(no subject)
basics.
Name: Erin Sophia Pryce. ESP. Sometimes, her boobs can tell when it's raining.
Age 20
Birthdate: April 21st
Location: New York, New York.
Occupation: Florist/receptionist/secretary/shopgirl for Flower Shop.
the tale.
Fairytale: Michael Darling, Peter Pan
Ability, if any: Absolutely nothing. Though she does have the remarkable ability to whine.
Tale Status: KNOWN KNOWN KNOWN. Erin will tell her Tale to anyone who'll listen, and even some who won't.
Relationship:
Erin is extremely comfortable with her tale. Well, mostly. She thinks Michael could have had a bigger part, and she wasn't THAT whiny, and maybe if Tiger Lily would just BACK UP OFF PETER Michael wouldn't have to pop a cap in anybody's ass for his sister's sake. Or something like that. Really, she doesn't think there's anything TO dislike about being whisked away to Neverland to be a Lost Boy; she would rather have stayed longer, to be honest, and a small part of her will never forgive Wendy for reminding Michael of their mother. Her most fervent desire really is to return to Neverland on a more permanent basis. She still idolizes Peter and tags along after him, still bickers with her more sensible Tale-brother, still follows Wendy's advice and direction without question. Erin is much more tied to her Tale than she quite realizes: it's more than just wanting to go back to Neverland and trailing after Theo. She really is Michael in the keenest sense of the word.
Of course, this doesn't mean she acknowledges the last chapter or so of the book, where Michael grows up and leaves home. That's boring. No thank you.
personality.
First Impression: "Please stop talking."
Personality: Erin has three goals in life: 1) To be fabulously rich and live in a villa in the Mediterranean; 2) To marry her employer, Tom Locke; and 3) To become a contract killer and spy. Perhaps this is due to her lack of parental supervision. Perhaps it's merely the result of being on too many action film sets. Either way, Erin has never been quite as sane as she possibly could be. She doesn't let go of ideas and dreams, no matter how outlandish or far-fetched they may be (for instance, she firmly believes it's still possible to return to Neverland, if Hook would just GIVE THEM BACK THEIR FAIRY DUST), and her predilection towards violence and revenge--only creative revenge, of course; breaking kneecaps is so Kathy-Bates-in-Misery, and Erin would really much rather pull a Usual Suspects, THANKS--borders on the terrifyingly absurd.
In many respects, Erin is much like a small, yipping dog: loud, obnoxious, requiring inordinate amounts of attention, and loyal to an absolute fault. It's a combination of being the youngest Darling, always babied, and a Lost Boy: Michael was always sensitive and delicate, but dove into Lost Boydom with all the verve and dedication of the oldest miscreants. His new reincarnation, therefore, has a somewhat displeasing blend of needing affection and thrill-seeking habits. This has only been exacerbated by Erin's being an only child in this lifetime. The first part of her life was completely eaten by how much stuff she could acquire via pouting and crying. Living on her own has certainly tempered her propensity to burst into tears when she doesn't get her way, but only by sublimating it into a sort of bizarre, unconquerable drive. What Erin wants, she gets, often through less than scrupulous means. Or at least, she tries to get: often enough, that drive results in no more than building up frustration to a boiling point when her schemes fall on their face, until Erin simply explodes in rages and seriously considers knifing someone.
Erin is extremely devoted. It's not the most easily won loyalty (in fact, she seems to owe loyalty to the strangest sorts, and for the most bizarre reasons), but once someone has it, that's all there is to it. When loyalties clash, her little mind can hardly manage it. She is not a peacemaker in these situations. In fact, she probably drums up more contention when she finally does pick a side, and only people who are used to her will understand she'll be back to lap at their feet tomorrow, regardless who she chose. Flighty is perhaps not the best word, nor ditzy, but she generally does have the attention span of a small disease-carrying insect. Her emotions tend to go between extremes at any given time, though this may be from hanging around Karisma too much.
She does have her good traits, as hard as it may be to believe. Despite her lack of focus, Erin has a knack for efficiency, and simply getting things done. She likes feeling accomplished, and the easiest way to do that is by actually accomplishing things--getting them done. She also has a creative knack and a keen sense of the aesthete, which serves her well working in a florist's.
Likes: Tom. Baking. Knives. Guns. The shooting range. Spy movies. Bruce Willis. Making friends. NEVERLAND. Theo. Peter Pan. Disney movies (but that one's a secret). Flower Shop. Work. Throwing things at Pippa. When Tom says nice things. When Christian wears her garlands. Dogs.
Dislikes: WONDERLANDERS. Store-bought cookies. Bad muffins. When people mess with her homeboys. Creepers. Taking medicine. Hospitals. Pippa. Thorned roses. The circus. Her mother.
personal.
Family: Robert Isaac Pryce (father, 51), Anna Maria (mother, 39). The relationship is strained.
History: Erin Sophia Pryce was born with a silver spoon the size of Turkey in her mouth. Her mother, prominent Italian model Anna Maria Pryce (Oh, no, she had no maiden name, she was a model), and her father, equally prominent Hollywood producer Robert Pryce, had enough wealth and materialistic hedonism between them that bringing a child into the world was a heavy blow to advocates of sensible parenting everywhere. While of the absentee sort, her parents showered her with affection in the form of granting any desire she could possibly conceive of, and Erin had only to let that prominent bottom lip start to wibble before whatever she was wishing would magically materialize before her. Yes, she was very much the pampered princess of their sprawling Beverly Hills mansion (and their Roman villa, and their Swiss cottage), and except for the hired help she terrified with her infant wails at all hours of the night, no one really much objected.
From a young age, Erin learned the elaborate shuffle that was balancing her toddler social calendar between Mommy's and Daddy's jobs. With her mother often off on a shoot in some exotic locale, only so many hours of crucial parent-child bonding could be shunted off onto the nanny, and Erin thusly spent the majority of her childhood with one hand firmly attached to her father's, jogging along after him as he dashed from meeting to meeting and film set to film set, meeting with actors, signing contracts, and schmoozing with the Hollywood Elite. Her playmates were the children of the entertainment industry; her mentors were the actors and actresses who came to see her father on a regular basis. Anna Maria objected, as mothers might, to such influences--but her plane always seemed to be leaving just then, or her agent just arriving, or half a dozen other things that seemed to cool her heated arguments on Erin's behalf.
Needless to say, it was not, perhaps, the most beneficial upbringing. Erin could swear by age 7, pop and lock by 9, and coordinate eye shadow with her miniskirt by 12. Her father's studio's predilection for action films developed a keen appreciation for well-staged violence in the girl, and she forayed into kickboxing and capoeira at 15. That same year, she bought her first butterfly knife, on the advice of one of the stunt men that it just didn't do for a pretty girl to go wandering around L.A. without some form of protection (granted, he was thinking more along the lines of mace, but Erin had never been the first to leap to the most logical conclusion). She would start collecting them a few months later.
When she was 17, her parents divorced. It was inevitable, really: they had never been particularly close, with Anna Maria nearly a decade and a half his junior and often banging whatever photographer was shooting her that month, and Robert far more the dutiful workaholic than dutiful husband. Over several months they hashed it out. At least one vase, possibly Ming Dynasty, was hurled across the spacious living room. Ultimately, Anna Maria's pre-nup paid off, and she left Hollywood happy and rich, while Robert (still rich) decided that the loss of the female head of house meant that the mantle now fell to his young daughter. Erin was not pleased. Another vase was lost, along with several plates, framed photographs, and three of her father's best suits. Robert found out very quickly that he was not nearly as cut out for fatherhood as his nannies had always assured him; without Anna Maria there to temper her daughter with feminine frivolities, along with Erin's having outgrown the use of a nanny, it was only his daughter, Robert, and his inadequacies left in their grand house. Robert Pryce had never been a man to accept inadequacy. Or, for that matter, temper tantrums.
Erin was shipped off to New York that summer. She had applied to several universities in her final year of high school, and though she had never been the sharpest crayon in the tool shed, she scraped enough to get by. More importantly, her father was loaded, so NYU really had little choice but to tell her hey, come on in, and bring your dad's check for the new library wing, too. Robert set up her tuition fund, which would systematically be drawn from for the four years of her stay; purchased her a small apartment in the East Village; then dropped her on a 757 heading to the East coast and informed her she was financially cut off until she graduated. With university paid for, he reasoned, it wasn't out of the question for her to obtain a job like other normal 18-year-olds to pay for the little delicacies she was used to. He didn't take into account the little delicacies of food and rent and furniture, of course--but like he said. Fatherhood just wasn't his gig. Erin was a capable girl, he knew; she ought to be able to handle herself.
Robert vastly misjudged his daughter. Work? Furniture? Clothing? These things ought to be provided for her. Where the HELL was she going to get them on her own? Needless to say, the first month or so was spent floundering around Greenwich Village, eating away at her bank account, and wondering when Daddy would come to his senses. He didn't. When calls went straight to his answering machine, or were returned by the prim and clipped tones of his personal assistant, Erin began to despair of ever living in the sane world of money again. Thirty days went by. Her credit card funds dwindled. University actually required effort. Real life, it was difficult. WOE.
Thankfully enough, all those years following Daddy around had at least instilled a sense of ruthless determination in the girl; and once she was able to bring herself round from teenage despair, the drive to prove her father wrong and become a perfectly successful New York University student became so great in her, it was a wonder she managed to focus it at all. By the end of the second month, she was officially in search of a job; by the end of the third, she'd managed to even hand in all of her coursework on time. It took a fair bit of time, cycling through several different jobs and nearly getting expelled when stress got to her and she threatened to curb-stomp another student, but Erin finally settled into her little routine of school, work, threatening violence on anyone who bothered her. She found a job working at Flower Shop, where she became particularly adept at both floral arrangement and driving her manager, Tom Locke, up a wall; her grades were passably good; and she even managed to purchase some cheap furniture for her apartment. It was a huge shift from the high life she was used to, but Erin rather liked the taste of independence. It suited her. Over the past two years, she's been acclimating admirably; and aside from random threats of violence, successfully driving her manager to premature baldness, and that one time she lived off of coffee and oreos for a month, things have been going pretty smoothly.
As for her tale awakening? Well, it wasn't quite the typical having-dreams-and-then-poof scenario. Oh, no. Erin had no dreams or wishes before she woke up as Michael. It was more of a flash of lightning sort of deal: a friend took her to an off-off-off-Broadway performance of Peter Pan once she was settled in New York, and at Michael's first appearance on stage, Erin found herself standing up in her seat and shouting, "OH. MY. GOD. NO," at the top of her lungs. She was subsequently removed, and Patricia came and found her the next day. It's been mostly smooth sailing ever since.
physical.
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 115, mostly muscle.
Eyes: Blue.
Hair: BLONDE.
Appearance: It's pretty unavoidable to notice that Erin is a fine piece of ass. If she were curvier, she'd be of the "blonde bombshell" variety. She's still growing into her figure, and lacks the shapeliness of her mother, but that's not to say she hasn't grown enough into it that she doesn't turn heads. To be perfectly honest, Erin's a bit of a fox. Her rack is small, but a lovely thing, and her legs are almost impossibly long. If she wasn't so good on her feet, she could almost be described as gangly. Her hair is long and naturally blonde, her face still smooth, such that, if she didn't have such a great rack, she'd probably be carded a lot more often than she is. On the one hand, she's not entirely aware of sex and how sexuality affects people (but that's a rant for another time), so she never really dresses with looking hot in mind--for the most part, shorts, jeans, hoodies, and tee-shirts are the norm--but she is aware that when she dresses a certain way, it's easier to get what she wants, and she's not exactly afraid to exploit that.
Samples:
social.
Status: SHE'S GETTING MARRIED TO TOM.
Orientation: OH MY GOD SO STRAIGHT. Mostly. Probably. She's never really DONE anything (by choice, anyway), so it's kind of hard to say. WHATEVER. She's marrying Tom ANYWAY.
Friends: Theo Phillips, Karisma Singh, Nate Katz, Saffy Roberts, Kilroy Benson, May Decatur, Max Stark
Interests: DUH.
Turn-ons: As Erin has never had sex, this is debatable. However, hypothetically, they would include: Tom, older men, stubble, being rough around the edges, Tom, probably being obnoxiously mean to her, Tom, Tom, Bruce Willis, food in bed, being taken care of. And Tom.
Turn-offs: Not Tom. Skeezy creepers. Guys who try to get into her pants. Whipped cream. Smooth guys. Too much hair. Guys her age. One-night-stands. Guys who are too fatherly. Nate.
miscellaneous.
- Knows how to boost most really expensive cars, but rarely does so. Has only stolen a car once, after which she just drove it around the block, got it washed, and parked in a spot where it was less likely to get hijacked again.
- Keeps a set of lockpicks handy for stealing shit. Is not really all that good at it, but she's learning. Always returns things she steals. She's really not so good at this life of crime thing.
- Has an absurd fondness for motorcycles. Intends on owning a Kawasaki Ninja ZX-10R.
- Moderately good at baking. Usually brings things into work.
- On the other hand, can't actually cook anything. Has trouble even boiling water for pasta.
- Was molested, somewhat, in the front seat of a coworker's car when she was 19. He didn't get farther than sticking his hands where they didn't belong before she broke three of his fingers and slammed the door into his face. Her father, in a rare show of paternalism, arrived in New York the next day, and when Erin went to file a sexual harrassment complaint at work, she found the coworker's arm mysteriously broken in three places. Erin doesn't think about the even mostly, except for glowing at the thought of her father coming to rescue her, but it has made her even more skittish, if possible, regarding sex.
- Really a very poor reader. Not because she's bad at it or doesn't understand it (although, all right, she does have to keep a dictionary on hand when she's reading), but it's extremely difficult for her to focus, so it takes ages to get through. Likes things once she finishes them, though, and has a particular predilection for folklore and history.
- Reads to the children in P.J.'s library at least once a week. Usually brings some sort of baked dessert.
- Knows all the words to "Paxilback."
the ooc.
Storylines:
Songs: Oh My God, Lily Allen.
PB: Jaime King.
Player: Rian!