I'm working on a story with a friend and she wants to bring Lelouch to the party...  Thing is... I'm pretty sure this will prove to be setting the cat amongst the canaries.
But I guess you folks need a few more details...
A while back I had the zany idea of a metric ass-load of anime characters winding up in the real world with an SI as their caretaker.  The reason for it being that an experiment by Washu Hakubi went and screwed up the multiverse and landed them all in the guy's house... in a most destructive manner.  (Put it this way - lucky no one was hurt.)
Anyhow, the story has gone through a couple of permutations, and one co-author who has up and vanished into the aether.
The story in its current incarnation is pretty much the same, with some notable differences.
The home is now an apartment complex in the LA area.  The SI's are hired on to take a run-down complex with squatters and make it profitable.  And then Washu shows up with Tenchi and everyone else.  Skuld is the first Goddess on the scene and lays it all down.  The entire multiverse is under lockdown until things get straightened out.  Until then, the Tenchi Muyo gang are to suffer the hospitality of the two SIs.  But, as more people keep showing up (with the next batch followed by key members of the Nerima Wrecking Crew) it is decided that the situation has dramatically escalated and Belldandy, Urd, and even Marler are called in.  (Heaven and Hell are setting aside their differences in this time of crisis - it's that bad.)
And at this time, more details come out.  For an instant, the entire multiverse was all one universe, and now they're busy trying to 'unstick' everything... but some universes are being very stubborn about this.  Meanwhile, it seems that an indeterminate number of people are caught in flux within their local space-time.  They are popping out at random times and places.  Eventually, a detection system can be worked out... but it is a finicky thing in the making.
The worst part?  Their universe is being the most stubborn and it seems that the best they may be able to do is 'copy' everyone and put them back into their proper place... which means that copies will be left behind.  The only other option is to permit the realities that are trying to stick the most blend in with their own universe... but that could have disastrous consequences.
And somewhere in the middle of all this fracas, Lelouch shows up, along with an indeterminate number of cohorts and associations.
Lelouch would have no way of getting back to his home-universe.  Even if it were possible, he could not suborn the Goddesses or Marler.  His Geass is locked down and they're able to read his thoughts.  Washu isn't an option, either, for various reasons (just pick your favorite and run with it).  Therefore, his primary goal of destroying the Britanian Empire is no longer open to him.
Now, from what little I do know of Lelouch (I only watch the first season of Code Geass) he is incredibly ambitious and always looking for an angle on something.  I know he likes being in control of the situation, so being told that this random joe and doe (just good friends, not a couple) are looking after him probably isn't gonna sit well with him.  Even if Nunally is present and is given proper medical treatment by Washu.
So... I'm am trying to figure out exactly what he would do.  I'm not at all a great strategist and I couldn't even begin to put together one of Lelouch's grand Magnificent Bastard plans... so... HELP!

I figured it might be useful to try have one thread where we could talk about various Kickstarter projects, given that we seem to have a bunch of them floating around.
So, here's a Kickstarter for a group making a game console based on the Android OS.  The Kickstarter began on July 9th.  They have, as of this post, raised $3,626,171. 
Holy...
-----
Stand between the Silver Crystal and the Golden Sea.
"Youngsters these days just have no appreciation for the magnificence of the legendary cucumber."  --Krityan Elder, Tales of Vesperia.

Dissonant Seer:
Preconceived Notions
[Warning: there are spoilers here for a fair amount of First Ward Content]

I was really starting to hate the wards. It wasn't because of the apparitions, thought I had my fair share of conflicted feeling about them when I found out what they truly were. It wasn't because of the gigantic flying seed spawn, regardless of how creepy it was to have part of Hamidon just floating around. It wasn't even that strange way space twisted in on itself to form the shadowed paths. No it was because everyone was a backstabbing degenerate.

And they were dragging us down to their level.

We originally sent one of us to First Ward when we heard about seers there forming their own collective outside of Mother Tilman's control. While there I met Amy, another seer who had gotten out of the network. She was operating as "Mind's I", and for the first time in a long time I felt hope. I was outside of Tilman's control, with another free sister who didn't hate the concept of a making a new network, and looking for more of us to join up.

I should have known better than to believe that Tilman would allow such organized rebellion to exist. She kept pushing them harder and harder until they self destructed in a bid for enough power to survive. It made me feel sick inside, but I had to help Amy put them down. They had lost all semblance of control; or maybe they had more control than they could take under Mother Tilman, and decided that it wasn't something they needed any more. Either way, The things I saw in those buildings will certainly be visiting my dreams for some time to come. But as frustrating and gut wrenching as it was to kill other seers who had made it out from under Tilman's thumb, that wasn't the worst we did.

At first I had thought that there was a small silver lining in having to kill our out of control sisters. We had managed to take down the local node of the seer network. But then Amy and I learned what was happening to the freed seers. Confused, angry, and hurt, they were perfect recruits for the Talons of Vengeance. And if that wasn't bad enough they had managed to entice Katie Douglas as well.

Left with nothing but bad choices we did something I never thought I could do. We restarted the seer network. Shoving them back under Tilman's thumb was only slightly preferable to killing them. And if they were still alive then someone else might be able to free them again. But I don't think that person could be me. I had gone to the First Ward with the hopes of making or joining a free network. And instead I had ended up killing them and having to put Katie Douglas back into Mother Tilman's grasp.

We had done it stop the Talons of Vengeance, and in doing so we had 'saved the day'. But if I knew then what I know now, I'm not sure if I could bring myself to make the same decisions.

I note that you seem to have moved the rotating titles (or at least some subsets thereoff) to the sub pages for each section.  However, the 'top' page for DW 2 does not, from what I could see, seem to be generating its semi random quote/quip correctly.  Not sure why, but thought I'd let you know (might also just be that whatever is happening is only happening in Firefox)
Hear that thunder rolling till it seems to split the sky?
That's every ship in Grayson's Navy taking up the cry-
NO QUARTER!!!
-- "No Quarter", by Echo's Children

Uncanny Valley - 11/Jul/2012
Arthur thought they might leave him alone.  They'd taken the Hollywood Machine. They'd hired a HR professional, now they'd got good employee criteria.  He ran Lagrange Recruitment.  Rod was in college.  Arthur was on a retainer.
Maybe they were afraid he'd work for Stellvia?  Fat chance!  They'd much better people than him.  He'd been shown the dossiers.  It'd be fun to work alongside some of them...  But, retainer.  Then, the latest demand.
They'd found the logistics limits of the Hollywood Machine.  Which was partly about how hard it was sensible to ask Mrs O'Hare to work.  Arthur wasn't happy about the addictive side of the machine.  He hadn't planned it.  In fact, he hadn't planned any of it.
Actually, they wanted AIs.  The brief was for more attractive women who could run the infrastructure, 24/7.  But the skill requirements were quite unreasonable.  No, he refused to try and make more 'Angels'.  They were a disaster waiting to happen.
Hmm.  The trick would be to make them heterogeneous, three different processor architectures running compatible software.  That'd give some protection from crude instruction-set specific attacks.  He'd need to read some more security stuff.
If the AIs had remote control of humanoid bodies, that'd satisfy the need for 'attractive women'.  But, he didn't trust his ability to navigate the Uncanny Valley, never mind manage 'attractive'.  Also, with their own bodies they could unplug their processors and leave the station, if they really wanted to.  He'd been reading about AI slavery - nasty.
Ms Jones wasn't currently watching him, but he expected she'd want to see all the receipts.  He knew some computer recyclers, and he was sure they'd have something good.  And, those ex-school RISC PCs he'd tucked away.  Then, there was that Mac fanatic, he knew, who'd kept those Power PC boxes, his design firm got rid of.  Old x86 boxes would be trivial.  Then, he just needed something really weird for emergencies.
Just for fun, he'd put them in colour-coded boxes.  Red, white and blue - should be good for even colour-blind technicians.  Though, seeing as he expected female staff, much less risk of that.  Black for the tenth one.  When he'd been poking around in the occult, to get the bits for the Angels, he'd made a few interesting contacts.  'Dave Mathers' he called himself.  Mad as a hatter, but a genius at making sane AIs.
Mathers came through, with ten install discs, one per AI, four processor architectures.  He'd had the boxes soaking in some special handwavium, left over from the Hollywood Machine project; 'paisley'.  He was pretty sure that'd got things going, and his discipline in saving samples of all handwavium strains he'd made paid off.  Pity he didn't have the paint mixer any more.
His science fiction friends had filled him in on real world robotics.  Air muscles were apparently the thing.  Fibre optic fibres for touch and temperature sensors.  Medical latex skins for realism.  Human hair if you could afford it.  But, there was no way he could construct ten humanoid bodies, all with 640+ muscles, on any realistic time-scale.
Hence, the Body Builder.  Constructed in his own time, with his own paid-for materials, seeing what happened with the Hollywood Machine.  He didn't like it, it scared him.  But, he'd built it, and they'd taken it off him.
He fed-in all the raw materials and parts.  This was a wonderful example of a waved device doing a complex task that could in theory be done by hand, and not contaminating the result with handwavium.  The link from AI cores to remote robot bodies was paired hacked cell/mobile phones, which if he'd got it right were doing all the anti-jamming and hacking tricks possible.  Waved Li-on batteries for AI and robot power supplies.
So, he had ten robot bodies, all slightly different, untouched by handwavium. Credible appearance, but still well in the Uncanny Valley.  He ran test routines, using a jury-rigged VR system, and fixed the few glitches.  But, he was reluctant to boot the AIs.
Brain wave. (No pun.)  No handwavium, no mods, so, maybe...  Would the Hollywood Machine glamorise them?  Worth trying.  Ten days later, he had them all ready. Perfect.  Maybe not movie-star quality, but better than average.
Apparently didn't even need Mrs O'Hare in the seat, took five minutes each.  The rest of the time was shipping and admin.  And, reading between the lines, a reluctance to ship them 'back down' to him.  Pity he'd kept the AI end of the remote links.
They were now in neat uniforms, presumably morphed versions of the sports wear he'd shipped them in (with underwear, of course!).  While he was curious what the underwear might have morphed into, it seemed unwise to check.  Their latex flesh looked human, even down to fine hairs on the arms.
Final checks.  The VR rig ran even smoother than before, and he couldn't hear even a faint hiss from the compressors.  He could see breathing, and when he looked closely, a pulse in the throat.  Wait a minute.  He hadn't fitted the waved Li-on batteries.
Ah well.
Simultaneous AI Boot!
AI Crew
These are ten humanoid robot bodies capable of running 24/7 with very high quality secure radio links to ten AIs designed to plumb-in to the systems of O'Neill Station.  The AIs are in three linked groups of three, with a heterogeneous processor architecture (ARM, PPC, x86) within each group.  The tenth AI is a weird non-standard architecture (SEAforth, if you're interested) and in a total emergency, where everything else fails, might keep a minimal system working.
Under normal circumstances any one AI processor from a group of three is capable of running about a third of O'Neill Station's facilities, and which third this is is hard-wired for each group.  Normally each triple of processors votes as to what is done, and if voting isn't unanimous then warning alarms start.  If one processor crashes and there is a tie, the tenth AI is given control; otherwise the tenth AI only gets control if an entire triple of processors has crashed.
The humanoid robot bodies all resemble attractive young women, and are fully functional in almost all ways: eating, drinking, excreting, bleeding; except they cannot get pregnant and bear (or nurse) children.  At core they are hardware, and their bones for example need repair rather than being capable of healing. You'd need an x-ray (or an RF monitor, to spot the link to their AI) to tell they're not human.
The AI link is good for up to 50 miles range, less if there is some shielding which it can't work around (wide band, frequency switching, etc.).  Upgrading to a better comms tech, say FTL, would most sensibly involve the AI and robot designer (Arthur).  And surgery.
Most of them go about their duties normally, as well-integrated numbers of the crew.  All have different appearances and personalities; all have hobbies.  The tenth is a roving troubleshooter, and is always poking around looking for problems.  She's also a dedicated amateur astronomer.
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

A little something that's been stuck in my head for a while that finally decided to come out.
Any form of review is welcome, especially from rob & bob, as I want to make sure I have both characters' voices correct.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
I woke up in my bike’s seat for once.

For those who have been following my travels, you already know how uncommon that is. For those who have only this chapter of my tale, I am Douglas Quincy Sangnoir, Colonel, security chief of the United Nations Metahuman Peacekeeping Force Warriors Alpha, based in London, England. I am a metahuman, which is someone with all the abilities of humanity and more beside. I have been kicked out of my home dimension through no fault of my own, and have been going from dimension to dimension hoping my next stop will reunite me with my wife Maggie and my comrades.

And for your information, my mode of travel through worlds has always made me unconscious, and as such I have been more often than not ejected from my bike’s seat.

Shaking my head to remove the last remaining cobwebs of unconsciousness, I took a first look at my current world.

Modern, by the looks of it, with skyscrapers all around. It was night, and late night at that if the number of lights meant anything. The road I was on was asphalt, which might be why my bike’s AI managed a good landing this time, and by the looks of it not well maintained.

A quick look around saw no threats, and more signs of shoddy maintenance bordering on actual damage. A closer one revealed what I expected: This city had experienced an earthquake or something of the sort recently, and the damage was everywhere. I checked from high that there was no fire or other such danger to the people here, and when I found none I decided the find a place to stay for the night.

I would look for whatever passed for leadership or law enforcement during the day, and offer my services. In times of crisis like this, there was surely some work I could do

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I ended up borrowing a boardroom in a building of a company called Amagasa Corp., which looked quite abandoned if one were to judge by the dust. The building still had power and water, so at least I wouldn’t be forced to survive on my water rations.

I went back to the room where I had stashed my panniers to find that Eimi had finished booting. “Not home I suppose ?”

I was by now quite used to the directness of my digital partner. “Doesn’t look like it. Unless something huge happened while I was gone, this isn’t my world.”

“Fake id then ?”

“Wait on that. This place seem to have gone some kind of earthquake recently so it might not be…”

That’s when the windows cracked from a wave of air pressure. A sound had just preceded that, but I haven’t yet found the right onomatopoeia for it. Suffice to say that it was the sound of a sizable part of a building crashing down, something that I have unfortunately caused at least once. It was also very close.

Acting on instinct I grabbed both Eimi and my paniers only to run back outside to my bike. I wasn’t going to take a chance on having the roof crumble on me. I might survive but I wasn’t going to risk my equipment on it.

Once in the air, I noticed the fallen building. Behind and to the left of the Amagasa Corp building, it was evident that the structure had not fallen naturally. It had been visibly cut in half nearly horizontally.

Getting closer, I quickly noticed a fight going. On the highway right next to the fallen skyscraper two figures were duking it out. I instinctively did a tactical analysis on both figures and was surprised to find that these weren’t ‘crunchies’. It was surprising because both figures were at most four foot something.

Turning Eimi to point her webcam at the battle, which seemed to have paused for an instant, I couldn’t help but ask. “Anyone you know ?”

Before she even could answer, a circle of energy started drawing itself in the air right above the downed building, followed by a six-pointed star within the circle. Inside that appeared the one of the most bizarre creatures I ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Its body was that of a fish, and easily taller than me with a dorsal fin (which looked quite sharp) that doubled that height. It had the requisite fins of similar size on both sides of its center, along with something like tentacles protruding from the area above the fins. These were bizarrely colored differently from the body, with those on one side a pinkish red while those on the other were a deep blue.

And, most visibly, it had the face of an Asian girl with pink hair (including hair band) instead of that of a fish.

The shock of such a bizarre thing stunned me for a second.

“Whee! I’m a cute florist! I sell pretty flowers! Pretty, pretty! Do you want flowers? Do you, do you?” It said out loud, with the voice of an eight year old schoolgirl.

I kept watching as one of the two combatants, the flying one, teleported out, while the other jumped off the highway. The fish-like thing followed the latter after a short conversation, I supposed, some form of telepathy or electronic means.

I turned towards Eimi. “Any idea what that might be ?”

“Some.”

“Transfictional ?”

“Yes.”

I thought for an instant. Transfictional information meant that she had read the events here as a story somewhere in another dimension. It was a little bit like future knowledge, but from an outside point of reference. “Anything I should know ?”

“The one who just jumped off is a good guy, and could probably use your help. Either that or taking the miracle goop and building a space habitat in the next few hours.”

“That bad ?” I raised an eyebrow at her words.

“Not sure… But if it goes bad it can go very bad.”

“So… follow the fish ?”

“Follow the fish.”  
-People may die, but ideas are forever. Je suis Charlie.

Possibly, given the lyrics, the Final Gatesong (though I suspect you already have that picked out, Bob):
"Already Home" by Marc Cohn

I can see the sunshine
Coming through my room
Breaking down the winter of my discontent
Looking out my window
At the people passing by
I keep wondering where my old companion went
On the steps of the museum
I wrote a line or two
But it took a while to find my way
Back to something true like
This is where I lay my hat
This is where they know my name
This is where they show me that
A man's not so alone
Maybe I'm already home
(Sometimes you've got to go back)
Maybe I'm already home
(Sometimes you don't know why)
Rolling down the window
Burning up the daze
Cutting through the veil that keeps on blinding me
I was only sleeping
Waiting here for you
Waiting for your touch that keeps reminding me
Well I've seen the world of wonders
Been underneath it too
But it took a while just to find my way
Back to something true like
This is where I lay my hat
This is where they know my name
This is where they show me that
A man's not so alone
Maybe I'm already home
(Sometimes you've got to go back)
Maybe I'm already home
(Sometimes you don't know why)
Why it had to take me so long
Just to find a place that really feels
This must be where I belong
Thinking about it
All I had to do was click my heels
This is where I lay my hat
This is where they know my name
This is where they show me that
A man's not so alone
Maybe I'm already home
(Sometimes you've got to go back)
Maybe I'm already home
(Sometimes you don't know why)
Ebony the Black Dragon
http://ebony14.livejournal.com

"Good night, and may the Good Lord take a Viking to you."

Chapter one of Fred "Pyeknu" Herriot's The Loon and the Ladies from Avalon is now up on the site.  It's indexed on the Fic^2 page, if anyone was wondering.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Hollywood Machine - 09/Jul/2012
Arthur'd heard of something called 'colour therapy'.  If he could combine that with a health-boosting tan.  Maybe something with mirrors...  His mind kicked into overdrive, and he experimented with blending different sorts of handwavium, in a surplus paint mixing machine; 12,000 possible varieties!
Exhausted one night, from fruitless interviews and the latest failed handwavium blend ('paisley'), he plugged-in the microwave, nuked himself a pasty.  Then, he thought, plugged back in the extension for kettle and toaster.
In the morning he discovered it was the paint mixer and sun bed, somehow both using the same extension lead, that'd been on all night.  Two drums of blended handwavium had emptied, and the two machines combined, into something with too many angles, and a chrome finish.  The 'chrome' was explained by some distorting mirrors, ex-fairground, also incorporated.  And his multi-colour lamps.  He didn't like how his features reflected off the surface.  And, it hummed, even after unplugged from the mains...
Pushing it behind a partition, with items left by previous owners of the premises (ancient hair driers, even older production machinery), he cleared-up, or at least hid the problem.  Recent recruits had accents he could cut with a knife.  He thought the Job Centre was sending 'no hopers' his way.  Ms Jones required a positive progress report in two days, three at most.  How?
Mrs O'Hare, the teacher scared of pupils, had been giving Rod some free instruction, after hours.  Meant someone was in the premises, anyhow.  Ms Jones had been insisting Arthur take off at least two evenings a week, no matter how much work needed to be done.  He wasn't sure why, but it gave him a chance to relax, and seemed to blunt his gambling cravings.
Mrs O'Hare had been paid to talk into an experimental 'teaching machine' that Arthur'd waved-up.  From an old dicta-phone and a teleprinter.  But, he'd junked that two days ago, as it seemed to be going no where, and dumped it in the back.
Arthur woke in the night, knowing something was badly wrong.  He rushed downstairs to the workshop - sleeping above had cut his rent bill, and it was good for security.  As there'd once been a small factory on the back, the sound insulation wasn't bad, though ancient.  There were Mrs O'Hare, and Rod, slumped under old-style hair driers, no sign of the partitions, an immense machine looming behind them.
They quickly revived, and Mrs O'Hare seemed far less timid than she often was. Rod opening his mouth was the big surprise.  His stutter was totally gone, and he spoke with Mrs O'Hare perfect diction.  Mrs O'Hare strode across, picked up the exercise book, and thrust it at Rod.  Word perfect.
---

Rod said he was jumpy about leaving home the next couple of days, and while his stammer remained gone, his speech mostly returned to normal, but with a clearer accent.  Mrs O'Hare said they'd not seen the machine, just a couple of old hair driers, and she'd told Rod how she always used to feel relaxed under them.  Then things got strange.
Arthur experimented.  He found The Machine seemed to be able to fade into the background (camouflage?), though other times it loomed, shiny and disturbing. Two more drums of raw handwavium, that were, he thought, well separated, were empty, and an old roller conveyor system had been absorbed.  His electricity bills indicated the machine was somehow tapping the local power grid.
Ms Jones was not pleased.  Weeks of effort and all he had was a mysterious machine.  And no usable recruits.  Still, the accident with Mrs O'Hare was worth following-up.  Maureen, an interviewed 'no hoper', joined them, as a receptionist, and general dogs-body; she'd failed Ms Jones recruitment test for 'going up'.  Rod seemed to quite like her.
---

It took Arthur quite a while to untangle what happened.  Rod had told Maureen about his speech improvement.  Maureen, who appeared to be an amateur radio ham, had 'played' with the equipment, and been disappointed to find it did nothing for her.  Then, she persuaded Mrs O'Hare to do a hair drier teaching session.
The other thread had been Ms Jones deciding to do a late evening inspection; maybe that's why Arthur got evenings off?  And Ron coming in, because Maureen had said she'd see him later.  Ms Jones was standing horrified, just inside the door, looking at two slumped figures.  Ron threw open the door, and Ms Jones went onto the conveyor belt.
Into The Machine.
Frankenstein meets French Farce, thought Arthur.  All it needed was a Wardrobe and a Man With No Trousers.  And a bolt through his neck.
Ron couldn't stop the machine, or get anyone to respond; half an hour later teacher and pupil revived, and a transformed woman came out the far end.  Ron later said the machine almost held him hypnotised.
Only then did they phone Arthur.  He'd been having a quiet evening drink with his science fiction friends.  He was slowly conceding some of that stuff was quite a good read.
---

Ms Jones looked years younger, and when she opened her mouth her slightly crooked teeth were perfect and white.  Her diction was Mrs O'Hare at her best, and her limp was gone.  Even her skin was perfect, no blemishes at all, and her hair.  A crowning masterpiece.
She didn't even have bad breath.  Arthur leaned close enough to check.
Maureen was speaking far more clearly, but she was enthusiastic about the 'Full Treatment', that Ms Jones had got.  As Ms Jones was dazed, and Rod totally opposed, Arthur ruled they wait a few days, to check for ill effects.  And, he pressured Ms Jones to get a full medical check-up.
---

Making a swift recovery Ms Jones reluctantly explained that she had an artificial leg.  This was now a perfect fit, and similarly perfect were her teeth.  The doctors said she was in excellent health, and a minor skin complaint was gone.  She wasn't actually younger, just as well as she could be for her age.  Her smoking habit was gone.  A specialist clinic said she tested negative for biomod.
It appeared she could now hide her Glasgow accent, though she didn't seem to have any other new abilities - her writing and presentation skills were already excellent.  She did report temporary agrophobia.
A few previous interviewees were invited to return, and agreed to sign full non disclosure forms.  It appeared that the machine only worked if Mrs O'Hare, no one else, was wearing one hair dryer and someone was sitting in a second one.  Then the machine did its half hour treatment.  Arthur could have sworn a small smile appeared on Mrs O'Hare's face when this was revealed.
Maureen was the third volunteer, and afterwards looked radiant.  Rod was very disappointed when she made it clear she was 'going up'.  Without him.  Ms Jones fully recovered in three days and was her old self, though she now had perfect teeth, and no limp.  Her skin and hair returned to a smart but business-like look.
Arthur did more tests.  After a while the machine stopped working, and he found it needed feeding, with make-up, glamour magazines, and 'magic smoke' that it obtained by cooking integrated circuit boards to death.  He didn't think it was intelligent, but it seemed to have an large animal-like presence.
---

Arthur knew it would happen.  They insisted on taking away the (now named) 'Hollywood Machine'.  It was going up to O'Neill Station.  Mrs O'Hare was happy with her new permanent job.  A 'Kelly' arrived to supervise the move.  Arthur did his best to avoid her, and spoke at least one octave above his normal pitch, in her presence.  Apart from a few strange looks, he thought he got away with it.
What was next?  He'd had a strange dream before they took The Machine away.  He'd fallen onto the belt, and come out, with frothy pale lace on his shirt cuffs and collar, and a slick hair-do.  A Glam Metal Detective?  Was he still male?  He'd been unchanged, in the morning.
But, after all, they hadn't tested The Machine on Men, had they?

What The 'Hollywood Machine' Does
It does glamour.  You will get perfect skin, perfect teeth, perfect hair.  Without make-up.  From Mrs O'Hare you will get perfect speech, initially identical to hers, and her excellent writing and presentation skills.  The teeth remain 'fixed', but unless significant effort is taken, like a diet shift for the skin, and careful pampering for the hair, these will fade back to normal, over several days.  Your normal speech patterns will return, over a few days, but with a little effort there will be an overall improvement, which training can help with.
Side effects of the machine include it removing any mild visible health problems, at least in the short term.  It handles the physical side of alcohol and nicotine (or other drugs) addiction, for all but the worst cases - social or psychological factors may mean people keep on smoking, etc.  Prostheses, such as spectacles, hearing aids, and even artificial limbs will be (permanently) adjusted for ideal fit.  Clothes and footwear are also adjusted.
The machine is capable of three 'treatments' per day, each half an hour.  Mrs O'Hare must be in her seat, and someone who is still in need of her teaching in the other seat.  Obviously Mrs O'Hare cannot be treated.  Each treatment temporarily decreases Mrs O'Hare's agrophobia, and stage fright.
The effects of the machine can boost people's confidence.  The (mild) agrophobia fades over a few days.  The main problem is the machine is psychologically addictive (assume this problem effects 50%).  If used more often than once per three days the agrophobia gets worse, and if used at least once per day for a week it becomes permanent, at Mrs O'Hare's level.  For those with the addiction problem, one treatment per three weeks seems best.
If the machine is used on someone who is already a 'perfect beauty', and the equivalent of fully trained by Mrs O'Hare, it has no effect.  There is a flat 5% of people that the machine has no effect on, not matter how poor their initial state - they tend to end up mildly depressed.  There's no known way of characterising or detecting this 5% ahead of time.  For both 'perfect' and 'reject' it refuses even to start the treatment cycle.
The machine cannot alter your weight, just move it about a bit, and tone your muscles so you carry it better.  It cannot make hair or fingernails longer, just trim and polish (temporary hair or nail extensions might be used in the worst cases), though it can lighten body hair so it is near invisible.  The weight returns to its original position and the muscle tone fades to its previous state unless a regular exercise program is started.  The lightening remains for newly-grown body hair unless some quite violent skin treatments are used.  The machine has no effect on injuries, diseases or poisons (but, see drug addictions, above).
Note that the machine does not biomod people, and may be ineffective on those biomodded; it depends on the biomod.  Also note that it isn't clear what effect the machine has on men...
--
"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind

Human Resources - 09/Jul/2012
Arthur was concerned.  All his gambling debts, paid off.  He had a company, an assistant.  He was in danger of becoming... prosperous.
This was a new experience.  Mr O'Neill was 'satisfied' with the three girls he'd 'recruited'.  So satisfied that Arthur was now running a recruitment agency.  "Hire me some more, sixty or seventy should do."
Even that wasn't enough.  He now had a 'line manager'.  Ms Jones was tasked with ensuring 'everything went smoothly'.  When he'd explained he worked best in a 'freelance, creative fashion', she looked him in the eye.
"I did the job interviews on those... young ladies.  Brilliant from a skills perspective, a human resources nightmare.  You didn't recruit them, you didn't 'discover' them, you literally built 'Angels'.  If you're a HR consultant then I'm Princess Di."
Arthur considered calling her 'Your Highness', but it didn't seem really safe. Ms Jones, a lady in her late forties, walked with a slight limp.  While her skin hinted at Mediterranean ancestry, he sometimes detected a hint of Glasgow in her voice.  Her neat trouser suits implied business practicality not anything resembling glamour.  And she could write an email that'd slice the meat off your bones.
Because he was no fool, Arthur asked for the project brief.  And, the real brief.  It was Stellvia, again.  Attractive young women were required.  Skilled, useful, ones.  Dedicated.  Loyal.  Had he mentioned attractive?  Once or twice he wondered if that was a pitying look Ms Jones gave him.
For a brief, mad, moment he considered starting an 'exotic' recruiting agency.  Employing women who'd given up hope.  Had no self respect.  Wave them into heart-stopping beauty.  Force useful skills into their heads.  But, even he had his limits.  And there was probably a law against it.
OK.  It came down to skills and glamour.  And, he guessed, education.  He wasn't making more Angels.  He'd had a chance to think about it and realised how lucky nothing'd gone badly wrong.  But, glamour.  All those beauty parlours did it. Surely he could come up with something?
Single women.  At least one relevant skill or hobby.  Willing to travel. Eighteen to twenty-five years old.  Physically active.  No major health issues. Who was he?  A 'Big Brother' recruiter?
Self-reliant?  Minimum education?  Driver's license?  He was totally out of his depth, here.  People were just waiting for him to fail.  Loyalty, dedication?  Nothing like the 'Charlie' trick would work again.
Stick to what he knew.  He started with a tanning bed.  There were new regulations, and some of the older beds had been ruled unsafe.  So he got one cheap; he could fix it.
Ms Jones controlled the purse strings, too.  Or, at least, she checked his purchases with an eagle eye.  Insisted on seeing all the original receipts.  Cheap wasn't a problem, but there had to be clean accounts.
A teacher friend his aunt knew.  Mrs O'Hare.  Husband left her, terminally shy.  Almost afraid to leave her own house.  But brilliant at personal instruction, clear English diction, writing and presentation skills.  Supposed trained to be an actress, but ended terrified of audiences.
If he could get it right, he'd get eager girls, sorry, 'young women', sharpen their skills, glam them up (teeth whitening?), and throw them, sorry, 'present them', to Ms Jones.  A bit of a thin plan, but best he could think of.  He needed all the help he could get.
His assistant, 'Rod' he liked to be called, was a youth in his late teens.  Tall, skinny, a slight stammer, and someone who looked at fatty food and sprouted a crop of pimples.  Still, he was good enough to take-over Arthur's TV and electronics repair business, and do most of the simpler work, unsupervised.  A good job, as "Lagrange Recruitment" was taking all his time.
Why him?  He wasn't a business man.  He just liked playing with machines.  What if they found him out?  Still, he'd got a return invite from those science fiction reading students.
Maybe one of them would have a good idea?
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"It is the business of the future to be dangerous" - Hawkwind