ALYCIA DEBNAM-CAREY, CISFEMALE, SHE/HER. When’s the last time anyone heard anything about VIRGINIA DRISCOLL? Old friends remember them as LIBERATED & CONFIDENT but also MANIPULATIVE & SELF-CENTERED, no wonder they’re still known as THE FEMME FATALE around town. Today, in 2006, they are THIRTY-FOUR and some people say they remind them of THE MAKEOVER MONTAGE WHEN A GIRL TAKES OFF HER GLASSES AND PULLS DOWN HER PONYTAIL TO (SURPRISE!) FIND OUT SHE’S BEEN ATTRACTIVE ALL ALONG, STUMBLING DOWNTOWN WITH A BOTTLE IN HER HAND, MAKING OUT IN A BAR BATHROOM, BURN MARKS LEFT FROM A CURLING IRON, AND SPRAYING HAIRSPRAY IN YOUR EYES.
BASIC INFORMATION
full name: Virginia Claire Driscoll
nickname(s): Ginny, Gin
age: Thirty-Four
date of birth: August 2nd, 1972
hometown: Hawkins, Indiana
current location: Hawkins, Indiana
orientation: Bisexual
religion: Atheist
occupation: Model
living arrangements: Currently staying at the Holiday Inn because fuck staying w/ parents
language(s) spoken: English
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
faceclaim: Alycia Debnam-Carey
hair color: Light Brown
eye color: Green
height: 5′7
FAMILY
father: Solomon Driscoll
mother: Darla Johnson
grandparents (paternal): Jack and Doris Driscoll (deceased)
PERSONALITY
sun/moon/rising: Leo/Taurus/Gemini
label: The Femme Fatale
positive traits: Liberated & Confident
negative traits: Manipulative & Self-Centered
BIOGRAPHY
Darla Johnson and Solomon Driscoll were never a couple that was truly in love. The pair met in high school and after a couple years of dating, found themselves pregnant with Virginia. They had a shotgun wedding and it came to no surprise when they announced their divorce when Virginia was only five years old. She likes to think her parents spared her. They cut things off quick when she couldn’t even remember them being together, rather than having to pay for all the therapy bills if they had got a divorce when Ginny was older.
Ginny never had much of a relationship with her paternal grandparents. She never got a clear answer as to why. Sometimes her dad would take her out to Benny’s Diner to visit with her grandpa, but her grandma was always a bit of a mystery. The only semblance of an answer she got was that her grandma wasn’t well, that she was crazy, and that it was best for Virginia if she spent minimal time with the Driscoll’s. Her grandmother died at the hands of the Mindflayer, none of which Virginia is aware about. To her, her grandma just died because... that’s kind of what grandmas do.
Popular. It was a word that would never describe little Ginny Driscoll! She flew under the radar for most of her life. Smart, but not to the point of valedictorian. Quirky, but not to the point where it was noticeable. Kids were mean and she was more than happy to just pass them by as nothing more than a body in the hallway.
It came as no shock when Virginia decided to go to UCLA. She had no clear ties to Hawkins other than her parents, so she packed her bags. The first night she was in her dorm, her roommate suggested going out to a party (and thank God for that!). High school Ginny would have never gone out to a party, but it was a freshman mixer, and her roommate just begged her to do a little makeover. The day Ginny was introduced to contacts and a curling iron, her life changed for the better. That night she came into her own. She was no longer little Ginny Driscoll who let people copy off her homework in the morning. She was Virginia, the freshman who could handle her liquor at night and still make it to her 8am in time.
It was the 90s and mall modeling scouting was all the rage. Ginny was handed a business card with some company name on it. She didn’t think it was legit, but trying to survive off of the minimal checks her parents would send wasn’t sustainable. She needed a job, and quick. So, she called the number and when it didn’t sound half sketchy, she did some test shots. It launched her career into what it is today. She’s no Cindy Crawford and isn’t recognizable by most, but in Hawkins she might as well be a full fledged starlet!
With the passing of Joyce Byers, word was bound to get around to Virginia. She didn’t know the woman. Hell, she barely knew the woman’s sons other than the brief crush she had on Will Byers in elementary school. But, with Joyce’s death, it ignited a new surge of thoughts into her head regarding her grandmother. Now that she was older, she could recognize that she circumstances were never right. So, she’s back in Hawkins under the guise of offering condolences, but she’s really trying to play detective to the best of her ability.
TIME CAPSULE
Virginia put a newspaper of the Hawkins Post from July 1985 in the time capsule.
STATS
Athletics (How Athletic are they?) - 1
Burglary (Can they swipe stuff?) - -2
Contacts (Do they know people with information?) - 2
Deceive (Are they a good liar?) - 3
Drive (like, actual driving ability) - 2
Empathy (How much of an empath are they?) - -3
Fight (Do they have hands?) - 1
Investigate (Can they sleuth?) - 1
Lore (Kinda like knowledge) - -2
Medicine (First aid essentially) - 3
Navigation (How good are they with a map/getting around?) - -2
Notice (Is your character observant?) - 0
Provoke (Are they a shit stirrer?) - 3
Rapport (Are they charming? Can they do it on command?) - 3
[BRANDON SKLENAR, CIS MAN, HE/HIM] When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [RYAN JACKSON]? Old friends remember them as [ATTENTIVE & STOIC] but also [WITHDRAWN & RESTLESS], no wonder they’re still known as [THE FARMER] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [39] and some people say they remind them of [SWIRLING DUST MOTES IN A SUNBEAM ; A DULL ACHE WHERE YOU’LL NEVER FORGET THE PAIN ; DIGGING THROUGH THE COUCH CUSHIONS FOR SPARE CHANGE ].
a wild screaming weight, trapped inside your belly ; knees in the dirt as you pray to gods who do not answer ; shattered glass against your own bones ; gravel tossing beneath you as you trek ; pressing fingertips into bruises ; a honey coloured sky ; swirling dust motes in sunbeams ; coffee stained mugs lingering on windowsills ; digging through couch cushions for spare change ; a suffocating humidity at dusk ; tree branches grazing your bare skin ; the warning signs carved your skin ; an unmade bed ; mud on the soles of your shoes ; silence of a honey suckle morning ; tell the stars to consume you ; scars on your palms and the insides of your fingers ; the taste of rust in your mouth, blood on your tongue ; a dull ache where you’ll never forget the pain ;
HISTORY
Born under a sodden moon with the bite of night’s air threatening your skin so bare. Fists curled, covered in blood, yet even as a child you didn’t scream. Almost as if you didn’t know how, no matter how much you felt that creature inside you, that winged beast beating against your ribcage begging to be freed. You never find a sound for it.
There’s silence in the mornings, a stillness to the sky that turns from dark to find the first waft of ether. You think that breaking light becomes a part of you, blues finding way for the rose coloured horizon. Your shoulder aches most mornings, shattered and pieced back together- more and more of you starts to feel like pieces of a man patched together. Silver slither of scars against your skin, telling stories you wish didn’t remember so easily. Unhealable wounds you’re so full of.
But before that, before war- you were a boy. Bruises against your arms, and gravel filled grazes on your knees. A bandaid haphazardly covering wounds that still bleed. Your father would wake your brother and yourself each morning before the rising sun, it felt the moment you were old enough to walk you were helping him heap bales of hay to feed the livestock, and tend to the crops that dig their roots into the soil. You’d mend the machinery that always seemed near broken, and find calluses forming on your hands. Dirt under your fingernails, and eyes tired even then- your body learns the shape of becoming a man under years of labour. And your brother would be there by your side, you two would share stories of one day moving out, one day going beyond all this- you always knew that was more of his dream though. You’d never be much of a dreamer.
He would take the two of you on adventures around the town, secret hideouts in the forest, and lakes that seem so secluded and isolated from the world. The kind of places that only kids could find so magical, with foliage under your boots, and trees that graze your skin as you pass. It was an afternoon the two of you were collecting firewood, searching for fallen logs that the two of you came across an old mine. It would soon become your favourite place to explore- spiders calling themselves home amongst the rotting wood that holds the structure, and old rusted tools left by people long ago. It would become a whole fun world the two of you would start making up stories about- stories about the past, and stories to tell each other of those things lurking, waiting. Hiding.
You wish you’d known of danger then, perhaps then you wouldn’t have lost him. Under the rubble, clawing, dirt filling your lungs as you heave for air. Dust and piles of rubble on top of you. This was the first time you thought you were going to die- where the earth swallowed you whole, its talons sinking into your sides. That was the day you made it out and your brother never did. You searched, your fingers red and sliced. Dirt covering every ounce of you, and you screamed- you cried out until it turned dark. It was the same week of your eighth birthday, when you got home they sent a search party for him and tried to tend to your wounds. But you barely allowed it, all you wanted to do was search.
Your parents were never quite the same after his funeral. A burnt umber landscape where you stood by his graveside, a handful of dirt thrown over his coffin feeling so inappropriate. And you whisper to him “I will always be afraid.” You’re not sure you ever stopped tasting copper in your mouth. Their fighting only grew worse within the first few months, and you almost felt the worse days were when they didn’t even have the energy to fight. Silent shells of people who once were, within a year their marriage would fall apart completely. Your mother would leave, she’d pack her bags and move interstate to go be with her sister. Eventually she would fade even in your life, you could never blame her though.
The years would go on, you would still be helping your father herd the cattle, and move scraps from the yard. Despite the aching silence that settles on the house. You were never incredible at school, the teachers would always say though that you’d just never apply yourself. Perhaps they were just being kind, pitying you. You’d act out in small bouts, mostly against authority, and those who thought they could say something behind your back. But it would land you in a good number of fights, split knuckles bandaged together, and split lips. But it always felt better than pity.
Stumbling home late from parties in the middle of nowhere, or from abandoned parking lots. Stolen bottles of booze, and the night sky stretching above. Some nights you’d think you hear something from the bushes, or catch a glimpse of something racing through the fields. Shadows, you think to yourself. Just the shadows of something playing tricks with your eyes.
They say even the silence of the night has a voice, and we feel the percussion of it like a split lip. Perhaps you leave because you feel that if you stay you’ll rot, or perhaps you’re looking for an escape from it all. From everything that was happening, from the intangible way the town seems to constantly swallow more. Even itself after the earthquake. You enlist when you’re old enough, your father had asked for it for years- and you know you’re not good for much else. And you didn’t have much to lose.
The war would become your home on and off for years, you’d work your way up the ranks. You were a corporal by your mid 20’s, fighting this fight that wasn’t even your own. Sometimes even now it’s hard to leave the battlefields, the way it swarms your dreams and clings to your back like a ghost you can’t shake. You stir awake most nights drenched in sweat, moonlight streaming through your windows. The horizon glowing so faint. Even now you’re home you swear you hear things if you listen close enough at night, creatures that don’t sound like yours out in the field. Some mornings you swear you count one less cow than the week before.
TIME CAPSULE
A bottle of moonshine from his highschool friend down the road, with a handwritten sticker label “get trashed x”
When’s the last time anyone heard anything about ARGYLE FUENTES? Old friends remember them as OPEN-MINDED & LAID-BACK but also BLUNT & OBLIVIOUS, no wonder they’re still known as THE BASKET CASE around town. Today, in 2006, they are 39 and some people say they remind them of the faint ever-present smell of weed lingering in your clothes despite your attempts to cover it up with essential oils and incense of every kind; unexpectedly making the move from ‘token sidekick’ to the trope of ‘genius ditz’; finding fulfillment in the simple things in life; perpetually sore muscles from keeping up a brave face
PINTEREST
BIOGRAPHY
TW: DEATH MENTION, GRIEF, DRUGS
Maybe deciding to stay in Hawkins had been the easiest decision Argyle had ever made in his life. Jonathan had been his first real friend in the world, as Argyle would later quote at Jonathan’s wedding reception, his life had… basically started the moment he’d walked into Mrs. Miller’s classroom at the beginning of the year, the second he’d sat down on the only empty seat left in the class and Argyle had turned to him with a grin so big it had made his cheeks ache. Brochachos for life. Trauma-bonded until the end of their lives after that wild fucking roadtrip they’d gone on, spring break of ‘86.
First, though, Argyle had to wait until graduation. He’d promised his abuela on her deathbed that he’d finish school, and he’d sort of promised himself, too. There were plenty of people, loads of teachers included, who seemed to be convinced that, because he indulged in the occasional blunt, he’d never amount to anything, much less academic success. But, ha, he’d show them! (Also, he wasn’t going to start shit with the ghost of his grammy. He may have promised her to stay in school but she had promised him to come back and haut his ass if he didn’t. And she’d already been scary while alive, no need to risk anything. ) Show them he motherfucking did. Walking that stage at graduation with a joint tucked behind his ear, a wide grin, bathing in the gobsmacked stares of all the people who’d thought he couldn’t do it. Take that, Lenora Hills. Take that, Martin from Algebra. Take that, uh…. what was that dude’s name again? Anyway.
Having successfully graduated from High School, all Argyle needed to before moving to Hawkins was drop out of community college. A predictable move for him, sadly. He’d stuck it to the haters with the 3.2 GPA at graduation. Then he’d proceeded to un-stick it to them by giving up his place at Lenora community. But whatever, there were more important things in Argyle’s life now than studying and drinking questionable amounts of alcohol out of red solo cups. Lenora community would still be there if Argyle ever decided to move back to Cali, and, besides, Hawkins had a community college of its own. So, Argyle could support his best bro and get an education! Two birds with one beautiful, smooth, warm stone. A joint between his lips, Argyle handed in his apron and drove the Surfer Boy van along the coast for one last time.
Life in Hawkins was … different, to say the least, but easier to adapt to than he’d initially thought.The first few months were spent mostly indoors, comforting and supporting Jonathan in any way he could. Movie nights, long talks over a shared joint in the middle of the night. Whatever he needed, Argyle was there to provide it. Whether that was a grocery run, a call to the funeral home to re-negotiate a deal on the caskets. Argyle proved to be a real jack of all trades during that time - a time of mutual comfort during grief, though, because, of course, Argyle wasn’t left completely untouched by the deaths of Will and El, either. He’d known them for as long as he’d known Jonathan, had needed to get used to this new version of the Byers household, as quiet as he’d never experienced it before. The first few months until well after the funeral, Argyle did everything to be as accommodating as possible to Jonathan, Hopper, Joyce.
Oh, Joyce. Bless her heart. Argyle hadn’t been fortunate enough to have grown up with a mom, raised by his father and abuela, and that had been totally fine and lovely! But holy cow, wasn’t it lovely, too, that Joyce Byers had taken him in like one of her own. He’d even called her ‘mom’ by accident a couple of times. But it wasn’t horrific like it was when he’d been so tired he’d accidentally called Mrs. Croucher ‘mom’ in history class. No, the opposite, actually, Joyce had merely laughed, ruffled Argyle’s hair, a distant look of sadness in her eyes she tried to hide by quickly asking him if he wanted anymore mashed potatoes.
It’s Joyce that pitches the idea of a roadtrip to California to him. Arglye quickly pitches it to Jonathan and, after a little convincing, they’re back in the Surfer Boy Pizza van, a big, foldable map spread out across Jonathan’s lap while Argyle happily drums along to ‘Break My Stride’ on the steering wheel. Down the West Coast to California. A trip down memory lane - stopping by the Byers old residence, paying a visit to Argyle’s father and his new wife - with a healthy dose of laying on the sand at Santa Monica beach, sharing a joint while watching the sunset. ‘You know, brochacho’, Argyle would say with a dazed grin, watching intently as the red and orange and blue of the sea exploded into a lovely rose-ish colour, ‘everytime there’s a, like, a super, like, pretty sunset? That’s my abuela saying hi. And Will, too. And your little sis.’ And he would nod to no one in particular, before adding, a little quieter; ‘Sorry I ratted you out to Joyce with the viscious skate attack, little bro. That was actually so badass.’ And they would be quiet for a while.
Once back from their trip, Argyle, having blown through his Surfer Boy savings, got a job at the laundromat. He just sat there most of the time, blazed, talking to little old Dolores about her cat or her husband, he wasn‘t quite sure. Since moving to Hawkins, Argyle had gone on a journey of … finding himself. He’d pretty much sailed through life, couldn’t really name any goal or aspiration he had. Everytime they’d taken one of those career aptitude test he’d panicked - all those things sounded sort of good! But also all of them sounded sort of bad, too… god, how could he ever decide what to do with his life?
One night, he had an epiphany. Having consumed a criminal amount of weed, the idea had suddenly popped into his head, and he cursed himself for not having thought of it sooner. ‘A speak easy….. but, like, for weed, man!’ A buddy of his had gone to Amsterdam in the summer, told him about the ‘coffee shops’ there. But how much more exciting when it was, like, secret! And smoking was still criminalized, at least in Indiana it was. Had he stuck gold here?
Argyle’s secret-but-not-so-secret weed speakeasy, the weed sponsored in part by one of the only friends he’d made in Hawkins excluding Jonnie boy, some super cool dude named Reefer Rick, opened underneath the laundromat soon after. With moderate success among insiders but, hey, success nonetheless!
However, once Argyle pitched the idea to some of his buddies who owned a couple of weed dispensaries in Cali, he had really stuck gold, like, seriously. A place where you could both purchase the goods and consume them, in a safe space, a comfy environment? Genius. Truly. Maybe this had been Argyle’s purpose all along, being a business owner. A true business man. But without the stuffy suits and the, like, cocaine and infidelity.
Suddenly, as if overnight, Argyle Fuentes is, like, rich. Like, filthy rich, or something akin to that. Like, raking in dough, rich. When he checks his bank account for the first time in months - he doesn’t usually do that, money is made up, anyway - he can scarcely believe it’s real. ‘Don’t spend it all at once!’, the bank teller cautions him with a playful wink. Argyle nods, proceeds to buy his dad and step-mother their house. He pays off whatever debts they have. Then he withdraws a fifty and leaves. He scarcely, if ever, touches his funds, why should he? He’s got everything he needs. He makes sure Jonathan’s fridge is full, makes sure he’s got snacks in his own, too. Every once in a while, Argyle will pick a good cause to donate some of the money to.
Oh, he buys a cat, too. Garfield. Who … looks nothing like Garfield, but it was the only cat name he could think of. So now he’s rich and he has a cat and he travels for business (fucking business) every once in a while, but truly, Argyle is happiest when he’s lounging on a bench near lover’s lake, basking in the few hours of sun Hawkins gets in a day.
During his travels he meets the woman that, soon enough, will turn Argyle into an actual dad. She’s a good buddy, one joint too many and one thing had led to another,a one night stand had turned into a future of co-parenting. No bad blood between them, fuck, if anything, Argyle was stoked! He’d always wanted to be a dad, and this was going to be a challenge, of course, but one he’d happily take on. Maybe this is his purpose in life, after all. He’s so happy, it’s ridiculous. The fact that she doesn’t pressure him to either marry her or stay completely out of her and the little bud’s life is a huge relief on him, too.
Everything’s going too good, almost, in comparison to what Jonathan’s going through. When Joyce passes, Argyle puts all other things on hold, rushes to Jonathan’s side. Surely, this dude had been through enough trauma to last a lifetime, and here came another hit. But Argyle is there, and he’s not going anywhere. Fuck, he’s in this for life, no take-backsies.
Argyle put his surfer boy cap - or one of them, the man’s got thousands - in the time capsule, along with the recipe to the famous surfer boy pizza dough (there’s a secret ingredient in there that Argyle can’t even remember now),
STATS
Athletics (How Athletic are they?) 1
Burglary (Can they swipe stuff?) 3
Contacts (Do they know people with information?) 3
Deceive (Are they a good liar?) 0
Drive (like, actual driving ability) 2
Empathy (How much of an empath are they?) 3
Fight (Do they have hands?) 0
Investigate (Can they sleuth?) 2
Lore (Kinda like knowledge) 1
Medicine (First aid essentially) 1
Navigation (How good are they with a map/getting around?) 0
Notice (Is your character observant?) 1
Provoke (Are they a shit stirrer?) 0
Rapport (Are they charming? Can they do it on command?) 2
[DONALD GLOVER, CISMALE, HE/HIM/HIS] When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [LUCAS SINCLAIR]? Old friends remember them as [LOYAL & ATHLETIC] but also [HEADSTRONG & SENSITIVE], no wonder they’re still known as [THE RANGER] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [35] and some people say they remind them of [COZY SWEATERS, BLACK COFFEE, EARLY MORNING RUNS, RED MARKS ON PAPER, THE SOUND OF A BASKETBALL BOUNCING ON A HARDWOOD FLOOR, SCUFFED BASKETBALL SHOES, HALF DRUNK BEER BOTTLES WITH PEELING LABELS, CAT FUR EVERYWHERE EVEN THOUGH HE’S NOT A CAT PERSON (ALLEGEDLY),]. [dani, 23, she/her/hers, est].
biography.
make new friends. step out of comfort zone and try new things. be yourself. that was lucas sinclair’s to-do list to surviving his freshman year of high school. 1986 had different plans for him. lucas did all of those things. he joined the basketball team over hellfire club, much to mike and dustin’s chagrin. he made a lifelong friend in jay demario. and, ultimately, he ran right back to the party when they needed him. he got his ass kicked by his team captain, watched helplessly as the first girl he loved cared for had her bones broken in half, and lost two of his best friends to the upside down. he failed. and that failure stuck with him for years. he was not going to fail anyone else like he’d failed to protect will and el. he was going to make sure his people were okay. and he was going to finish what he started in high school even if it killed him. so lucas sinclair went from benchwarmer to starting point guard, led the hawkins high tigers to back-to-back state championships, and earned himself a scholarship to notre dame so his parents wouldn’t have to worry about paying for his college just because he wasn’t as smart as erica, all while keeping tabs on dustin and mike and writing a bunch of letters he didn’t have an address to send to max that might still be shoved in the back of his closet.
he was an athlete and he played d&d with the hellfire club on the weekends. he dated a pretty girl who followed him to college. he was going to bring the fighting irish to the tournament, get noticed by scouts, and get a shoe deal. maybe he’d become an agent...or he’d play a few years professionally if he was lucky!
but lucas rode the bench his freshman year of college. he worked out all summer to earn his spot on the court and had a fantastic sophomore season...until a new year’s day tournament led to a torn acl. he had surgery, but the rehab was difficult. he fell into a pretty bad place, mis-using his pain pill prescriptions and eventually getting hooked. he made rash decisions including dropping out of school and heading home. he worked at family video while rehabbing his knee and saving up cash to...do what exactly? run off to california? very funny.
he spent two gap years in hawkins, going through the motions, occasionally hanging out with his old friends and and feeling trapped by the four walls of his childhood bedroom. a combination of reconnecting with mr. clarke while trespassing in the hawkins middle school gym and a good therapist that his mom definitely didn’t force him into seeing made things clearer to him. (marian tried, but it was honestly finding some of the old photos of the four of them in his classroom...and all of their old projects still taped up on the walls in mr. clarke’s classroom that gave him the nudge to return to school.) he’d probably never play in the nba. not on a bum leg, anyway. and if he couldn’t do that, well, keeping the curiosity door open wasn’t a bad trade off.
he returned to notre dame two years and many lifetimes wiser, got a teaching degree, and walked back on to the basketball team. he helped the irish into the big dance and had a pretty successful athletic career while earning his degree. lucas even married his high school sweetheart while on a spring break trip to las vegas (which his mom is still pissed about, by the way!)
he and tracy probably would have moved to chicago if not for charles’ heart attack. lucas had to go home and, thankfully, his wife seemed content to follow him back to hawkins.
honestly? lucas got married because that’s what he thought he was supposed to be doing at twenty-three. some of his friends were married, most of them had kids, and his mom was dying to join the grandma train. lucas was (and is) still searching for something to fill the massive gap left when will and el died. he’s been trying for years: first with athletics, then his romantic relationships, then with the pills and the weed and the booze he definitely didn’t get from jonathan or steve, but nothing ever makes him feel whole anymore.
the closest thing that does? seeing the spark a kid’s eyes when they finally figure out a difficult science concept. or the pure joy on every face when the girls’ basketball team he coaches finally wins a game. but as soon as he goes home to an empty apartment? he’s fucking lonely.
and he was lonely even before the divorce. he told tracy as much, and it...didn’t go over well. they fought, which was kind of...exhilarating, actually? they’d had a superficial spark that had burned hot and fast but died quickly and they both had just been going through the motions for years by the time lucas admitted that he just didn’t feel like it was worth it anymore.
his life is fine, if boring. he found some joy in coaching and substitute teaching at hawkins middle. when mr. clarke passed away, he stepped in automatically. if mr. clarke wasn’t there to guide the next generation, lucas sure would.
When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [JIM HOPPER]? Old friends remember them as [DRY + CARING] but also [CYNICAL + STUBBORN], no wonder they’re still known as [FAT RAMBO] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [65] and some people say they remind them of [A GREASY AMERICAN BREAKFAST WITH DRIP COFFEE, A WIDE-BRIMMED TAN HAT, MUSTY CABIN WOOD, AND THE DEAFENING CRACK OF A SMITH & WESTON 66].
Full name: James "Jim" Hopper
Nicknames: Hop, Hopper, Fat Rambo I guess (RIP Alexi!!!!)
Birthday: September 12th, 1949
Age: 65
Education: Ex Military Education, War Trauma etc.
Occupational Experience: Former Police Chief. Brawn for Watcher investigations.
TW: Alcoholism, death.
POST 1986
When life hurts you, because it will, remember the hurt – Oh, does Jim remember the hurt. There was no shortage of it after Eleven and Will’s funerals. As one would expect, he lived in a long fog after the loss of his second daughter. He struggled to reel himself into stability, spending many evenings by the side-by-tombstones. The man tried to keep himself busy and settled back into a workflow at Hawkins PD, but no amount of Whiskey or puttering helped him escape the ache of grief. He had to face it. Joyce was an incredible anchor for him during this time. To this day he’s not sure how she managed to be so strong – dealing with the aftermath of Will’s death, taking care of the community, and tending to his own rut. She was truly a light in the dark times. Consequently, the pair grew inseparable after their collective losses – mostly knowing that they weren’t alone in the pain. Rumours abounded about a potential romance between the pair, but a relationship never officialized for them between the years of 1986 to 2006. They were happy in friendship and that was simply enough for both.
Jim’s reluctant retirement from the Hawkins Police force came in the Spring of 1999. Most of the department was sad to see him go (others unified with a collective sigh of relief), but it was time to take a step back and slow down (according to Joyce). She tried looping him into activities around town, get him involved in community, help with some gardening in the backyard but it wasn’t long until the boredom set in. Thankfully Murray saved him from the misery of retired life with a proposition to take on some work with The Watcher. It renewed a needed sense of purpose in Jim’s life. He threw himself (and his fists) into whatever investigations required a little elbow grease. It was a good way to keep himself busy. Jim did what was needed of him without question, driving out of town to be the unassuming muscle behind whatever lead was being sleuthed on … Probably executed with a lot more force than he’d ever admit to either Murray or Nancy, but neither of them would ever have to know! This chunk of his life was packed with sleepless nights in questionable motel beds, bustling from gas station to gas station in true gritty americana fashion. The years and wrinkles piled on quicker this way. So did his grumpiness.
Jim managed to take Joyce out for one last dinner at Enzo’s before her final emergency surgery. That night was the last time either of them had a conversation outside the confines of her hospital room. The proposition was initially met with resistance by her medical team. It took some convincing but enough careful planning eventually swayed them all (specifically Jonathan) to let him roll Joyce and her oxygen tank out of the oncology unit without much fuss. Jim pulled out his finest button down and slacks for the occasion. It was an evening filled with greasy bread baskets and occasional tears as they reminisced over a candlelit dining table. Time slipped away from the pair that night. If either of them squinted hard enough, they were back in 1962 – both puffing on cigarettes in the Hawkins High parking lot, contemplating what the fuck their lives would look like after graduation. It certainly didn’t look anything like this … and like all good things in Jim’s life, their flicker of joy at Enzo’s had to end too.
The drinking started to get out of hand after Joyce’s passing. As much as he’s been encouraged to remember the good times and work his way through the first foot stones of grief, the loss of his best (and community pillar) came with an emptiness that only cigars and Whiskey seemed to fill. Joyce had told him to keep it together, to try and live out his days happy & fulfilled – maybe even find a hobby besides beating people up for The Watcher. It simply wasn’t in the cards for poor old Jim. He found himself pulling away from those around him, fully shutting himself into his reclusive cabin on the edge of town. And while he’s managed to remain relatively stable for Jonathan and Murray, there’s no denying that a bottle or flask is never far from reach after the cabin door closes behind him. Jim’s only allowed his vulnerability to slip up on a handful of occasions. Jonathan himself has received a handful of 2am calls from bar owners asking him to pick up the washed-up police chief passed out on their bar. The little taxi rescue routine has been kept on the downlow between them – it’s become a quiet understanding of their mutual grief and, honestly, a sadness that neither of them are fully prepared to acknowledge.
These days Jim doesn’t leave the confines of his musty cabin often except to grab necessities and slide the pizza man a tip. There’s truly not much that can faze Jim Hopper these days. The sorrow itself manifests differently depending on the time of day – or whether you’ve caught him before or after his morning coffee (and bourbon). He’s generally more irritable and a true party pooper, though it isn’t new for anyone who knows a lick about him around town!
Time Capsule:
In 1986 Jim left an empty box of Eggo Waffles in the time capsule on behalf of El Hopper. There’s a note for the kiddo slipped inside.
[KEKE PALMER, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER] When’s the last time anyone heard anything about [ERICA SINCLAIR]? Old friends remember them as [DIRECT & CONFIDENT] but also [JUDGMENTAL & SARCASTIC], no wonder they’re still known as [THE PRODIGY] around town. Today, in 2006, they are [THIRTY-ONE] and some people say they remind them of [ROLLING EYES, A CUP OF COFFEE THAT’S ALWAYS FULL, WEARING SUITS AND HIGH HEELS TO WORK, STILL SAYING “JUST THE FACTS!” TO EVERYONE, YELLING AND INSULTING].
biography
after the events in 1986, erica knew that she wanted to leave hawkins more than ever. even if she had only been eleven years old at the time, she had her mind set in leaving the small town she lived in. of course, she couldn’t leave – not only because she still had to go through the rest of her academic life (she still had plenty to go), but because of lucas. Anyone that has a sibling knows that all the insults and snarks made towards them don’t mean anything. While erica was known for her snarky comments towards everyone around her, she usually was worse with lucas – it was just easier with him in the next room. but after attending will and eleven’s double funeral, erica didn’t know what to say to her brother. she didn’t know what to say to anyone, if she was being honest – they had won, but at what cost? during that whole day, erica kept to herself, quiet as a mouse as she stared at those coffins, eyes wandering from them only to look at her brother. it wasn’t until dinner when lucas accidentally spilled his drink on her that she opened her mouth to call him a cowpuncher – at least she made him laugh.
fast forward to 1992, erica’s senior year – coincidently, her last year in hawkins as well. she had set her mind that she wanted to leave her mark there. She didn’t need much effort, of course, but she put her all in joining clubs, running for student council president and winning, becoming the captain of the debate team, all while getting the best grades and being top of her class. she was valedictorian, of course, and rumors said that she had to cut her speech in half because, apparently, she couldn’t “curse”. Whatever that meant. a few weeks before graduation, erica found out that she was going to yale. that was her ticket out of there and she wasn’t going to risk it. once summer was over, erica packed her bags and left for yale, without shedding a single tear. This was just the start of her life.
Erica found it a bit difficult to fit in at yale first. It was filled with presumptuous people that dressed like they were going to a funeral. But once she found her group, erica became known around campus – mostly because people always thought she was joking whenever she made a snarky comment towards someone. Balancing law school with parties, however, was the most difficult part. While erica was naturally gifted when it came to her academic life, law school seemed to take the best of her – the first semester took a toll on her. She even considered going back to hawkins, or to visit her brother (wherever he was at the time) for the next semester but… she pushed through, proving everyone wrong. While it had been difficult, law school had nothing against erica Sinclair. Now that she was used to it, she worked hard to be the top of her class – and she wouldn’t allow some nerd with glasses to take her spot. She graduated law school and moved to new York, knowing that it wouldn’t be hard to find a job there.
It didn’t take erica long to get into the political life in new York. If she was going to make her mark, she had to start somewhere. Being top of her class at yale had made it easy to slip through the cracks in the government of new York city. She started in the law department, and not even a week later, she had set out a plan for the next fifteen years of her life. she would slowly make her way to the top – she would leave her mark in the law department, slowly climbing through the very executive branches in the new York government. once she was experienced enough, she would run for new York city’s mayor and win, evidently. After that, she would run for governor and win. Once she turned thirty-five, she would run for president of the united states of erica… America!
But it seemed like new York had different plans for her. She did manage to climb her way through the government, but once she decided to run for mayor, there was some backlash. It turned out that people didn’t like that she was mouthy and that she always seemed to have an answer for everything. One would think that new York was ready to have erica as mayor, but it turned out that they weren’t. after a big loss during the elections, erica decided to step down from her fifteen year plan. But she would be back – when people were ready for her. It didn’t take her long to find what seemed to be the right job for her – becoming a premier campaign manager hadn’t been part of the plan from the start, but it had turned out that it was what erica was meant to do. Bossing people around and telling them what to do, all while she campaigned for the candidates she believed in. she was almost like an invisible hand that manipulated what went on in new York city. The only problem was that erica didn’t like staying in the background – and this was only temporary until she was of age to run for president.
Erica had just been done screaming at one of her interns for bringing her the wrong coffee order when she noticed the letter on top of her desk. It was almost as it irradiated bad energy. Reading it, erica had to contain herself from throwing up – why hadn’t her mom told her about this? Why didn’t lucas? While she hadn’t necessarily been as close to joyce as everyone else was, it was a punch in the stomach that she was gone. And now, for the first time in years, erica Sinclair is back in hawkins for a funeral that she didn’t know she would attend this soon.
As an aside, please let us know what your character left behind in the Hawkins High Time Capsule between 1983 (Season 1) - 1986 (Season 4). We’d simply love to know! Please do so even if your character was not canonically in Hawkins or attending Hawkins High during this timeframe.
Even at 10 years old, Erica knew that she wanted to become president one day. In 1985, Erica left a poster she had made of herself with the words “You can’t spell America without Erica” – her official slogan to run for presidency.
In 1986, after everything happened, Erica left her collection of My Little Pony. It was almost as a goodbye to her childhood.
stats
Athletics (How Athletic are they?) – 1
Burglary (Can they swipe stuff?) - 1
Contacts (Do they know people with information?) - 3
Deceive (Are they a good liar?) - 2
Drive (like, actual driving ability) - 0
Empathy (How much of an empath are they?) – -1
Fight (Do they have hands?) - 1
Investigate (Can they sleuth?) - 2
Lore (Kinda like knowledge) - 3
Medicine (First aid essentially) - -1
Navigation (How good are they with a map/getting around?) - -1
Notice (Is your character observant?) - 2
Provoke (Are they a shit stirrer?) - 3
Rapport (Are they charming? Can they do it on command?) - 2
