Priscilla Pryce.

[prissy]

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About You - -

Name: Fief.
Gender: Female.
Age: Seventeen.
Years of RPG Experience: Five.
Other: Dobby.

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Quick Quiz - -

How did you find us? I did a Google search for Harry Potter Marauder role-plays and found a webring to which this site belonged.
What about ISS inspired you to join? The layout, literacy, and setting.
Do you have any suggestions for us? Nope! <3

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About the Character- -

Name: Priscilla Prunella Poppeia Pryce (Parkinson).
Age: Fifteen.
Gender: Female.
Year: Fifth.
Face Claim: Katie McGrath.

Canon or Original? Canon.

Facial Properties:

{ alluring orbs : “The ear tends to be lazy, craves the familiar and is shocked by the unexpected; the eye, on the other hand, tends to be impatient, craves the novel and is bored by repetition.” – W. H. Auden }

Large, round, and harsh, Priscilla’s eyes are ever on guard. Though partially obscured by the colossal black spectacles she sports daily, the deep blue and gray orbs flecked with hazel are probably her most outstanding feature. Especially with her blue-grey sclera (whites of the eyes) due to her bone disease, Type I Osteogenesis imperfecta. They are constantly roaming around their environs and seem to be indefatigable, as she is always scouring the area for interesting faces. Prissy adores watching people, which can often lead her into a bit of trouble, seeing as it is a rather awkward sensation, being on the receiving end of one of her penetrating gazes. She’s a person who is capable of evincing deep emotions with but a glance. Having those dark eyes boring into one will almost inevitably make one nervous, and Prissy has an eye for nervosa. That makes everything more interesting, for, why be nervous if you’ve nothing to hide? That’s her philosophy, anyway. And she’s nosy. Once Priscilla Pryce is interested in someone and their deepest, darkest thoughts, she doesn’t leave them alone. Unfortunately, her eyes only seem to facilitate this societal flaw of hers – though she prizes them for it. Priscilla adores fixing her bluish-gray eyes on a person and attempting to extract personal information from his or her reaction. In fact, she’s extremely liberal in so doing. However, when it comes to certain people, Priscilla curbs her desire to do so; for, while some view it as simply weird, others view it as a sign of attraction, and that is a motive to which her staring does not allude.

{ fleshy nodes : “We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak.” – Epictetus }

Dovetailing with her innate ability to pick up personal tidbits from people-watching, Priscilla’s small ears with attached lobes catch information from afar and aid her in seeking information about people and their stories. Almost constantly adorned with the same diamond studs, the fifth year’s ears never tend to miss anything juicy. Her passion for uncovering more about true human nature is fueled by her excellent hearing; yet, negatively, this allows for Priscilla to lessen the amount of times she speaks in a day, which is hardly at all, anyway. The fifteen year old girl much prefers to listen to banter between people than to join in and vociferate along with them. From listening, she believes, one can glean much more knowledge than from speaking. So she refrains from speaking as often as possible and instead chooses to listen and take in, digest, and analyze the speech of others. It is interesting to note the pitch and tone of a person’s voice, much more so than interacting with him or her. And this is precisely what Priscilla indulges in, listening to the verbal patterns of those around her, watching them, and attempting to hazard a deduction as to their personality, quirks, and current goals.

{ protuberant proboscis : “When I want any good head work done I always choose a man, if possible, with a long nose.” – Napoleon Bonaparte }

That the most obviously fault in the physical appearance of Priscilla is the size and length of her nose is a given and widely accepted fact. It extends just short of her chin and has a strange, awkwardly noticeable “bump” – perhaps a bone or knot of cartilage – right toward the upper middle, where her glasses sit. Some say Prissy doesn’t even really have a dire need for spectacles, and that she uses them to obscure this hump on the bridge of her nose. However, this is false, for her eyesight is rather terrible, and she was never one to care much for outward appearances enough to try and disguise a pronounced part of her natural bone structure. She simply deals with it, takes the startled gazes from passers-by with a grain of salt, and continues with her day. Priscilla is so used to funny looks that she hardly regards them as a personal reflection; moreover, she sees the incredulous stares of others as a reflection of their own inner rudeness and intolerance, and judges them as unworthy of her attention. The more one stares, the more she loses respect for one. And, if one stares long enough, she’ll decide one is worth less than she originally thought, and will view one as a person to be avoided at all costs. Call her odd, strange, or even anal, but that’s her philosophy, and from it she does not budge.

{ ample lips : “A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss, Upon her perfect lips.” – Alfred, Lord Tennyson }

A feature in which Priscilla takes great pride is that of her soft, pink lips. The top is slightly thinner than the plump bottom, but still, they seem to fit the image of sufficiency in Prissy’s mind, and she is never hesitant in displaying them. However, she does use them quite often to obscure her rather crooked teeth; they aren’t necessarily crooked to the point of abhorrence, but they certainly aren’t straight (which is a terrible shame, for they are always pristinely white as pearls). Priscilla’s teeth are not nearly as perfect as her soft, kissable lips – no. But usually they are not displayed long enough for any one to notice their slight crookedness, for Prissy only saves her widest grins for her closest friends. For all others, she gently curves up her pink lips into a lilting half-smile. One will always know where they stand with Priscilla because of the way she smiles at them (currently, there are only two people who have ever even seen her teeth, and from them it is said that her teeth really aren’t so bad, she just sees them as worse than they are because she judges them against many of the other girls’ perfectly straight teeth). The only reason Priscilla cares so deeply for the preservation of her smile and not of her nose is simply because she has come to accept the fact that her nose-bump cannot ever be hidden, while her teeth can, and that she can use her nose, since it is significantly more noticeable than her teeth, as another venue through which she could make further judgments on people that she could not make via her eyes or ears.

{ tantalizing tendrils : “Hair brings one's self-image into focus; it is vanity's proving ground. Hair is terribly personal, a tangle of mysterious prejudices.” – Shana Alexander }

Glossy, pin-straight, and auburn, Priscilla’s hair glistens in the light and shines whenever she moves. It truly is a shame she refuses to wear it around her face. Instead, she pulls it up into either a tight knot at the nape of her neck or leaves it in a lose ponytail nearer to the top of her head. It provides a measure of comfort to her. Priscilla prefers not to draw attention to her glossy locks, simply because of an episode in her youth involving Muggle boys in her pre-Hogwarts schooling. Her hair was quite lovely even then, so much so that the little non-magic youngsters in her kindergarten class took notice and decided to relieve her of its presence via scissors in favor of fastening it with tape to the walls of the classroom (this seemed quite hilarious to the boys, who were ever-intimidated by Priscilla’s strangeness and distance and reveled in their ability to humble her). Needless to say, it took years for Prissy to re-grow her hair to its length hitherto the incident, and she never forgave those boys. And they never forgot her. For the day after their devious ploy had been placed into effect, the boys found the word “Mudblood” scrawled in what appeared to be a variety of blackheads on their arms. Prissy’s abhorrence of short hair began then, as did her hatred of Muggles.

Physique:

{ slender build : “The body never lies.” – Martha Graham }

Priscilla has always been rather slender and trim. And, despite the appearance of hips later in life, she has never really changed since her youth. Her legs are thin and proportional, her arms are long and taper gently toward her slim wrist which spans out into her long, knobby fingers, the nails of which constantly shimmering with a clear adhesive polish. Her neck is thin and feminine leading to her oval jaw line. Prissy’s torso is flat and expands slightly for her small, and, sadly, underdeveloped, breasts. If there is one thing which infuriates the girl concerning her body it is the fact that her chest is simply not adequate in comparison to the other girls’. She’s still a size 32 B and has been since she was thirteen. Priscilla seems to have peaked at thirteen, for a B cup was moderately impressive for a thirteen year old, and her body decided enough growth was enough and nothing more developed. It is a constant reminder of Prissy’s bodily shortcomings – her nose, her teeth, and, now, her breasts. It never ceased to annoy her. However, one feature of which she is proud is her feet. They aren’t awkward or squished or ugly at all, nor do they carry a putrid smell. They are nicely rounded with prettily polished, oval-like nails that carry the semblance of little moons. She prides herself in their appearance.

{ pocket-sized : “ . . . the chief proof of man's real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness.” – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. }

Standing at a mere 4’9’’, it is quite safe to say that Priscilla is a rather small girl. She always has been the shortest of her class, and suspects she will continue to be so in her two remaining years at Hogwarts. During her earlier years prior to her arrival at Hogwarts, Prissy was often teased by the Muggles with whom she attended primary school (she really did have quite a rough time with these Muggle boys). Despite her attempts at stealing her mother’s high-heeled shoes and wearing them to school, Priscilla was never quite able to stave off the mockery and laughter in regard to her stature, even when she was able to gain an inch or two by the heels. In fact, she often got herself into quite a bit of trouble with the principal of her Muggle school, for high heels were strictly prohibited from the modest, prudish dress code. Prissy’s mother had to padlock her closet door in order to prevent her daughter from hazarding another heist. Of course, being rendered her normal height one more only served to perpetuate the teasing, and, eventually, it escalated to such great heights that Priscilla’s mother escorted her to the doctor and asked if there was any growth spurt in her future. Unfortunately for the little girl, there was not, and thus she continued to suffer through Muggle school, growing only by the centimeter each year.

{ frail bone structure : “Man's tongue is soft, and bone doth lack; yet a stroke therewith may break a man's back.” – Benjamin Franklin.}

With a soft, oval face and a gently sloping jaw line, Priscilla’s bone structure may be called faint and rather feminine. The harshness of her medium-sized bones is muted by the pale skin stretching moderately over them. However, her nose remains to be rather bony, the skin being more thinly spread over it than any other structure, and still attracts attention. Her ancestors have always had rather frail bone structures; at least, the women did, so it was no shock to Genevieve and Pietro Pryce when their daughter was born a wimp. Never able to play on the playground without a helmet and various padding and an adult supervisor, Prissy’s childhood outdoor experiences were sadly limited. As it turned out, Priscilla was diagnosed with Type I Osteogenesis imperfecta, which pretty much barred her from any demanding physical activities. Including Quidditch, her childhood passion. This was something her parents were not expecting, and were rather disgruntled about, seeing as Pietro was a famed Quidditch player in his day and hoped his children would share in his previous occupation. Priscilla had refused to accept the fact that she couldn’t be on a Quidditch team, and had locked herself in her room for hours, refusing to eat or drink as she bemoaned her fate in solitude. When she’d emerged, her Quidditch posters were torn down, including her Holyhead Harpies one, which was by far her favorite (she’d wanted to try out for the team when she got old enough). She was utterly ashamed of herself and her lineage, and, despite her mother’s and father’s incessant attempts at consolation, her mood did not lighten for weeks.

{ stunted bloomer : “He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time.” – Oscar Wilde. }

When she’d been younger, Priscilla’s development into womanhood was hindered by no force. She’d bypassed her friends quickly, growing from a 36 A to a 32 B in less than two years. However, where she’d excelled in pubescent growth, her friends had excelled at height improvements, a growth to which she was alien. Prissy always envied her friends for their height, just as they envied her for her womanly figure – with her slender waist, sloping hips, and buxom chest, what wasn’t to envy? Yet she was short. And this annoyed her to no end. Often serving as the butt of many “short people” jokes, Priscilla learned to overcome them with a cool, hardened demeanor, though they still bothered her. Another way she judges character is the length of time it takes a person to crack a joke about her height after meeting her. The longer he or she takes the more respect she has for him or her. Though she’d rather just get it over with. Having started out on a positive note growth-wise, Prissy never imagined she’d suddenly just stop growing. It hadn’t occurred to her that it was very likely she’d peaked at 4’9’’ and a 32 B, and that there was a very slim chance of her ever growing either out or up at all after she’d reached thirteen. Puberty being rather stunted, Priscilla felt she’d have no luck in the throws of teenage love – err, lust. Yet, that wasn’t necessarily true. She’d had a few short-lived relationships during her time at Hogwarts. But none of them lasted, and she always swore it was due to her diminutive stature.

Personality:

{ prudish : “Age will bring all things, and everyone knows, Madame, that twenty is no age to be a prude.”—Moliere. }

Ever the prude, even in her youth, Priscilla disproved of wearing anything that revealed too much skin. She’s fond of turtle-necks, blue jeans, and belts, and usually can’t be seen wearing much besides. Her mother had always tried to convince her of her natural beauty and need to accentuate it, but she’d disagreed, claiming she didn’t need to show off any skin to attract attention (granted, her mother wasn’t pushing her to be a stripper or anything, she just wanted her to wear shorts or dresses once in a while). Priscilla immediately dislikes girls who wear short skirts or v-necked shirts that reveal much more than publicly necessary. In fact, she even petitioned for the length of the Hogwarts uniform skirts to be increased – much to the girl students’ chagrin (and the boys, for that matter). However, this obsession of hers having mellowed with age, Priscilla found it mildly acceptable to keep the length of the skirts as they were (not that her petition had had any effect on Professor Dumbledore anyway). She swallowed her pride, though always felt a little ashamed to wear a skirt so close to being level with her knees.

{ intolerant : “Intolerance has been the curse of every age and state.” – Samuel Davies. }

Stemming from her mistreatment at the hands of Muggle boys during her pre-Hogwarts schooling, Priscilla abhors non-magical people of any variety. It started out as an intense dislike, but the influence her fanatical grandmother wielded over her started to creep at the seams of her consciousness, and, eventually, she joined the “dark side” of pureblood fanaticism. Her grandmother, Prunella, was obviously the mother of Pietro, and prided herself in this until the day he brought a Muggle girl to the dinner table. Pietro was hoping that through her love for him, his mother would finally see the light. However, he was sadly mistaken, and it seems as though Prunella devoted what was left of her existence to impressing upon Priscilla the views which she thought fit. She also endeavored to give Genevieve a piece of her mind every time she visited the house, in a very passive aggressive manner, which never ceased to annoy the former. Pietro was utterly blind to these goings-on, as Prunella put on quite an amiable show whenever he was present. Either way, Priscilla was exposed to her grandmother’s vernacular at a very early age, and, subsequently, found supposed truth in her words. Her mother really was quite slow at cleaning and dish-washing. And she wasn’t all that smart. And her father was so much better at doing certain household chores with that nifty stick in his hand. Prunella, Priscilla decided, had a point. Hence, she trusted her opinion over her mother’s and father’s, and thus began her intolerance of Muggles.

{ judgmental : “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” – Carl Gustav Jung. }

As aforementioned, Priscilla used her outstanding features to gather information about those whom she watched. For instance, her nose: she would judge a person’s amiability by the duration of their stare at the bony mound of flesh on her face. And her eyes as well, the whites of which being milky-gray due to her mild bone disease: however long one of her contemporaries looked at them was a direct reflection on their shallowness (she does not take into account, however, that she herself is rather shallow as well). One of her favorite past-times is sitting in the common-room, pretending to be reading, yet really watching the reflections of others on the marble fireplace. She’ll occasionally listen to them speak, but she finds that to be rather irksome, and also not quite foolproof – sometimes, she knows this from personal experience, people will utter things which they do not mean in order to keep face. Priscilla usually can spot this sort of thing judging by the way a person’s eyes move, or their lips twitch. It’s far more interesting, in her opinion, to glean information this way, than to listen to them say things which could very well be blatant lies.

{ fiery & passionate : "The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire." – Field Marshal Ferdinand Foch }

Adamant against Muggleborn wizards and an advocate against their rights, Prissy campaigns underground for their removal of the status of a magical citizen. While they can practice magic, she argues, they certainly can’t do it very well. And, for another thing, they’re bothersome and come from boring, non-magical families who don’t want anything to do with magic anyway. So, let them have what they want. Keep the Muggleborns out of the Purebloods’ hair. Being particularly vociferous about this subject, Priscilla finds it difficult to stomach such classes as Muggle Studies and the students who enjoy it. It proves to be a challenge for her to bar herself from arguing with Professor Burbage on the subject (which would certainly lead to her being more socially ostracized, as Professor Burbage is rather popular with the male students). Occasionally she’ll drop by to speak with the Professor, asking her questions about why she could possibly like Muggles. Heated discussions usually ensue, but Priscilla insists upon giving her a hard time. Not only because she’s a Muggle Lover, but also because Prissy likes to find new ways to counter arguments about tolerance and peace. This gives her a better chance to defend her beliefs in arguments with classmates. However, this can really tire out those around her, for when she begins to rant, she cannot find it within her control to stop. She will ignore even food when she’s on one of her one-track, narrow-minded moods, and will talk well into the night until she falls asleep.

{ logical & shrewd : “Logic is like the sword--those who appeal to it shall perish by it.” – Samuel Butler. }

Wizard’s chess is her favorite game for a reason. It employs logic, diligence, and calculation in order to destroy the opponent, and these are all traits that Priscilla enjoys putting to use. She uses these to engage another party in a battle of wits, another game which she thoroughly enjoys, and always strives to come out victorious. In most cases, she is, but only because of her ability to use logic in the correct way. This, she learned chiefly from her grandmother and from wizard’s chess. She credits no one else. Priscilla will often spend hours at the game, finding new ways to tackle an opponent with a new set of goals – either in the shortest time, with the shortest moves, or with only pawns or knights or castles, etc. She’ll also spend much of her time drawing out detailed maps of battle sequences in which her job is to choreograph a way for a single person to take out multiple people while avoiding melee combat – or any combat, for that matter – and come back alive. Wizard’s chess and battle diagrams are only a few of Priscilla’s ways of exercising her logic. Many more can be named – inventing new mixes for potions, devising new methods for learning the practice of nonverbal spell-casting, and, one of the most important exercises for her, trying to invent a spell that strengthens her bones so that she can at best play Quidditch or at least ride a broom. She often confronts Madam Pomfrey in regard to this project of hers in the hopes that one day it will work. Pomfrey told her of the bone-growing potion in her possession, but after much debate they both agreed that it wouldn’t work unless she broke all her bones; and to do that would not be in Priscilla’s best interests. Besides, who’s to say her bones will grow back stronger or the same as they were before? Thus, Prissy chooses to try and come up with a spell on her own.

{ blunt : “Bluntness is a virtue.” – Allison Ling. }

Being rather verbose person, Priscilla never hesitates to give her opinion on anything… whether it is appropriate or not. She doesn’t ever gloss over any information, always presents it as it is, even at the cost of a friend or enemy’s pride or esteem. For instance, Prissy is always the one to tell a friend he or she’s got a booger hanging out his or her nose, or a large zit on his or her forehead, and the like. This often compromises a person’s feelings toward her, and even sometimes his or her own confidence, and thus is not one of her best traits. However, an honest – if blunt – friend can be of value to some, and Priscilla is just that – honest and blunt. It stems off her ability to read people by their facial expressions and speech patterns. She can usually catch someone lying, and can generally sense their feelings on a subject by the way movements transpire across their features. Priscilla will generally point out these things, often at her own expense. Still, she does value honesty and candor, and will not stoop to any level in which she would shame herself with slander or libel.

Likes:
+ Blood purity – “I’ll tolerate half-bloods, being one myself, but Muggles are absolutely insufferable.”
+ Quidditch – “It’s always been my dream to play for my house Quidditch team, though my bone disease inhibits me from doing so. I’d take any position I could get, but if I had to choose, I’d like to be Keeper.”
+ People-watching – “Watching people is always more interesting than listening to them speak.”
+ Eating – “I love food. It’s a bit of an addiction. You can always find me surfing counters in the kitchen. I’m not particularly proud of myself for it.”
+ Learned men. No other variety – “I only wish to speak to a man who’s got a head on his shoulders.”
+ House elves – “It’s nice having a little shadow running around and taking care of things for you. Too bad they can’t do my homework.”
+ Her father – “I have always maintained a close relationship with my father; however, I shall never forgive him for wedding a Muggle and tainting my blood.”
+ Potions – “Professor Slughorn is my favorite teacher. I just wish he’d stop favoring that Evans girl. The silly Muggle isn’t nearly as good as I am.”
+ Care of Magical Creatures class – “I have an affinity for beasts.”
+ Ballard – “My dear, sweet Kneazle. I believe he’s the only one who truly listens to me, sometimes. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
+ Herbology – “The study of plants never proves to be boring.”
+ Reading and books – “Enhancing my knowledge is a top priority.”
+ Dark Arts – “They’re absolutely fascinating. I catch myself reading many books on them, and with little shame.”
+ Logic – “I don’t tend to lead with my emotions.”
Dislikes:
– Muggles – “Despicable little creatures. I’ll never forgive them for what they did to my father.”
– Her mother – “I used to care deeply for mum. That was when I was little and foolish.”
– Defense Against the Dark Arts – “I’m not very skilled with its defense, more with its usage, and that is a talent which I cannot display in class.”
– Lily Evans – “Increasingly annoying Muggle. Professor Slughorn talks about no one else.”
– History of Magic – “The most boring class in existence.”
– Standardized testing – “I have test anxiety.”
– Waiting – “I’m not patient in the least.”
– Combat – “A skilled wizard or witch should be able to take out the enemy discreetly and avoid dueling altogether.”
– Boys – “There is a large difference between boys and men, and an even larger one between men and learned men. I will never suffer to speak with boys or men who haven’t got a decent education.”
– Muggle Studies – “I am ashamed to attend a school where such a class exists.”
– Superficial people – “Give me a Barbie doll instead. They’re worth more.”
– Seers – “I’d rather not know what’s in store for me.”
– Music – “Silence is best.”
– Dirtiness – ”I’m rather fastidious about cleanliness. I do not associate with those who do not bathe frequently, and I certainly do not let them in my room without hosing them down first… whether or not they like it.”
– Religion – “Now that science exists there is no need for this puerile, medieval notion. It stems from human vanity and man’s need to feel special beyond himself; or, perhaps, to feel protected by a higher source, which is simply ludicrous.”

History:

Grandfather (98): Paul Padrig Pattin Philemon Pricha Pyralis Pryce. Pureblood.
Grandmother (90): Prunella Prospera Psyche Poloma Precocioa Pryce (nee Plethora). Pureblood.
Father (age 37): Pietro Padrig Prescott Pryce. Pureblood.
Mother (age 36): Genevieve Gertrude Pryce (nee Greene). Muggle.
Brother (age 1): Peter Padrig Preston Pryce. Half-blood.
Sister (age 1): Phoebe Philomena Phaedra Pryce. Half-blood.
Sister (age 3): Perdita Premilla Pomona Pryce. Half-blood.
Sister (age 4): Penelope Proserpina Pythia Pryce. Half-blood. Squib.

{ THE FAMILY }

humble beginnings

When the Normans invaded England under William the Conqueror in circa 1066 A.D., the Pryce family had their sons, brothers, and husbands numbered among his loyal battalion (being Norman French, the original pronunciation of the name was “Prees”). This is when their name first arose – it is assumed they were mere cow farmers in Normandy prior to their knighthood in England under King William and Queen Matilda. In any event, the Pryce family began a humble, earnest existence in Normandy, France, as the main suppliers of beef and milk to their small agrarian village. They started out as a diminutive family of five, headed by the first recorded patriarch, Padrig Pryce (if one noticed, all the male members of the Pryce family have, subsequently, been given the middle name Padrig in his honor). With his wife, Padgette, and their three sons, a prominent family was started. The three sons all made honorable matches to women of their status and added more and more to the steadily growing Pryce family. Within a few generations, they were the biggest family in the area with an astounding fifty members, and many of their boys were sent off to war with the Saxons of England with William, Duke of Normandy.

claim to fame

Having been promoted to knighthood for his unwavering and steadfast loyalty to William, now King, during the Battle of Hastings, Parys Pryce, a descendent of one of Padrig’s and Padgette’s sons, made the first step toward fame and wealth – marrying a wealthy widow. She was just shy of twenty, having been married at twelve to a thirty-five year old who happened to perish at Hastings, and was easily the wealthiest woman in Normandy. Parys brought her to the newly established English court, wed her, and began maintaining his vast fortune. Pippi, his new wife, became pregnant with twins swiftly after their lavish wedding (Parys was a man with good taste and equally good looks) and later in the year gave birth to them, fraternal boys. However, this proved to be too strenuous on her frail body (with Pippi is where the bone disease began, contrary to Priscilla’s belief that it is her mother's weak Muggle blood) and she died a mere two weeks after happily welcoming her newborn sons into the world. Of course, Parys had to find a new mother for his mewling babes, and sought for months until he found her – Pierette, a noblewoman from Brittany. She was wealthy as well, and her heavy dowry added to Pippi’s formed a sumptuous cushion for the growing noble family. Pierette, over the course of a twelve-year marriage, bore Parys seven children, three male and four female, in addition to Pippi’s strapping boys – the joint heirs to their father’s vast fortune. Now, one knows this story well enough to predict the ending: of course, both twins sought precedence in Parys’s will, and this feud ended in the death of one of them. Or so the other thought. The supposed murderer, Peverell, only believed he’d killed his brother, Pedr… but Pedr was quite alive and quite well across the water in Ireland…

to the dark side

Peverell Pryce obviously inherited the fortune of his father upon his death, and made a favorable match with his youngest cousin, Pleasa. He got three daughters and a son by her before she perished, and he followed soon after. They were said to be soul mates. Their son didn’t last long either. Pedr, upon learning of the untimely death of his brother and sister in law, hastened to England and callously slew his nephew, usurping his rightful land. He established a lovely manor house and married a playmate of his niece’s. He took in his two little nieces as his wards and raised them to be good marriage stock. He profited well from their wealthy unions. However, not without effort. One of his nieces was not very pretty and would certainly not fetch a wealthy man, so he employed a bit of magic to beautify her. Ever since the times of Padrig, the Pryces knew they harbored magical ability. How else did their milk sell so well? Peverell had chosen not to use it for fear it was the Devil’s taint, but Pedr, fascinated by it, used it ever since he knew he could, which was well into his youth. Parys and Pierette had taught him how, along with their other children. Pedr started out well and good until he soon noticed he could use his magic for darker purposes as well… such as brewing poisonous potions, use love charms to ensure his children’s fortune in marriage, and an occasional killing curse, like the one he used against his nephew. Pedr was enchanted by these darker spells and passed the knowledge on to his children. None of his children accepted it and languished in it, except one. And that one went on to found the division of the Pryce family to which Priscilla belongs.

{ THE GIRL }

initial attraction

Pietro Pryce was never fond of the anti-Muggle beliefs his family had practiced for generations. His mother, Prunella, sought to alter this, yet failed, having been completely unable to render him intolerant. Pietro attended Hogwarts and, much to his family’s dismay, was sorted into the Hufflepuff House. He played for his House Quidditch team, and this was when his obvious talent for the game surfaced. Upon graduation, Pietro vied for a position on the English National Quidditch Team and, much to his surprise, was rejected in lieu of the fact that there were much better players with better training than he. So he went to private lessons, played on local teams, and went back, only to be rejected a second time. Utterly dejected, Pietro decided it best to forgo his attempt at the national level and instead went for a regional team – the Chudley Cannons. Finally, he was accepted as Keeper, and went on to lose many matches. Still, he was proud to wear the orange and black colors, and his family was supportive of him, though disappointed in his career choice. To escape their barely-concealed dismay, Pietro often went on lengthy vacations. It was on one of these that he met Genevieve.

union and conception

Genevieve was a pretty girl. With long, glossy, dark brown hair and chocolate eyes, it was even an understatement to say she was pretty. He met her in California while he was on a cruise, and the two began a fast-paced courtship ending in elopement. Pietro didn’t care she was a Muggle, nor did he care she wouldn’t meet his family’s approval. He was in love with her, and that was all that mattered. That, and she was carrying his child. When he brought her back to England with him and presented her to his mother and father, he was thrown out of the house. With no other alternative, Pietro turned to his teammates for food and board. Many of them, being close friends with him, volunteered, but it was Pietro’s best friend who volunteered the loudest. So, the couple moved in to his vast estate for a little while until Pietro could save up enough money to buy an apartment for him and Genevieve. By the time he finally did, she was already seven months pregnant. They purchased a small flat in London and lived quite comfortably for a while until Prunella showed up shortly after the birth of their daughter, Priscilla. Prunella decided that while she may have failed with convincing Pietro that Muggles were tarnishing the international wizarding world, she would try to recommence her quest with his daughter, Priscilla. It was bad enough she was Half-Blood. She at least needed to be guided in the right direction of abhorring her non-wizard genes.

tumultuous childhood

Prunella bought Pietro, Genevieve, and Priscilla a small farm in Suffolk, as the tiny flat in which they lived proved to be too small for her tastes. And, as she was to be living with her son and daughter-in-law, Prunella wanted to ensure her own comfort and happiness. The farm was quaint and extraordinarily well-furnished with rustic ornaments and fixtures. With its emerald green lawn sprinkled with various flowers, namely daffodils and pansies, due to Genevieve’s superb gardening skill, it was the ideal landscape for any childhood. Any childhood, that is, except Priscilla’s. While she tried to escape her grandmother in the beauteous countryside surrounding her house, she was unsuccessful. Prunella eyed her like a hawk all day long, only allowing a few minutes of repose when her granddaughter used the restroom (she would often prolong her stays there, pretending to be sick, just so she could get away from her persistent elder). Prunella hounded her young initiate, spewing forth hateful criticisms of her mother and other Muggles in her wake. At the start, Priscilla simply ignored her prejudiced grandmother, defending her mother and other non-magical people. Yet, upon reaching the age of five, things started to sink in. It was true that her mother wasn’t so good at doing the dishes… they weren’t ever totally spotless like when her father used his wand to do them. Soon, Prunella had Prissy convinced wizards and witches were better. Then she stopped defending other Muggles. Then she stopped defending her mother. After that point, Prunella began to convince her that blood purity was also a standard of worthiness. Eventually, all communications between Priscilla and her mother ceased, and Prunella had done her job. Shortly after, the old bat departed for her home with Paul, leaving the farm and its inhabitants in emotional shambles.

enter the letter

Much to her delight, Priscilla realized her capability for performing magic when she was five years old. Her first magical act was putting a hex on the boys who had troubled her in school. Promptly after completing this task, however subconscious it was, she proudly alerted her father of the fact, who, in turn, was glad to know she had magical capabilities, yet slightly peeved to learn she’d used them in a not so nice manner. “Priscilla,” he’d told her, “you’ve got to promise me you won’t hurt those boys again. If they bother you come to me and I’ll deal with them.” Though slightly perturbed that her father admonished her for a highly righteous deed, Priscilla couldn’t help but adore the fact that she had humbled those boys, and, if they ever had the nerve to bother her again, her father would humble them too. She went to her primary school with a little spring in her step that day. A few years later, Priscilla having reached age eleven, Genevieve received a letter from Hogwarts in the mail. She gave it to Pietro, who gave it to Priscilla, who proceeded to pack up her things instantly. She was only waiting for an opportunity to leave the farm and her mother. Prissy, deep down, really does love her mother (though she’d never readily admit that to anyone), but Prunella’s ideals colored her opinion of her and therefore it is rather difficult for the girl to be around Genevieve without meddlesome, conflicting feelings. It is an ongoing internal conflict with which she still wrangles today.

to Hogwarts she goes

Having packed swiftly and efficiently, Pietro and Genevieve solemnly waited for the occasion when their daughter would leave them for a world of magic in Scotland’s best-kept secret, far away from their little vegetable farm in Suffolk. Priscilla couldn’t wait to leave behind the monotony of country life, and practically bounded out of the house when the day finally arrived for Pietro to escort her to Diagon Alley. Without so much as a wave goodbye to her mother, Prissy hopped on her father’s broomstick and held onto him as he steered through the sky and toward their destination, her lips pulled back into a huge grin. Upon arriving in Diagon Alley, Pietro and his daughter commenced their shopping excursion, picking up various wizarding robes, cauldrons, glass potion bottles, spellbooks, and, most importantly, her very own wand. She knew as soon as she entered the shop that the twelve-inch blackthorn with a mermaid hair core was for her. The way it nestled in her snowy white hands, the way its grooves felt along her soft skin, and the way it made her stomach flutter with excitement told her it belonged to her. Pietro purchased it for her right away, and Priscilla felt like an entirely new girl when she’d left that store. The quest for the perfect pet for Prissy didn’t last very long either. She took one step into the shop and immediately became attached to a large, brown, striped cat lounging in the corner, separated from the other animals. As it turned out, he was a Kneazle, and a very rare find indeed. Prissy begged her father for the Kneazle, whom she’d already named Ballard, and, despite his protests of “wouldn’t you rather have an owl instead?” eventually gave in to her wishes. Now, with her school supplies, Ballard, and wand, Priscilla was set to attend Hogwarts in a few days. She’d read about all the houses, the ghosts, and the like (having found a copy of Hogwarts: A History in the bookshop) and was even more excited to go. She’d never met any other witches or wizards her age, and she was terribly fond of the idea of so doing. Though not a socialite by any definition of the word, Priscilla was thoroughly ready to extend her circle of faces beyond those of her house and primary school.

Sample Post:

As a Canon
{ Jean Grey-Summers in an X-Men role-play }

“Jean Summers,” came a voice from under a lump of flowered sheets.

It had not been the first time she’d tried the name on her lips, nor did she expect it to be her last. Ever since Scott Summers had proposed to her, Jean couldn’t stop practicing her new surname. It wasn’t that she feared it, or even that she adored it: she simply wasn’t sure if she could accept it. Three times Scott had proposed to her, and each time she had rejected him on solid points: she wasn’t ready, she was afraid, and she didn’t want to be entrapped by destiny. For, it was destiny that inextricably linked she and Scott together - ever since she’d made mental contact with him under the tutelage of Professor Xavier all those years ago, when Scott was still in the orphanage of his childhood, Jean and her fiancé had a special bond. Only time could tell how special it would be.

Groaning softly from her delectable, cushioned haven, Jean extracted herself from her bed, rather reluctantly so, and stumbled into the adjoining bathroom. The tile floors provided a harsh wake-up call as the tips of her toes first collided with them, and, in response to this, she shivered rather violently. She’d been susceptible to chill since the Phoenix Force entered her. Waiting minutely for her pinkish feet to adjust to the floor beneath her, Jean wrapped her arms around herself and gazed discontentedly into the mirror-over-the-sink’s reflection. Her long, red-orange tresses cascaded to her elbows, and her pale green eyes stared at her with fatigue, shadows pinching the skin underneath. Her complexion had always been rather porcelain, so when she was tired the bags beneath her eyes were much more pronounced. Raising her fingers to her eyes, she closed them and rubbed the sleep from them, blinking a little afterwards to refocus her vision.

“Jean Grey-Summers,” she said again, her pink lips forming seamlessly around the words. A smile lifted the left side of her face, and, with renewed vigor, she removed her clothing and hopped into the shower for a speedy morning wash. She wasn’t finished until the steam from the welcome heat filled the entirety of the small room, coating the mirror from top to bottom. Her towel was soaked from the humidity as it sat complacently on the counter from which the sink emerged, catching the sweat dripping off the mirror.

Jean could never get enough heat. It was a part of her that was, indeed, new, ever since she merged with the Phoenix Force. It was hard to accept at first, since Jean wasn’t used to getting cold so easily and would often spend hours in the shower just to feel the near-boiling water on her skin. Yet, there were a lot of worse things to be accepted in regard to her new dual identity. Sharing a body with a grossly old universal force was one thing - actually accepting it was another. Jean didn’t feel like herself sometimes. She felt like there was an intruder in her body, a parasitic presence, almost, that was impossible to eradicate. She felt longings occasionally that she had never felt prior to her body’s dying willingness to allow the Phoenix Force to use her as a human avatar. She was afraid to use her new powers, for she knew not their limits or bounds. She was incapable of controlling herself once she started to try to utilize her new powers. She felt as if she were in a constant battle between sanity and madness, between mortality and immortality, between good and evil, all within herself.

Yet despite her inner challenges, a positive change was her ability to telepathically withhold Scott’s laser beams; with her new Phoenix powers, she could see Scott’s full face, eyes and all, and that was truly a joyous product of her metamorphosis.

Shelving her reveries on the past, Jean stepped out of the shower and on to the soft mat beneath it. She stood, shivering, for a few seconds, then reached for her towel, wrapped it around her voluptuous body, and used her non-Phoenix power to evaporate the water from herself, leaving her fresh and dry. Her hair, also completely rendered water-free, shone brilliantly in the luminescent sunlight filtering in through the bathroom window. Jean smiled at the beautiful celestial sphere and exited the bathroom, her pink towel, with a JG anagram on its lower right corner in a fancy, swirly script, still coiled tightly about her torso. The task of getting dressed was always an easy one for Jean - ever the fashionista (she’d designed the original outfits of the first generation X-Men and had been a model in her college days), Jean had laid out a sharp outfit the night before.

Being a teacher, Jean felt it necessary to look nice every day. Unlike Logan, she did not simply dress for comfort. With her, it was all about style. Thus, as she eyed the becoming outfit she’d laid out for herself, Jean applauded her own impeccable taste and slipped it on over her recently-donned undergarments. Not to fall short, she’d also laid out a set of matching accessories and shoes, which she quickly adorned herself with before brushing through her beautiful, fiery hair. That finished, she walked over to the floor-length mirror near her closet and regarded her appearance: Her long locks fell to her elbows and curled around a pearly white blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves that puffed out slightly at the ends. This square-necked piece was tucked neatly into the folds of a gray and black argyle skirt that fell just above her knees. The skirt’s pleats were a few inches above the black, lace-up, faux-leather boots encasing her calves and feet. A silver necklace hung from her neck, with a small heart hanging from that, and matching earrings dangled from her ears. On her left ring finger, a small, golden band with a single diamond flanked by two emeralds - Scott said they reminded him of her eyes.

Jean appraised her figure with a nod and left her room, her mind set on breakfast. The children would already be in the mess hall by now, throwing puerile tantrums over food, and she grimaced at the thought. She had higher hopes for the future X-Men initiates, much higher than loud agonizing over who ate the last Pop-Tart. However, her hunger stilled her annoyance, and, as she entered the kitchen swarming with teenagers, headed for the forgotten oatmeal in the far right cupboard. She selected her favorite flavor, blueberry cream, and set about the task of preparing it.

As an Originial
{ Emmanuelle Eliane Baker in It’s a Dog’s World }

If there was one weakness of which Emmanuelle was slightly ashamed, it would be for showering.

In Europe, particularly in France, from whence she came, people simply disregarded the rules of sanitation, bathing whenever they felt like it, which was not often, ignoring the hair underneath the armpits, and generally stinking up the country. Not Elle. She was unnaturally obsessed with cleanliness, so much so that her nickname around the village was "the American" (since everyone in Europe thinks it's funny how clean the Americans are). It was fitting, then, that she traveled there as a foreign exchange student. Though, not fitting, that she came back three months pregnant with the son of her handsome American boyfriend. Cringing slightly for a reason that had nothing to do with the rising heat of the water from the shower-head, Emmanuelle remembered distinctly the look on her mother's and father's faces when she related to them the "joyous" news. Her father bit his lip so hard it bled, and her mother's face puckered to such an extent that she looked like a fish. They'd told her to go back to America on a visa and start a life there, away from them. They were humiliated and ashamed, and would have nothing to do with her or the tiny baby growing in her belly.

One would think that for this reason Emmanuelle would resent her pregnancy and abhor the child she carried, soon to be named Landin at the behest of his father -- but no, differing again from the norm, the Frenchwoman adored her little son, finding in him the happiness and joy which she'd hoped to receive from her parents. As for support, it came in endless waves from her boyfriend, who moved in to an apartment with her after she'd told him of their fate and the initial shock was over. His job at the local diner helped with the rent, and she took a job at the nearby bookstore in order to contribute some more as well. She had to quit school, however, she still endeavored to tutor herself in literature and history, which was made quite simple through her job as bookstore employee (she'd gleaned her adoration of Shakespeare in this way). Soon enough, she applied for permission to become an American citizen, which was a wonderful occasion; she celebrated with her boyfriend and his parents -- who had become very sympathetic and loving toward her in ways that her own parents never were -- and, shortly after, went into labor. Twelve hours, four chocolate bars, and a hell of a lot of screaming and tears later, Landin was born, healthy and beaming, and Elle's boyfriend proposed marriage. They were wed as soon as he'd completed high school. It was a simple ceremony held at the city hall, with his parents as witnesses. Elle remembered still what she wore that day -- a white, knee-length tube dress with a cheap, clip-on tiara and red stilettos. Chuckling to herself, Emmanuelle thought, those were the days in which I was more adventurous in what I wore.

Emmanuelle was not expecting, then, to be the mother of six more children. She and her husband were very much in love and wanted to have more as soon as they had a steady income, but one thing led to another and soon they were welcoming Jason to the family. Almost two years later, Shay came, then, when they were expecting to have only one more after that, feeling that a family of five was quite sufficient, were surprised when Aleta and her brother sprung from the womb. Then, they figured, "what the hell? we're going down anyway" and that whimsical notion gave birth -- pun intended -- to Alexia and, finally, Ace (Emmanuelle could only stay fit due to the gym located a block's distance from their incredibly full apartment). After a while of living in a two-room, one-bath dwelling, Elle's husband's parents finally said enough was enough and bought them a gorgeous house in a picturesque, white-picket-fence neighborhood. And they've been living there ever since. Her husband graduated from college and got lucky with a high-paying job, Elle stayed home to be a mother, and the kids enjoyed their new school and comfortable living. The only problem was that due to her age, news circulated around the conservative neighborhood of Emmanuelle's past and teenage pregnancies and no one in the area would look at her without cocking a brow. No one, that is, except the Morellos.

Mr. and Mr. Morello, having their own eccentricities, were the kindest men -- er, women -- Emmanuelle ever knew, next to her spouse's parents. They were the first to bring her jello and introduce their strapping sons and lovely daughter, the latter going by the name Gina. Gina bonded quickly with Landin and the other children and frequented the Baker residence in her youth, serving as the much-contended-for-childhood-playmate. However, despite Gina's closeness to everyone, Elle's sharp eye caught the way Gina and Landin sported. It was somehow different than how she played with the others -- somehow, it was more tender. If she had a choice, Gigi always picked Landin as her partner in the games. They played house incredibly often as the roles of husband and wife, having many stuffed children with one another. And, as they aged, Elle noticed the infantile tenderness grow to playful teasing, which escalated into joking and wrestling and other good things that were entertaining to watch. Emmanuelle had always hoped the two would end up together, or that Landin would ask her to his senior prom, at least. But these hopes proved to be in vain, despite Mrs. Baker's discreet attempts at match-making. Little did she know that her son was sticking a fork into Gigi's rear-end just down the stairs. If she did, she would probably have been encouraged to take up her match-making endeavors once more, for which her husband always chided her, saying she was too old for such things. Elle disagreed.

As she let the water rinse the freshly applied, butterfly-flower scented body wash off her sleek sin, the Frenchwoman began to sing. Being a lover both of voice and cello, and having been a former opera-singer-"aspiree," Emmanuelle adored chanting operatic arias in the shower. As it usually never occurs to those in the shower, she had no idea she was loud enough for people downstairs to hear her. She was a lyric coloraturra soprano and was currently singing The Doll Song in its original French rendition, the music taking on its own body as it flowed from hers. It was best when she accompanied herself on the cello -- her husband had bought her one for her thirtieth birthday just so he could hear her play, for she was quite amazing. Emmanuelle used to sing her children to sleep, and still does with Ace and Alexia, and would play her cello for them as she sang in order to lull them into their own personal dreamscapes. It was one of her small joys of being a mother, seeing their sweet, tiny faces drift into unconsciousness as she played the elegiac, haunting tunes on her ebony cello. She even enjoyed doing it for Gina when she slept over in her youth, though that girl had quite the imagination and it took quite some time to get her to sleep.

Speaking of Gina... how long ago had she left she and Landin to their own devices? Cursing herself, she jumped out of the shower, grabbed her towel, quickly dried herself off, and skidded into the bedroom. It was already nearing eleven o'clock and she still hadn't fed anyone! Ashamed of her rather unnecessarily lengthy shower, Emmanuelle slipped on her clothes -- a simple pair of blue jeans, some socks and clogs, and a light pink sweater -- and dashed back into the bathroom for a quick blow-dry. Once finished, she flounced down the stairs just in time to hear a loud noise coming from the kitchen. A noise with which she was all-too-familiar. A noise which meant only one thing: the breaking of glassware. Sighing a little, Elle hesitantly entered the kitchen, yet lingered in the doorway, afraid of the potential damage. However, thankfully, it was only one glass, and the mess wasn't too bad. Gina, obviously the culprit judging by the abashed look on her face, needed no admonishment on the matter; instead, Emmanuelle rushed into the pantry, pulled out a broom and dustpan, and set to work gathering the shards of her breakfast china. "Sorry about that," she apologized, brushing her hair from her eyes as she leaned over to maneuver the dustpan. "I suppose my fondness for showers overwhelmed me this morning."

^{__________________________________________________________}

And Finally - -

I, Fief, have read the rules, understand clearly what my responsibilities are now that I am joining ISS, and will abide by these standards set by the staff.

[Andromeda Black]

Wow, astounding application, to say the least. I'll have to confer with the other admins about whether or not she would be classified as a canon or original but we can deal with that ourselves. But yes, amazing job, it was a fantastic read and you've put so much effot and detail into it.

A C C E P T E D

[Professor Albus Dumbledore]

Whoa, long application. xDDD

But awesome.

Anyways, yes, we’ll count Priscilla as a canon. (: Because…I think we discussed this already? Lol.

``IZZY