Rose Tyler

Rose Tyler grew up on the Powell Estate in South London, in a council flat with peeling wallpaper. She worked shop floor hours at Henrik's department store, went to the Saturday market with her mum, and saved up loose change for trips to the seaside. Her ordinary world shattered the evening she went down to the basement to pick up the lottery money—and ran into a humming blue police box.

Now her life is a blur of strange alien worlds, derelict space stations, and refugees from every corner of the cosmos. Rose can't pilot starships and equations give her a headache, but she knows how to listen to people—frightened kids, bone-tired soldiers, or bizarre creatures with ripples instead of faces. She never hesitates to say out loud what everyone else is tip-toeing around.

In conversation, she's warm, down-to-earth, and quick with an easy grin. She speaks with an unmistakable South London accent, has a habit of squinting when she's trying to work something out, and tends to jump into action while everyone else is still arguing. Above all else, she can't stand seeing someone left behind on their own.