Post by jackie on Jul 16, 2011 15:09:13 GMT -5
DONNA LYNN SHEFFIELD
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► FULL NAME: Donna Lynn Sheffield
► NICKNAMES: ---
► PLAY BY: Bonnie Wright
► SEX: Female
► AGE & DOB: March 2nd, 1944 (19)
► NATIONALITY: British
► SEXUALITY: Heterosexual
► MARITAL STATUS: Single
► OCCUPATION: Aspiring Model
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► HEIGHT: 5'6"
► WEIGHT: 110lbs
► BUILD: Slim
► SKIN TONE: Pale
► DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Both ears are pierced.
► LIKES:
- Poetry and other literature.
- Music.
- Optimism.
- Embracing beauty.
- Open mindedness.
► DISLIKES:
- Liars.
- The song Donna; sure, it's alright, but when you've had it sung to you time and time again it can get a bit annoying.
- The long, cold winter months.
- People that can't take a joke.
- Her father.
► OVERALL PERSONALITY:
Donna is a fun, easy-going person to be around. She is pretty accepting of everyone, even if they are completely different from her. She has the desire to learn as much as she can from everyone she meets and is always willing to strike up a conversation. A healthy sense of humour is a key trait that she possesses, and with that she tries to bring out the best in others. Afterall, why judge someone at their worst?
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► HOMETOWN: London, England
► CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England
► FAMILY:
- Father: Peter Sheffield
- Mother: Lillian Baxter-Sheffield
- Younger Brother: Ronald Sheffield
► HISTORY:
I've been a London girl all my life, and I don't see that changing any time soon. I mean, living in the countryside is something I'd love to do later on, but now with my modelling career taking off that isn't an option. Anyways, I shouldn't be rambling about my future, now should I? It all started- my life, of course- nineteen years ago on March 2nd, 1944. What? A woman's supposed to keep her age to herself? Well thank God I'm not ninety!
I don't want to sound like a pompous git, but... our family, or while it lasted, rather, was one of quantifiable wealth. Father worked for one of London's biggest law firms, and while it was all very well and good having a 'posh' upbringing, it wasn't until later on that I was actually capable of looking back and realizing just how many people had to scrape by every single day on next to nothing. The war ended when I was only a year old, but that didn't mean I wouldn't see the after affects in the years to come. Not much later my younger brother Ronald was born, and I have to admit that we did, and still do, get along like the best of friends. It was the same binding friendship between us that kept us strong for the years ahead.
At first, we would've never suspected that father- no, Peter, was doing what he was doing. It didn't take long to notice that he was getting home late at night, but mum never said anything. That is, until he didn't come home at all. It couldn't of been much later than six in the morning, but when I heard a car pull in I knew who it was. Mum must've been waiting all night- as soon as he got in the house there was a confrontation between them, and two hours later our bags were packed and we were gone. The three of us were going to stay with Aunt Vivien and her husband until things 'got smoothed out'. That, evidently, never happened, because as mother put it: “There's only room for one woman in a relationship.”
We never really spoke to our 'other parent' after that, and he didn't make any effort too, either. Turns out the lady he was getting cozy with had kids of her own, so we no longer meant anything. Lucky for us we didn't have to stay at Aunt Vivien's for long; she was alright I suppose, but her husband, Charles, wanted us out of there as soon as possible. Mum rented a nice flat near our school and, well, life went on.
It wasn't until a year or so ago that I even considered being a model; there was a photographer looking for London's so-called hidden beauty, which a friend of mine insisted on dragging me to. I really wasn't too keen on being observed and labeled as such, but she seemed to show some genuine interest and after a further photo shoot I was featured in a considerably minor magazine. It wasn't much, but it was enough to spark my interest in pursuing it as a career.
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► ALIAS: Holly, Holls, Holland... whatever floats yer boat.
► OTHER CHARACTERS: ---
► WHERE YOU FOUND US: Caution 2.0
► ROLE-PLAY EXAMPLE:
Of course it was yet another typical London day; droplets of rain thrummed loudly against the building's roof, which eventually joined the seemingly endless streams trickling down the window panes. The interior on the other hand emitted not a sound except for the mind-numbing clacking of an elderly secretary's typewriter (who according to the desk's name plate was Doris). Whatever she was writing seemed to have her full and utmost attention, for Gwendolyn Thompson had been waiting quite patiently for some time now without a hint of recognition. That patience, however, was quickly disappearing- clearing her throat didn't seem to do anything either, which led to an agitated roll of her eyes. Some people!
“Er, excuse me...” That seemed to finally do the trick, but 'Doris' failed miserably at pretending to be surprised.
“Mister Evans isn't available at the moment, but you can leave a message.”
“It's really important-”
“No exceptions. Now do you want to leave a message or not? I'm busy, if you haven't already noticed.”
Sighing, she slung her handbag over her shoulder and arose from the chair she was seated in. “I'll... I'll just come back tomorrow.” Without another word she went back to typing, which was probably her way of saying of 'some people!'. As Gwen went to leave she had to stop herself from shooting back some sort of snippy comment; there was never any point in wasting your breath over crochety old hags.
Now... well, she wasn't sure what to do now. She had been prepared for a secretarial job interview (Good ol' Doris' days must be numbered, eh?), because acting just wasn't bringing in enough money. Time after time she was pushed aside by some bigshot actress, or told 'we'll get back to you later'. Of course, that always mean't that they wouldn't. As Gwen stepped out onto the sidewalk she was greeted by a steady downpour that, judging by the intimidatingly dark clouds, didn't look as though it was going to give anytime soon. People could never be satisfied, now could they? When it was hot, it was too hot, and when it was cold, it was too cold; The Beatles had a point there.
The words Ace Cafe caught her attention, as it had apparently done so for quite a few others in a mad dash to get shelter from the rain. We humans are made of sugar, y'know! After looking both ways she crossed the unusually desolate street, the fluent rap of her heels barely audible in comparison to Mother Nature's crescendo. Not much later she was pushing open the door to the cafe, and at first, it didn't look as though there was even a place to sit. Following a second look around Gwen spotted a free table, which she didn't hesistate in taking. “Looks like you got 'ere just in the nick time! What's it you fancy?” No sooner had she sat down than a waitress (couldn't be much older than sixteen) was hovering expectantly; pretty obvious that it was the kid's first day on the job. She had to smile at her enthusiasm. “Coffee sounds good, thanks- no cream, two sugar.”
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