A supply crate is stocked once, deliberately, and then drawn on for weeks; a crate restocked from memory every morning would hold a slightly different studio each day. A character deserves the same stocking discipline. Redescribed at every job, she is re-supplied by mood — 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 supplycrate card, and rest the card on the crate.
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 on the crate, 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 crate only keeps the decision in stock, frame after frame, exactly as written.