The face of this clock carries no numerals, no ticks, no scale of any kind — a refusal the studio makes on purpose. A dial that counted would invite the desk to count along: frames per hour, credits per minute, haste dressed up as measurement. The smooth face imposes the opposite economy. The sitting takes the time the sitting takes, and the only numbers allowed at the bench are her five lines and the printed price of the next job.
That discipline reaches the prompts. The card paragraph is kept factual and pasted verbatim; nothing in it is estimated, averaged or rounded. Judging follows it too: a frame is read against the card line by line, not against a feeling about how the hour went. Feelings are the shadow; the card is the blade.
Even the prices obey the smooth face: quoted whole before a job runs, refunded whole when a job fails, never ticking upward while you watch. The studio would rather be read slowly and exactly than quickly and approximately.
An unmarked face, an exact card. What this clock refuses to count, this studio refuses to fudge.