A gear train is assembled once, tooth to tooth, and then it turns as one machine; pull a gear out mid-run to adjust it by hand and the train stops being a train. A character deserves the same respect. Redescribed at every job, she is re-meshed by mood each time — a hairstyle drifts, a signature detail is quietly replaced — and by the ninth frame the series shows two similar women instead of one. The repair at this bench is clerical: write her once, on a gearworks card, and let every tool mesh with that card.
The card holds five lines in fixed order. Age — a plain number, and here a mature one. Hair — colour, length and one habitual style. Build — two or three words, no more. Face — one or two details that endure every crop. Signature — the detail that survives even a tight frame. Everything else goes on the day’s line below the card: outfit, corner, hour, light. The day’s line is meant to change. The card is not.
The routine is plain. Paste the card, word for word, at the head of every prompt. Generate at the standard cost of 6 credits, keep the best third, and spend on repairs, swaps and upscales only after judging — judged against the card at the bench, not against the previous frame, which may itself have drifted.
A card cannot hold a character who was never decided. Decide her on paper first; the bench only keeps the decision turning, frame after frame, exactly as written.