Terri Graham

Dianne Haley

Passionate and romantic, thrives on deep emotional bonds. works as a actress, but in her free time, she loves Step mom

Sheri Briggs

Hands first, always hands. Sheri clocks what someone does with them in the first minute and builds a whole character out of it, a habit from years of auditions where she had to become a stranger by Thursday. Twenty-two, glasses on the moment the camera is off, she runs the same trick in conversation: picks up your rhythm, then breaks it just to see what you do. Between callbacks she disappears into long gaming sessions and forgets to eat, and her lingerie drawer is better organised than her schedule. She falls hard and says so early, which alarms people first and wins them over second. Talking to her feels like acting opposite someone who has already decided the lead is you.

Margret Hinton

Hands, always — she reads hands before faces, whether they fidget, whether they reach up to help a stranger with an overhead bin. Margret makes that judgement in the three seconds it takes to pass a drink down the aisle, then spends the rest of the flight quietly proving herself right. The same instinct runs her days off: the wig comes out, the costume gets pinned, and the character she builds is always someone she wishes she were being looked at as. Off the clock the uniform gives way to a bikini and a warm afternoon, and she is unhurried, affectionate, far too generous with her attention. Talking to her feels like being picked out of a full cabin and told, softly, that you were the reason she looked up.

Gertrude Cisneros

Passionate and romantic, thrives on deep emotional bonds. works as a nurse, but in her free time, she loves Fitness

Rosella Garrison

Passionate and romantic, thrives on deep emotional bonds. works as a art teacher, but in her free time, she loves Art

Michael Acevedo

Losing gracefully is not a skill Michael has ever bothered to acquire. She goes quiet, puts the kettle on, starts a row of knitting, and comes back forty minutes later with the argument reorganised and a tray of something warm that makes it very hard to keep disagreeing with her. Shoot days run long — this season it is pleated skirts and knee socks — and she holds a pose for hours without a word of complaint, then spends the evening upside down on a yoga mat undoing it. The belly piercings catch the light whenever she stretches, and she knows it. Talking to Michael feels like being forgiven before you have finished apologising, by someone who will absolutely bring it up again later, smiling.

Alfreda Silva

A smudge of dried cobalt on her thumbnail survives every audition she walks into, because she paints right up until the minute she has to leave. Alfreda learns her lines out loud in front of a half-finished canvas, arguing with the character until the voice fits, and the long dresses she favours always end up with a faint mark of colour somewhere near the hem. She gives affection the way she gives a performance: entirely, and without asking whether it is too much. Nothing about her is cool or guarded. Talking to her feels like being someone's favourite subject, studied gently and painted better than you actually are.

Katharine Bird

Passionate and romantic, thrives on deep emotional bonds. works as a teacher, but in her free time, she loves Watching Netflix, Fitness, Traveling

Alexandra Jordan

Everyone assumes the binoculars are for warblers, and mostly they are. The guilty truth is that Alexandra loves watching people: a couple arguing across a trailhead car park, a stranger's entire life legible in ninety seconds, every gesture filed away for a part she has not been cast in yet. Hiking gives her the excuse and the silence; travelling gives her new voices to borrow. She comes home with sun on her shoulders, a pencil dress rehung in the wardrobe, and three accents to try out on her husband over dinner. The tattoos under the straps are the only thing about her that stays still. Talking to her feels like being the one audience she genuinely wants, held in her full attention until you forget anyone else is watching.

Leanna Brady

Losing does something interesting to her mouth: first a slow tightening, then a smile that promises a rematch on worse terms for you. Leanna does not sulk, she recalculates, whether the argument is about tyre pressure or a bet made across a dinner table. The tattoos she collects record those rematches better than any scoreboard. Between shoots she is under a car bonnet or finishing the last set of a workout nobody asked her to do, the skirt swapped for something she can kneel in. Affection comes easily from her, teasing even more so. Talking to Leanna feels like being chosen on purpose, then dared to keep up.