serena's intro

0.00: tender is the night
Somewhere between the seventh press junket in Paris (just how many times does the media can ask shit about this year’s Cannes fuckups?) and a gala diffused within a gig in Shanghai, “Serena” loses herself inside the materialized world and decides that she’s never likely to go out again.
This celebrity life – exciting, rich, and intoxicating, filled with promises that are just easily broken as they are promised. Endorsement deals that cross your eyes like wildfire mixed in with undisclosed desires. It’s all part of the game, part of the dangerous gamble known as selling yourself out there in order to earn a living based upon your looks, your skills in how to work the camera, and please people that you look down upon. It was an art of its own, a form of entertainment that only certain people could master.
She wouldn't say that she mastered her chosen art of acting; she could hardly even say that she mastered the meaning of her life and what it means for her to be known as a Nation’s Treasure.
Yes, she would be criticized. She would be caked in makeup and air-brushed and photoshopped into someone that completely isn't herself, but that's all okay, because underneath all that, at least she’s making more than the average person could ever make in a lifetime. She greets the Nation in the small screen of their phones, and the large fluorescent billboards around the city. She’s trapped within a cycle of glamour and gossip that only the wealthiest of the rich could understand; she’s placed by hands that weren’t her own into a pedestal above normal human capacity.
She has it all, really.
It’s early evening on a Saturday, and another one of her acts is going to unfold. She’s primmed to the core, and blockings are currently being experimented with to find the right angle for photographers snapping pictures. They have to look natural, as always. This time around, her brand needs someone striking, tiptoeing the balance of propriety. A heartthrob actor is the answer, not that Serena’s complaining anyways.
She nurses a drink between her fingers as the hot topic crosses his way into the conversation and chats up Serena’s publicist.
"Yes. Yes. He's absolutely fantastic," she drawls, eager to let the play commence. “David” is an intelligent man, at least enough to keep amused with her wit. They had an actual fling once, but of course, it couldn’t sustain with any of their schedules. Not that she’s ever going to admit it freely, but she enjoyed his company.
David kisses her on the cheeks, and she responds with a playful flick of her wrist as he leads the grinning PR people to another corner of the refreshment table. The stylists are making final adjustments, and soon they’re ready to go.
“Out the door, walk down the stairs hand in hand, and straight into the car,” commands Tasha, Serena’s manager. “I prefer simple. More than 5 minutes and it would be overkill.”
She lets out a knowing chuckle, and David nods in agreement. They start right away, Serena’s signature smile plastered and ready to dig into the camera lenses.
Click, click, flash. The lights are on, but something’s not quite right. David is too cool with all this.
She grips his arm tighter, smile growing saccharine-sweet under her ducked head. “Look annoyed, darling. We’re supposed to be disturbed.”
FLASH. Another flash. Click, click, and they made it to the car.
The last glint of the camera fades, and David has yet to say a single word. She lets him be; she has never minded silence. But his hands reach her face, softly urging her to face him directly. “You’re still the same,” he says, with a strange tilt of wonder and an edge that sounds too close to sympathy. She doesn’t answer.
He looks to the side and puffs his cheeks out in extreme exasperation, face smeared with streaks of foundation and glittery eyeshadow. It feels like an eternity before he speaks.
"What if I told you, hypothetically, that there's a world out there. A million different possibilities and routes for us to take if we never ended up in this materialized and plastic world. What if I told you, that it's possible to find love, and have it last forever if we weren't trapped inside our devious, egotistic creations. What if I told you, that it's possible for us to be in love, without those high-ended expectations."
Now it’s her turn to be stunned.
“This is the longest sentence you’ve spoken to me in years,” she deliberates, each of her words dropping like yanked pearls. “To say that I’m surprised would be an understatement.”
Ah, David. David with the sometimes too-good heart.
She plants a kiss, a simple peck on his lips. “Out of your head and back to Earth, love.” She whispers. “You know very well we can’t even afford that.”
She asks the driver to pull over. Under the glistening moonlight, what happened seems like a blip in the universe. So, she walks out and tells herself not to look back.

diana's intro

0.00: what's in a name?
If a man sleeps around and lets everyone know it, he's a hero. If a woman sleeps around and lets everyone know it, she's a slut. There's a saying about that. "A key that can open any lock is a master key, but a lock that can be opened by any key is a shitty lock." Diana thinks people need to stop paying attention to the locks and keys and worry about the doors and the gates.
Some pretty girls become models or idols and split their pay with their agent and talent company. Diana is a pretty girl who became a bartender at a hostess club and splits the pay with other pretty girls who can drink most men under the table. The rest of Greater Japan looks at a hostess, a Kingdom hostess, and thinks she's dirty. Diana looks at a hostess and sees a woman who knows the secrets of a dozen men and can get the secrets of a dozen more with a bottle of Dom Perignon and a bat of her eyelashes. Diana's one of those girls, and she isn't ashamed of it. Bartending and hosting paid her bills and leave her with plenty to spare: she dresses well, speaks politely, and sends money to what’s left of her family.
If asked why she does what she does, the answer is simple: it feeds her, it clothes her, and most of the time, she enjoys what she does. Unless of course, the customer is an asshole, but there are security guards and a kick to the crotch for that.
If there's any trouble, Diana tends not to worry. She's been working as an informant on the sides for almost two years now, ever since she stepped foot in the club. She's too valuable to lose. Diana has served drinks to some of the most important and influential men of this nation of oppressors, and she knows some of their biggest secrets. She trades in those secrets for trouble to stay away, and so far, it's been working for her very nicely.
No regrets.
“Diana” has been working very nicely for her. It’s quite poetic to put a huntress in the raking wilderness of filthy animals.