Post by Deleted on Dec 30, 2013 22:57:35 GMT -8
LUCAS HOWARD PRICE-- 17 --
RAVENCLAW
RAVENCLAW
full name: Lucas Howard Price
nicknames: "Luke"
age: 17
birthplace: Unknown
blood-type: Half-blood (born to a wizard and witch, but there had been a Muggle or two tossed in along the family line)
sexuality: Heterosexual
year/occupation: Sixth
three words to describe character: Pensive, Reflective, Argumentative
play by: Jesse Spencer
The muted flickering of candlelight against the wall put Luke in a particularly pensive state; his mood was capricious and easily dissolved by something as simple as a change in lighting. Earlier today, he had been felt the familiar strain of finals and the slight, persistent fear of failure tugging at the corners of his mind, but the smooth motions of his quill teased the worry away. It felt nice to escape into this imperturbable state, if only for a moment.
His father had been the same way; when his work got to be too much for him, Howard Price would sit in his study, buried in volumes of his own, musing words. Luke would marvel at the simple beauty of each character, each comprising a small stroke in the larger, extravagant masterpiece. He loved to write deep into the darkening night, watching rolls of parchment fall away from him, emblazoned with his memories and emotions and spirit, purging him.
... or perhaps it wasn't the act of writing, but to whom he was writing. His mother had a way of siphoning off the bad, drawing it out of him in the form of words. As he sealed the letter, he would feel the familiar ache as his worries trickled in slowly... he'd only patched the leak; he hadn't conquered the flood. Such was the give and take of life, he supposed. He quenched the light of the candle, expecting his troubles to awaken in the darkness, but feeling strangely tranquil. As his eyes adjusted to the night, he tied his letter to the patient foot of the pepper-gray owl on the windowsill. He watched it fly, and it was as if, for once, it carried the remainder of his stress and fears with it. He internally - jokingly - apologized to the owl for ladening it with such burdens, laying down to what he hoped would be his first restful sleep in some time.
nicknames: "Luke"
age: 17
birthplace: Unknown
blood-type: Half-blood (born to a wizard and witch, but there had been a Muggle or two tossed in along the family line)
sexuality: Heterosexual
year/occupation: Sixth
three words to describe character: Pensive, Reflective, Argumentative
play by: Jesse Spencer
The muted flickering of candlelight against the wall put Luke in a particularly pensive state; his mood was capricious and easily dissolved by something as simple as a change in lighting. Earlier today, he had been felt the familiar strain of finals and the slight, persistent fear of failure tugging at the corners of his mind, but the smooth motions of his quill teased the worry away. It felt nice to escape into this imperturbable state, if only for a moment.
His father had been the same way; when his work got to be too much for him, Howard Price would sit in his study, buried in volumes of his own, musing words. Luke would marvel at the simple beauty of each character, each comprising a small stroke in the larger, extravagant masterpiece. He loved to write deep into the darkening night, watching rolls of parchment fall away from him, emblazoned with his memories and emotions and spirit, purging him.
... or perhaps it wasn't the act of writing, but to whom he was writing. His mother had a way of siphoning off the bad, drawing it out of him in the form of words. As he sealed the letter, he would feel the familiar ache as his worries trickled in slowly... he'd only patched the leak; he hadn't conquered the flood. Such was the give and take of life, he supposed. He quenched the light of the candle, expecting his troubles to awaken in the darkness, but feeling strangely tranquil. As his eyes adjusted to the night, he tied his letter to the patient foot of the pepper-gray owl on the windowsill. He watched it fly, and it was as if, for once, it carried the remainder of his stress and fears with it. He internally - jokingly - apologized to the owl for ladening it with such burdens, laying down to what he hoped would be his first restful sleep in some time.
LUKE -- 17
