Player Information
Name: Samantha
Age: 21
E-Mail: szhall86@gmail.com
AIM contact: DrunkennLullaby
Sample Role-Play: (Required for new players only. Please provide a link or two to any past role play you've done, just so we can see your style!) http://phoenix--tears.greatestjournal.com/ This is an entire journal from one of my most recent RPs; it was a Harry Potter game.

Character Information
Name: Lucy Beatrix Thatcher
Birthdate: 1 September 1913
Age: 27
Citizenship: British
Loyalties: Leaning toward the Resistance, though trying to remain neutral
Occupation: Journalist

Background: Lucy was born to Bridget and John Thatcher in Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire, England in the late summer of 1913. The couple, which already had a son, James, seven years previous, had been hoping for a healthy baby girl to join their loving, middle-class family. Both parents and older brother were happy to welcome the little girl into their lives. Although Lucy was born in a time of war, she has little recollection of the incident, mainly because she was very young and also because her parents were determined to keep their children out of those affairs. Regardless, the Thatcher children had a normal, happy childhood. Lucy began her education in the primary school in Henley, taking an almost immediate liking to writing and reading. Bridget and John encouraged the education of both children, and they flourished. Summers were spent in the countryside where Lucy enjoyed the outdoors and spent all of the long lazy days picnicking, fishing, and walking.

Life was good for the Thatchers. In 1932, Lucy began her college education at the University of Oxford where she entered the journalism program. She worked as a reporter for the college’s newspaper and was able to earn the position of editor by her final year. She was in the top 10% of her class and graduated with honors. With such high marks and a good reputation as built by letters from her former professors, Lucy gained a reporter’s position with the Times of London. It was bittersweet; Lucy was doing what she loved, but she also had to leave her family’s home in Oxfordshire and move to a small, one-room flat in London. After working on minor articles and working her way up to bigger, more important stories, Lucy’s name because well-known throughout the city and the journalism world.

When World War II began in the late 30s, and as the Germans began occupying more and more of Europe, Lucy was dispatched to Vichy France to cover the affair. Her brother, James, decided to join the British Army despite his parents’ pleads. Even though Bridget and John were able to protect their children from war years ago, they were unable to do so this time. Now James is off fighting the Germans and Lucy has been thrown in to the middle of a city being torn in pieces.

Special Skills/Abilities: Lucy is very intelligent and speaks with candor. Obviously her writing is superior and her talent is great. She also smokes like a chimney.

Personality: Far from the proper British woman that most would expect upon seeing her, Lucy is a fiery, determined, and intelligent being. She’s not afraid of hard work and getting her hands dirty, which is one of the main reasons she didn’t mind being chosen for on-site coverage of the German occupation of France. She’s dependable, having never missed a deadline and will always keep her word. If she says she’s going to do something, she will do it. Even though James was protective of his baby sister, he taught her to stand up for herself and not to let anything get in the way of her dreams. She would do anything for her family and friends, including laying down her life in order to save them. Lucy is somewhat of a bleeding heart; it is very hard for her to see the destruction that war ravages on people and places, but she has started to become accustomed to the devastation and sadness that she sees in almost every place she looks – or rather, she is able to hide her emotions more effectively.

Lucy is not perfect. She has a darker side to her personality. She has quite a bit of a temper and heaven help you if you make her mad. She’ll let you know and she won’t let you forget it. Of course she has some minor vices: Lucy enjoys a good pint, smokes constantly, and lets out a curse word every so often (much to her mother’s chagrin).

Appearance: Lucy is a tall, slender, delicate-looking woman, which is why her appearance is so deceiving. Long blonde hair, often kept loose, falls over her shoulders and frames her clear, open face. Her fresh face often leads people to believe that she is younger than her twenty-seven years, but she has never really been worried with looking too old or too young. When she’s working, Lucy usually pins her hair up out of her face to keep it out of her way. Her eyes, a deep blue, are guarded and people cannot read her thoughts easily. She does not, so to speak, wear her heart on her sleeve. Her cheeks have a natural pink tinge to them, and her cheeks and nose are sprinkled with a light dusting of freckles, barely noticeable unless one was up close.

The woman’s normal attire consists of simple dresses or skirts that reach mid-calf as well as fitted jackets and tops. Lucy’s feet are normally clad with heels in colors that compliment her dress, and she is never seen outside without her tan trench coat and the matching fedora that belonged to her father, which she’s worn since college and believes is good luck.

Portrayed-By: The Thule Conspiracy. Or Gwyneth Paltrow.

Character Journal: (Just a link to the journal you plan to use.) http://paperlucy.insanejournal.com

Sample Third Person Roleplay: Lucy knew that she was supposed to be following the rules of the Vichy government while she was on assignment in Paris. She knew that she was supposed to keep her nose clean, get her stories and send them back to the Times headquarters in London, stay out of trouble, and live a quiet life in the small room she rented out while she was there. Basically, Lucy was supposed to live like a nun. After wiring her latest article to her editor and assuring him that she was going straight back to her room, the blonde had instead made a beeline for Le Passant, looking forward to the glass of scotch she planned on ordering. Now, sitting at a small table in a shadowy corner, Lucy sat in thought, tapping her glass with one finger and smoking a cigarette. It was after curfew. She knew that if she was caught, the chances of her getting into some sort of trouble were pretty large. But really, she deserved a good drink, and it was surprisingly easy for her to sneak through the alleyway across the street to her room on just the next road.

Le Passant had really grown on Lucy. She liked the atmosphere of the place. It seemed to be the only establishment in Paris where the only reminders of war were the German officers in uniform, a few of them sporting the red-banded Swastika that had become such a common sight. The proprietor and bartender was a lovely-looking woman who made Lucy feel welcome and was always willing to talk to her (a lot of Parisians were not so quick to speak with a British reporter, fearing what could happen to their friends or family if they were caught).

She took another sip of her drink, enjoying the good burn as it slid down her throat. Lucy’s thoughts drifted to James. It had been a few weeks since she had heard any word from him and, even though she wrote him constantly, she didn’t usually bank on him responding. Mostly Lucy heard news from her parents, both of which were back in England and wished that she would come home. Though things weren’t much better there, either. The Germans had begun an attack on the British mainland over the summer and were periodically bombing and attacking. Last she knew, James was somewhere in Mediterranean Basin. Lucy knocked back the rest of her scotch and took a long, final drag on her cigarette. She tossed the money for her drink plus a little extra on the table before putting on her father’s hat and stepping into the cold January air. Making sure to remain in the shadow of the doorway, Lucy looked up and down the street to make sure it was deserted before darting across the road and into the dark alleyway.

Sample First Person Journal Entry: Well. I’ve been in Paris for almost two weeks now. Two weeks I’ve been trudging throughout the city, avoiding the ruins of bombed buildings and trying not to look at them. I think that if I do I’ll start to cry. I keep thinking that this is what London must be beginning to look like, this desolate crumbling landscape and the poor, homeless souls wandering about snowy streets trying to find money or food. The face of a French stranger transforms into the face of a friend from Oxford before my eyes, and I feel the cold in their bones and the hopelessness in their hearts. And then I have to look away. Bloody hell, I thought I could do this. I wasn’t prepared; I wasn’t expecting to see what I’m seeing. I knew there would be destruction. I knew there would be depression and I certainly knew there would be death. I just didn’t know it would look like this.

Despite the fact that the city is devastated, I am falling in love with Paris. Those same luckless souls that are wandering the streets are the people that I’m trying to represent in my writing. They are the bartenders who serve me alcohol, they are the baker that I saw give away a loaf of bread to a woman who could not afford it, they are the students, the mothers, the children, the wives and sisters of those who stood up and fought against the Germans, and now they are the oppressed and poor. They are my mother, my father, my brother, my friends, and they are me. Even though they’re going through Hell and back, these are some of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met. Most of them don’t want to talk to me about the Germans. Most of them are scared. I don’t think any less of them for this. I wouldn’t want to put my loved ones in danger either, especially after already having suffered so much loss.

The Germans, when they do decide they want to talk to me (which is not very often), they talk of rebuilding and change and a bright, new future. They compare this to a coming spring awakening. There’s hope in their voices, and they don’t acknowledge the depression of the city. It’s difficult for me to tell if the Germans are saying this to get rid of me and to cover up their atrocities of if they really believe the tripe they’re spouting. With the officers, I believe it’s the former. But the younger, more naïve soldiers are so disciplined and so fervent with their answers... it’s as if they’re brainwashed. I wouldn’t doubt that as a possibility. It would make sense, and most of the lowest ranking soldiers are young and moldable. I wish I could get something else from them besides this automatic false hope of an answer, but that’s where the French citizens come in. They’re giving me the truth.

I just wish there was something I could do. Some way I could help. I already pay extra for drinks and food just to help out the people, but if I keep that up I’ll soon be poor as well and times are tough here and at home. I’ve heard whispers of a resistance during my solitary times at Le Passant, but I shouldn’t get involved with that. On principle, I shouldn’t. But my conscience is telling me otherwise.