that pulls at the end of her lips, amused by Isobelle’s response. It was no secret that Rita wasn’t everyone’s 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 Rita’s careless words proving it. “Don’t take it to heart, Isobelle.” Rita continued, “if we all enjoyed the same type of movies this industry would be a bore.” She sighs out of satisfaction, mulling over the idea that she should answer her question. It’s a simple one, really; everybody had a favorite type of movie. “But to answer your question I think you’ll be surprised I’m a fan of musicals.” She caves in the end. “Nothing says drama like unnecessarily stoping halfway to sing your little heart out.” 

[ritabower]

JEROME.

“Have you read about this?” 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 didn’t doubt that this story – a feature length, front page, about a new celebrity religion giving Scientology a run for its money – was likely trending online.

“This has got to be the most fascinating and bizarre Hollywood religion I have ever encountered.” 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. 

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. “Do you believe in God, Mr. Castillo?” She shifts her attention to the actor, tilting her head in interest. “Or have you fallen prey to Lilithinism after reading more about it?” Rita motions to the newspaper in his hand, “They steal babies, you know. Or, try to anyway. These girls, they just wish to raise the next best thing. Think it’ll give them their own fame and that Lilith will reward them in the afterlife. You could be one of their servants. I don’t believe they’re very fond of men.” 

[ritabower]

ISOBELLE.

“All I’m saying is that if someone asked me to work on a superhero movie, I would do it for free. No questions asked.” Isobelle leveled the other with a look that said, yeah I know I’m easy for a cape. Donating her time to further the genre was something she’d do without a second thought. “You wouldn’t though? I feel like everyone can relate to a good origin story.” 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 that’s something she’d like to see. “Okay so what’s your favorite type of movie? I’ve done some work for them all at this point.” 

Her choice of movie genre worries her, but it doesn’t surprise her. It was always the most mundane people who fell for the blockbuster aesthetics and overall genres that appeased the general public. “That’s cute.” Rita grants her a moment of her time, “but no. Silly fantasies don’t interest me.” She pauses, another thought crossing her mind. “That’s like asking me to believe in God. She’d have to show her face every once in a while.” The look on Rita’s face shows that, despite the general disinterest with the conversation at hand, she finds Isobelle to be a good distraction to pass the time. She’d get bored of her soon enough, though. “Why so interested, Isobelle?” She questions her with a satisfied smirk, “my interests in movies lays solely on the ones that will plummet. They give me something to do.”

[ritabower]

RITA BOWER, CANCELLATION ANALYST 

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.