A filing cabinet earns its keep the day filing replaces remembering. Before the cabinet, a character’s description lived wherever the last sitting left it — half in one prompt, half in someone’s memory — and every job began with a search that ended in a rewrite. Filed once, in her own drawer, the card is simply pulled.
The card holds five entries in fixed order. Age, a plain number. Hair — colour, length, one habitual style. Build in two or three words. Face — one or two enduring details. Signature — the detail that survives a tight crop. Beneath the entries, the day’s slip: outfit, setting, hour, light — changed at every sitting, filed behind the card, never written over it.
Paste the card word for word at the head of every prompt. Generate at the standard 6 credits, keep the best third, and let repairs, swaps and upscales touch only what judging has passed — each tool pulling the same card from the same drawer first.
Remembering is a tax on every job. Filing is paid once. The cabinet is the cheapest discipline this studio ever bought.