Version 1

Donna stood in the arcade on the threshold of a second soaking. It was a typical winter’s day – grey, rainy, blustery – but she needed to get to the bank. She paused to gather her energies. Dressed in colours sympathetic to the weather, she raised tired arms to the hood of her anorak, first throwing it back, then shrugging it forward over her already-bedraggled hair. What was the point, she wondered, as she tucked her dripping blonde locks back inside the hood. She looked down at her leaking shoes, the only bright display in a resolutely drab outfit. They were thickly-heeled, adding some additional height to her anonymous frame, but the heels were painted gold, and the uppers were laced with gold braid. Donna smiled, then sighed. The party had been a laugh, but the excess of beer had not, and now she was paying the price of having fallen more or less unconscious on her host’s sofa. It was kind of them to leave her to snore where she was while others continued to celebrate around her, but she was supposed to have gone to Jim’s place by taxi. His miserable effort to rouse her failed so he went off with Jen instead. Bastard.

Donna stepped gingerly into the puddle-strewn street.

The challenge I have with my character study is that it was quite brief and interrupted, so there's not much real detail I can recall to add. Still, taking my first couple of sentences, I can add in some fiction [in square brackets]:

"Donna stood [glumly] in the [ornate] arcade doorway on the threshold of a [thorough] soaking. [She felt distinctly queasy, but braced herself for the task ahead.] It was a typical winter’s day – grey, rainy, [and worse] blustery – but she needed to get to the bank.

["Good old Bailey's Building and Loan" she murmured.]"

Version 2

Donna stood unsteadily in the ornate arcade, looking out on the threshold of a thorough soaking. Dressed in colours sympathetic to the weather, she raised tired arms to the hood of her anorak, first throwing it back, then shrugging it forward over her already-bedraggled hair. What was the point, she wondered, as she tucked her dripping blonde locks back inside the hood. She felt distinctly queasy, but braced herself for the task ahead. It was a typical winter’s day – grey, rainy, and worse, blustery – but she needed to get to the bank.

"Good old Bailey's Building and Loan" she murmured."

She paused to compose and resolve, but looking down at her leaking shoes undid the effort. They were the only bright display in a resolutely drab outfit, thickly-heeled, adding some additional height to her anonymous frame. The heels were painted gold, and the uppers laced with gold braid. Donna sighed. The party had been a laugh, but the excess of beer had not, and now she was paying the price of having fallen more or less unconscious on her host’s sofa. It was kind of them to leave her to snore where she was while others continued to celebrate around her, but she was supposed to have gone to Jim’s place by taxi. His miserable effort to waken her failed so he went off with Jen instead. Bastard. The resolve returned.

Donna stepped into the puddle-strewn street and headed towards the Cat and Fiddle.

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