The next actresses up for sharing their backstory for their characters are:
Billy Prince was a con man, one of the best, when he met the young and beautiful Josephine. He was in disguise as a high class gentlemen and attending her father's party. Although he was on a job, he could not help but stop and talk with her. She caught on to him, noticing his cockney accent slipping through on occasion. She confronted him about it and threatened to expose him if he stole one single thing. He did as she asked, but questioned her on why she did not reveal his secret. She gave the simple reply, "I like you." He grinned and said, " Please do not hold your threat against me, if I am so bold as to steal a kiss." She responded with a smile, for he had stolen much more than a kiss, but her heart as well.
People talked and Sid ease dropped, so at a very early age he learned his father's secret. "Do you know anything about the new neighbor?" a feminine voice rang out. Sid heard it, for he was playing outside, just below the open window from which it came. He knew they meant him and his father, for they had just moved in to the flat next to it. "Common criminal, I heard," another woman said with a sharp tone. "I heard the same thing," the first woman sighed. "To think, he even has a child," she finished. "I know. It's shame. Could you imagine having, pardon me, but street scum for a father," the second woman chimed in, again. "Oh, no. I couldn't bare it. Poor thing," the first voice gasped. "He ought to be taken away from him if he's to have half a chance," the second voice suggested. Now, young Sid could take no more. He threw some dirt at the window glass. " Oh, my!" both the woman shouted. One of the woman came to the window. "Who did this? How dare...you!" she said, noticing Sid. She shared the same voice as the second woman. "At least he's trying! I know plenty of kids, who had been abandoned and left to die by their parents!" Sid retorted. "You little brat! See, Cyndra , this is what happens when you have a good for nothing father!" She screeched . "Oh, leave the poor thing alone, Caroline!" Cyndra, the first woman, said. "I don't want your pity. I'd take me father any day over pretentious women like you," Sid said. "Why I never! it's too late to save the likes of you! You'll be just like your father," Caroline replied. "I don't need saving. I am happy to follow in his footsteps!' Sid shouted back. And that was exactly what he did. He took the path of crime in honor of his departed father, and he thought it fun. Though Billy wished better for him, Sid kept at it, for like his father, it was the biggest skill he had.
They later married. Her parents found out all about him and disinherited her. They had a baby boy, whom they named Sydney, Sid for short. Shortly after having Sid, things took a turn for the worst. Josephine had contracted a fatal disease. After she passed on, Billy tried his hand at a few different jobs in hopes of giving his son a better life. But it was hard for a man to find work, when his most prominent skill was thievery. So, he tried to hide his career from Sid. It was difficult, for Sid had the same crafty and adventurous spirit as his father.
In A Single Instant
“Angel, you need to get up!” Papa whispered through the darkness, shaking my shoulder. I sat up sleepily and pushed my reddish-brown curls from my face.
“Papa?” He was fully dressed and gazing out my bedroom window uneasily. The streetlamp still shone through the darkness. “What’s the matter?”
“There’s something wrong. Come here.” I slid out of bed, tiptoed across the cold floor and took the hand he held out to me. I stood on his shoes and peered out the window. Down below police wagons were clattering around the corner, horses galloping swiftly. Officers began climbing out, calling to each other and running towards our apartment building. A coach halted beneath the street lamp, horse stamping impatiently as a young man in a brown coat opened the door. He hurried over to the officers and began pointing excitedly at the second level. Suddenly, a loud thump sounded from the floor bellow, followed by shouting and running feet. The other officers and the man in the brown coat stopped talking and looked up. That’s when screams filled the night and instant terror gripped my heart. Three cops burst from the front doors, yelling to the others. Within moments smoke began spilling from windows on the floor below. Fire.
“Ginger!” Papa said urgently. I looked up into his brown eyes, frightened, and glimpsed my fear mirrored there. My small hand tightly held his as he pulled me from the scene at the window. Smoke had begun filling our room.
“Papa? Papa, what’s happening?”
“We need to get downstairs quickly!” He told me. I began coughing as the smoke thickened. He pulled me to the door and after placing a cautious hand on the surface, opened it and stepped into the hallway. I followed and it was like walking into a wall of scorching heat. I could hardly see my Papa’s figure up ahead through the haze and when I ran into him I buried my face in his shirt. We stumbled to the staircase among many other panicking neighbors and made our way unsteadily down. The heat only increased and as we reached the landing to the second floor, I stopped, petrified by what I saw. The hall was ablaze. Horrific, orange flames licked at the doors as alarming screams of trapped victims filled the air. Men began running up the staircase past us; some armed with wet blankets, others with sloshing buckets of water in hand to douse the flames and hopefully save innocent lives. My father pulled me to a halt.
“Ginger!” He called over the roar. I coughed violently in response. “I need to stay and help! There isn’t much time and they need as many men as possible.” I knew the neighbors trapped in their rooms would not survive long in this thin air.
“Papa, no!” I pleaded. “I need you!”
“Angel, it will be alright. Continue on and get to safely outside!” Then he knelt down and wrapped his arms around my shaking figure. “I love you very much.” He whispered. I began crying, tears streaking my dirty face. He held me at arms length and looked deep into my green eyes. “Courage, Ginger, courage. All will be well.” Then he was gone. I stumbled blindly down the stairs amidst the hysterical crowd. My difficulty to breathe was rising. Then the cold night air struck me like a breath of life against my skin as it filled my lungs. The street was filled with neighbors who stood in huddles: some crying from the horror, others anxiously calling for absent friends. Cops dashed around, shouting for everyone to evacuate the building. Everything moved as if in a dream. I gazed at the flaming building.
An officer paused behind me, briefly telling the other, “Just about everyone has evacuated, sir.” I stood on tip toe and wildly scanned the crowd for my Papa, for that one familiar, warm, kind face. He was nowhere to be seen. The flames reflected in my eyes as I realized he was still inside. I whirled around and rushed up to the officer, desperately tugging on his uniform sleeve. He glanced down at me and made an attempt to smile kindly. “Its ok, honey, everything is alright now.”
“No, officer, its not alright.” And then I found myself crying. “Please, sir, my Papa’s still in there! And I know he’d never leave till the last person’s out!”
“Are you sure he’s not out here yet?” He asked startled and looked at me closely. I nodded, pleading desperately for him to hurry. And in some miraculous way he believed me. “Don’t worry, I will find him.” He turned to rush towards the burning building when the man in the brown coat appeared beside him. I could hardly catch what they were saying, my panic increasing, but I heard him exclaiming.
“The man - started fire - that way - act immediately - know how to find him.” The officer began hurriedly asking him questions and the man pointed down the street. Time was running out. The seconds ticked by.
“Please, sir!” I cried in earnest. The officer turned to me and nodded. But the man in the brown coat held him back a few minutes longer, and it was a few minutes too late. In front of my horrified eyes, the fire completely consumed the building and cops cautioned everyone to step back. There was no way anyone inside could have survived.
“Papa?!” I screamed, running towards the fire. “Papa?!” A man caught me around the waist.
“Its all right, child.” He said kindly. “Its alright.” The sympathy and warmness in his voice comforted me. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing.
“No,” I wept. “Papa.” Gentle hands set me on the ground and placed a warm coat around me.
“Doctor Watson?” A policeman's distant voice asked. “You're needed.” The kind man left me and for the first time ever I was truly alone. The building blazed and the noise around me seemed to fade away. Papa was gone.
Ten years have passed since the terrible, misty, dark night that is burned vividly into my memory. The night a corrupt, wanted, criminal set an apartment on fire. The night a nine-year-old girl was robbed of her only family. The night, in a single instant, I became an unloved orphan. I can picture their cold silent graves side-by-side, mimicking the way I still feel. Rose Prince Evans, my mum, died when I was four; only years later, my father Walter joined her. After that, I was passed on to Mrs. Bassick, my distant aunt. I've stayed with her and Pepper ever since, working for the Professor. And I guess I sorta enjoy it. They’re the only ones who are nice to me; everyone else I’ve ever met seems to look at me with pity. They say I’m not thinking right; that I need to stop numbing my emotions with distractions. They’re all wrong and they’re all the same. They just don’t understand. But the Professor seems to. I’ve actually become accustomed to his insanely brilliant plans, even if he is a little queer. Although some of his ideas may be rather violent, its not like the victims don't deserve it. Besides, my thefts don’t hurt anyone. They’re only a game between Mrs. Bassick, Pepper, and I to see how much we can get away with. I'm pretty lucky to be in this group. No one here ever nags you, wanting to know what you’re really thinking or feeling. They all leave you to mind your own business. I like it that way. I can almost forget all that has happened. Almost. But tonight as I stand beside Mr. Holmes, and the bomb is ticking the seconds off, I hear him whisper, “Courage, Miss Faulkner, courage.” And all the pain of that terrible night comes rushing back as my Papa’s last words echo through my mind. In that moment I glimpse a clear picture of the burning building, the crying neighbors, and I feel the desperate, hopelessness that overcame that young child years ago. No. I can't leave these young people to their deaths, to the same fate my Papa met. Then I remember the man in the brown coat, the same man seated before me now, and the way he desired to catch a guilty criminal over saving the very lives of the innocent. Isn't it his fault? Isn't he the reason I suffer? I shake my head as I watch them struggle for freedom. Why should I help them now? It is a shame Miss Faulkner got herself into this by associating with the likes of Mr. Holmes. Rather naive and foolish of her, I would say. But I guess she simply wasn't aware of what she was doing, until it was too late. Just like it was too late for my father. With the terrors of that night still echoing through my mind, I grit my teeth and turn, leaving the scene and my past life behind.
