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Phaedra Spekt

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Phaedra Spekt:

THE BASICS
Name: Phaedra Spekt

Former Character's Name (if you had one): Type in the name of a character you have played at this site before. If you have not played here before, leave this answer blank.


CHARACTER DETAILS
House Request:
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Year: 
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Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one): Transfiguration

Biography: Wilkie Spekt moved to London in the fall of ’39 to escape the ever-advancing war. He hoped to find some sympathetic purebloods to hoist him back toward his rightful standing, but as it became clear that they were far too enamored with their own hero and war in Germany, he settled in the poor East End, where he could find nothing to do but enlist. This was more a technicality than anything (he had next to no bravery and goddamnit if he would be killed for something now) and he wormed his way into one of the more strategic bits of the army, working as a typist and attempting to disguise his gender. He’d always had an affinity for theft (wigs particularly) and he had assembled enough of an inventory of both costumes and charms that he passed of as a woman very easily.

Less easy was the typing itself. He relied on a prudish-yet-nice young woman to not question his ignorance of anything considered muggle and teach him the very basics of pen and paper - and most importantly, of typewriters. She should have been confused, should have just plain left off, but this strange woman seemed to appreciate his faults as a perfect lever to get her out of the monotonous secretarial life and into something exciting. He was the uncle she never had despite their similar ages, and soon there were weekly trips to supper; perhaps a matinee here, a film there. Such novelties she had never before experienced, and she clung tightly to her source of them.

As the war ended and they both were able to step out of their literal as well as figurative cellars, they began to seriously date. One thing led to another, and within four months, they were married -- and she, pregnant. The baby was male (‘our puwfect wittwu baby waibie,’ said a suddenly sentimental Wilkie) and they pampered him and raised him as such until that fateful day when he was eighteen months (seven days and four hours) old.

For that was when Faye Sr. - the baby’s mother, Faye’s own mother - died. Returning from her funeral was a changed woman, suddenly strict and unyielding. Neither baby nor father enjoyed this new Faye, but at this point their careers were dependent on their marriage and they were civil on the pretense of ‘for our child’. Each led a life on their own. ‘Going out to the bar with the boys’ was accepted with a nod three nights a week, ‘going out with the girls’ another two. Each were cheating on one another, neither cared, and within another two years, a love child was born to Faye, named Spekt to appease Wilkie, who despite what his many affairs would say, loved his wayward wife.

That girl was Phaedra, and her life is generally melodramatic -- she is a self-described hair-pulling supporter of any and all soap operas, perhaps because she can relate. She is a not-so-self-described hair-puller in general, though, so that’s not saying too much anyway, other than that she had perpetual psychologists as a child.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
Please include these sections if they are not addressed in your biography.

Personality: More than anything else, Phaedra is a survivor. She’s a stubborn sort, and about as friendly as a cold shower (perhaps sullen, too). She doesn’t know how to play the crowd by any means -- to appear ‘winning’ -- but she longs above all else to stand out from her eons of successful accountant family members. She’s a bit dirty, a bit wild, more than a bit tactless and blunt and impulsive, and, really, she’d run into a fire screaming to save you just to get the satisfaction of you having a debt on her. Good times are what that’s all made of, after all, and although she does come off quite selfishly, she can be daring and outgoing (always outgoing), and I’d see her as embodying the best of Slytherin and best and worst of Gryffindor.

Appearance: She dresses extremely primly, mostly because she forgoes the fights that must be picked in order to wear anything beyond the drab white blouse and black skirt that are standard fare as a secretary. Her hair is nice enough but nothing outstanding, either. It’s pretty drab, too, to be honest, tied up in some sort of knotted loop. Survival; that’s what it’s all for (she whines), as with her sullen face and stubborn pinprick of a mouth.

SAMPLE ROLEPLAY
You come across one of these three posts on the site. Please reply to one only as your character would.
*** Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not James' or Astrid's.

Option I:

Blimey, the Great Hall was packed. It seemed like everywhere a guy looked there was some clown waving around a House banner or yelling about the game.

'Can you believe it?' 'No way!' 'This must be the biggest upset in Hogwarts Quidditch history...'

Stupid Quidditch.

James flopped into an empty seat at the end of the table, shoved an empty plate out of the way, and let his head sink onto his crossed arms, squishing his freckled nose down flat against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to come here, since he definitely wasn't hungry. He'd probably never eat again, in fact. He didn'tdeserve to eat. He hadn't stopped in the locker room to change out of his muddy, sweaty uniform after the game either, because he was pretty sure he probably didn't deserve to be clean too; and anyway he couldn't stand to see the looks on his team mates' faces after he blew their chance at winning one of the biggest games they had ever played.

Just one lousy shot. That's all it would have taken. If he could have just got that one stupid foul shot to go through that one stupid hoop, they could have won and he wouldn't have been the biggest blockhead in the entire school.

As if to prove the point, half the people at the next table suddenly broke into a loud victory chant. James pressed his face further into his arms to hide the bright red blotches he could feel creeping up his cheeks. That was it. He was just going to have to run away and move to Nova Scotia. He'd just cost the three-year-in-a-row Champions the Quidditch Cup! How do you ever live that one down for crying out loud? He was only a second year and he was going to spend the rest of his life as 'that dumb cry-baby kid who dropped the Quaffle!'

It felt like every set of eyes in the room was boring into him, and James couldn't stand it anymore. He jerked himself back up from the table and stomped right back out of the Hall the same way he had come in. As he stormed into the quieter hallway outside, he could hear footsteps somewhere behind him. James rounded on the sound and began to shout, his brown eyes shining with tears. "WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"

Sample Roleplay Response: Two months into school and Phaedra was still basking in the novelty of a lack of parents. Her uniforms, tightly pressed and ordered (rather compusively, she thought) by fabric type had been sent to her room with a threatening note warning of dire consequences should she paint sequins onto them ‘or do whatever else you silly little girls would do without me to interfere’, but even she knew that was an empty threat - sequins had been out of style since the bloody nineteenth century, by Merlin. This righteous indignation had been fortunate enough to tumble straight out of her through in the middle of Charms, too, and she found herself flattered and relieved to be around like-minded people.

This wizarding world was good!

That thought gave way to a warm, happy feeling that lasted until she walked into the Hall to jeers and catcalls. The people seemed to swarm around a particular table -- notably the one at which she always sat -- and she could feel for herself the agony of death by starvation already. The nosh was always excellent at Hogwarts, and she felt as though she might implode from general lack of weight if she didn’t get to those mashed potatoes within the next moment.

She didn’t, and hardly got the fun of imploding, either.

No. Instead, just as her conviction to tap the boy who appeared to be the ringleader of this conspiracy on his shoulder, a gap formed and she was left tapping thin air like a perfect idiot. It hurt, that rejection of even the merest shoulder, and she stepped back slightly to regain her composure, blinking dazedly. A boy took that moment to shoulder past, and break into a stomp that she was sure she had trademarked her own self. That hurt, too, and Phaedra broke into a run. She was going to get to the bottom of this conspiracy, and she could only dream but to start with this ridiculous boy.

She reached him with a final exaggerated pant, and reached up to tap him on the shoulder when he turned indignantly around, ruining the affect. Now she had been thwarted again, and even with the miraculous lack of window-smashing, that meant something dark and unpleasant for the boy. She raised her fist loftily, but as she had just begun to strike, she noticed a glistening tear in the boy’s eye. “What’s up?” she asked slowly, for the first time in weeks sincerely concerned. “Why are you doing this -- is it that bloody game again or something self-absorbed, like pity because I was about to rightfully punch you?”

She suspected the latter, but it wouldn’t do for her to punch the boy prematurely and risk losing her Perfectly Self Righteous status, when she would almost certainly get the same fun with the arbitrary protocol.

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Esme Vartan:

Miss Spekt,

Congratulations, your application to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been accepted.

Term begins 01 January. Currently, students have gathered at the Summer Campus. Your admission is joint for both the school and the summer campus, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies. We look forward to seeing you at the Castle.

Regards,
Esme Vartan
Keeper of the Keys

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