A character described from memory is a book reshelved differently every night — roughly the right shelf, never the same place. A character written on a catalog card is filed once and found every time, by every tool, in exactly the words her maker chose. That is the whole system at this cabinet, and it is deliberately boring.
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 sits the loan line for the day: outfit, setting, hour, light. The loan line changes per job; the entries do not change at all.
Working from the drawer looks like this: pull the card, paste it word for word at the head of the prompt, generate at the standard 6 credits, judge the result against the card, file the keeper, return the card. Repairs, swaps and finishing all draw the same card, so the woman the editor repairs is the woman the upscaler delivers.
Consistency is not a talent. It is a filing system, kept honestly.