[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.] Belinda SmartSpecies:
Unofficial assistant barwoman to her father’s pub.Status:
Lowly working-class citizen.::Appearance::Hair:
Hangs just above shoulders in thick, tangled red curls.Eyes:
Moderately curvy. She’d probably describe herself as not particularly skinny, but not fat, either.Other:
Belinda is usually clad in a thick leather jacket, adorned with various pins, studs and patches in a layout of her own design. She also wears a matching hat which sits at a lopsided angle atop her head. Accompanying this are scuffed black boots and equally worn-down jeans, although she may also wear woolen tights with a tartan skirt. Belinda has a ‘thing’ for belts, and will often wear up to three at a time.::Info::Family:
Her father, whom she currently lives with, and her mother, who divorced a few years ago and lives in Manchester with her boyfriend and newborn son.Personality:
Belinda is harsh, outspoken and imprudently stubborn – and unsurprisingly, these traits often land her in a considerable degree of trouble. She likes to treat life as a challenge, as she is particularly competitive and determined to get her own way. Despite this strong-will, she is generally quite naïve, and is influenced easily by others; an example of this would be her involvement in the punk movement despite the fact that she knows or cares very little about it outside of her love of the music. Her brash exterior is often a wall to protect her from the riff-raff of Liverpool, and underneath she can be genuinely quite tender, although her rough upbringing makes her ability to trust strangers relatively poor. With the right motivation, Belinda can be very energetic and enthusiastic, although her somewhat rude demeanor will remain.Strengths:
Relatively ‘streetwise’ and smart in the realms of common sense.
Quite strong for her age and build.
Unafraid to ‘physically show her disapproval’ against anyone who threatens her.Weaknesses:
Academically poor and unfocused.
Highly impatient with an almost petulantly stubborn temper.
Easily influenced by others.Likes:
The punk movement (a great deal) and the music genre that accompanies it. In fact, she plays her guitar (poorly) for a relatively shoddy band that performs occasionally at her father’s bar. Admittedly, she also has a penchant for getting drunk, and sporadically relishes in the thrill of nicking petty things from corner shops.Dislikes:
She is furtively scared of enclosed spaces, and like anyone from Liverpool, she despises people from Manchester – particularly her mother.Dream:
Belinda longs to be able to express herself in some way that really represents who she is as a person – while she undoubtedly enjoys the punkish ideals of the era and considers herself a defender of the anti-establishment movement, she suffers somewhat from a lack of interest in many of the trends she succumbs to. At times, her life seems repetitively dreary and monotone, and sometimes she cannot help but think there must be something else in the world, as she detests the thought of slumming away as a lower-class citizen in Liverpool for her entire life.History:
Born in 1967 into a relatively poor family located in a rented flat above a rowdy pub, where her father often frequented. Her mother had a tendency to swan off whenever she rowed with her father (which was incredibly often), and so she would tag along with him to said bar and witnessed a good deal of fights and disturbances, although due to her young age she was always shielded from them. When the owners of the pub passed on, her father inherited it since he was quite friendly by then with the manager and his wife.
In her teenage years, Belinda frequented the bar herself and got involved in a good few bar fights of her own, although the general crowd were fond enough of her – so, she began unofficially working for her father behind the bar to earn a bit of pocket. Her mother, outraged at Belinda’s position as a glorified maid, considered it the straw that broke her back, and promptly divorced her husband and travelled off to Manchester. Belinda was more angry than upset with this, and focused on forging a stronger bond with her father rather than worrying about her selfish mother. HOW DID YOU FIND US?: Explain how you came across our website.
I scoured the web looking for literate Doctor Who roleplays (they’re almost impossible to find, right?) and found you. C:The Doctor is stuck under a flickering streetlamp; you are on the opposite side of the street. It's midnight, no moon or stars, the only lights around are the lamp the Doctor is under, and the light in front of a closed store you stand under.
The only way to the Doctor is to cross the dark street, easy, right? Wrong. This planet is well-known for being infested with Vashta Nerada. Any shadow anywhere could be infested with them. You have a small pack on your back with several items in it that you could use to get to him.
-The Doctor's Sonic screwdriver
-A chicken leg
-Box of matches
-A rubber duck
Belinda was more than used to trekking her way across a dismal street in the middle of the night – she’d been on enough pub crawls back home in Livvie to know that – but according to the irritating spaceman standing smugly across the cobbles, these shadows were infested with man-killing aliens. Honestly, if she hadn’t seen proof in her previous travels she wouldn’t have believed a word.
Still, she had no choice now, not after the travels she’d been on, the things she’d seen. And as far as she was aware, glancing at ordinary shadows didn’t force her stomach to sickly churn with discomfort – there was definitely something in there, baying for her blood.
Belinda shrugged off the pack she wore and rumpled her hand around inside it, chewing her tongue with frustration. “Oh, bail,” she muttered, yanking out the assortment of useless paraphernalia that was bundled up inside the tartan folds of the bag. She held a chicken leg to her face and glared at it, as if to reprimand it for being incapable of helping her cross the road to reach the Doctor. She spat on the pavement and tossed it carelessly into the ravenous shadows.
She heard a sickening, hollow crunch, and as soon as she looked up she noticed the darker shadows on the right had devoured the chicken leg whole, not even leaving behind a wet slither of the meat. Her face contorted into an uneasy grimace. That could’ve been her foot.
Her hands rummaged around in the bag again until they fell upon something long and sleek. “Ah, ‘ey-!” Belinda exclaimed softly to herself, tugging out the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver – she remembered it as the whirry blue thing that he used to open doors or startle aliens, or suchlike.
Belinda extended the top third of the device, just as she’d seen the Doctor do, and flicked forward the switch – and sure enough, the screwdriver lit up and emitted a high pitched buzz. Without thinking, or letting the sudden brightness deter her vision or concentration, she aimed the sonic tool at the shadows and allowed herself a satisfied sneer as the creatures inside seemed to momentarily screech in agony.
With her free hand, she scooped the bag’s strap into the crook of her elbow and snatched up a flashlight that had rolled free of the assorted uselessness that spilled out of the pockets beforehand. She aimed a beam at the ground and was somewhat impressed at the strong ray of light that shot out of the torch and cut through the swirling darkness of the road, permitting her a safe space to place her feet so she might bound across the cobbles to reach the Doctor.
The sonic screwdriver humming away in her left hand, and the torch steadily focused on the street ahead of her, Belinda hurriedly darted across the illuminated tarmac to the adjacent pavement, part of her half-panicked brain just wishing that she wouldn’t be met with a cheesy ‘Not bad’ accompanied with that heart-tenderizer grin of his.