joyce VASILIEV

[JOYCE VASILIEV]

joyce VASILIEV

hollywood grace*

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»the basics

NAME:

Joyce Dimitrika Vasiliev

NICK NAMES

Joy, Cece

CLASS:

Minor Goddess - Grace

REINCARNATE:

Euphorsyne

AGE:

Twenty-three

JOB:

Comedic actress; movies/guest star/comedy central

ORIENTATION:

Hetrosexual

FACE CLAIM:

Kristin Bell

»the image

EYE COLOR:

Light blue

HAIR:

Very wavy blonde, with occasional light brown and auburn highlights. It falls just slightly past her shoulder blades.

HEIGHT:

Five foot four inches

WEIGHT:

One hundred twenty five pounds

CLOTHING STYLE:

Joyce's style is a very chic, often somewhat expensive and one of a kinds. She has a tendency to accessorice with various necklaces and bracelets, and loves wearing hats of all types.

»the story

FAMILY:

DIMITRI VASILIEV ,, fifty-three. film director. father
REBECCA VASILIEV (nee. HOWARDS) ,, fifty-one. model. mother
DIMITRI VASILIEV II ,, twenty. professional comedian. younger brother

HOMETOWN:

Hollywood, California

PERSONALITY:

BUBBLY Joyce likes to talk and likes to do fun things. She isn't one to start fights, nor actually even take a hint that people dislike her. The fact is that she is a generally easy-going person, not one to judge (or voice them, for more of a matter) and isn't one to make threats. For the most part she is a likable person, if one doesn't mind her constant blabbering and so such. She likes talking. A lot. More so than usual, she just can't shut up.

DITZY To be honest, Joyce is a quote unquote "typical girl" (as stated by various men); otherwise known as a ditz. She isn't exactly very deep thoughted, and has one of the shortest attention spans of anybody she knows.

CREATIVE Joyce is adaptable and can work in any situation, which natrually makes her rather creative. Not artistically creative, mind you. Rather just witty and well, creative. She works with the surroundings around her and picks up on it; this is rather important considering her current career of sorts.

CLUMSY Never. Ever. Under any circumstances trust Joyce with your family heirloom or a very valuable, Chang Dynasty vase that is like, a bazillion years old. Often Joyce just trips over her own feet. She breaks things, easily. Oh, and never trust her with electrical objects. Just don't.

STUBBORN

LOYAL

FUNNY

PAST:

Dimitri and Rebecca weren't exactly the loving, nuturing types of lovers that everybody wants to have. Dimitri was flighty and carefree, Rebecca humorous and thick witted. They were childhood friends, the two meeting when Dimitri moved from Moscow, Russia to Hollywood, where he became a next door neighbor to a young Miss Rebecca Howards. The two did simply everything together, best friends and inseperable. Both went to preschool together, and eventually elementry, junior, and high school together. After the two went to college, they began dating, and eventually they just decided to get married once Rebecca graduated and got pregnant with Joyce.

PRESENT:

Eventually, about a year or two ago, Joyce got her bachelor's degree in theatre, otherwise known as the basics for acting. Because of her dear daddy, Joyce re-broke into the acting world with a smash, co-starring in one of her papa's romance comedy movies, "Car Crash," which actually had a lot of cars but no crashes. It was a shame. Joy did considerably good for her first actual gig, although it was met with a bunch of critics and critiques, which wasn't a big of a surprise. Despite this, film casters showed interest in her, and as such made Joyce as successful as she is today. She's gotten her own place and is living on her own money, with little or no help from her parents.

»the extra

LIKES:

(text here)

DISLIKES:

(text here)

OTHER INFO:

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»the writer

NAME:

Tess

AGE:

Eighteen

GENDER:

Girl

RP EXPERIENCE:

Seven years or so

HOW YOU FOUND STS:

Neo, xD

RP SAMPLE:

Quidditch. It was the violent sport that all wizards loved. It was like... like Football to Americans. And with Quidditch, people got hurt. A lot. The hurting, pain, and agony was caused by Beaters, hence the term, "beaters". Then there were lithe and agile people who actually made goals, them themselves called "chasers". No, they did not chase after guys except Reagan. Then yes.. The final line of offense was the seeker, which Peter considered an awefully boring job. All these seekers did was sit on their broomsticks and watch their team-mates get pummeled, while they "looked" for the Golden Snitch. The only upside was that if the seeker did catch the Snitch, then the game was won. Over. Vamose. Finally, there was a last line of defense held by a single awesome player, the "keeper". And who was this devilishly handsome Gryffindor keeper, you ask? Well, it was none other than the Hogwarts manly heart-throb, Peter Cattermole. Merlin knows the only reason he actually joined up in Quidditch was to get girls and hang-out with his best mates. His lone job was to prevent the other team's chasers from scoring a goal, which was somewhat violent on it's own (considering the fact that beaters often got a little bit angry whenever Pete blocked a goal). None the less, he stayed with the program, along with Captain Reagan (yes, he had to call her that)'s rather... well, lets not sugar coat it. Peter absolutely hated the fact that a girl, Reagan no less, was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It urked the Hell out of him, because, well, lets be straight forward. Peter believed he should be the captain, not some prissy female. It was sexist, but well, Peter could be a sexist guy.

So, when Reagan posted a notice stating that there would be Quidditch practice, Peter was a little bit urked. Not because of the said reasons above, but mostly because the practice was at an extremely early time. On Sunday. His day off! Pete was surprised he had even got up at seven forty, nearly forty minutes after the "usual-student wake-up time", and had managed to beat the odds to get to his first class, Potions, but God. This Quidditch practice was at seven o'clock, exactly. Which ment that Peter would have to wake up... wake up at least twenty-minutes earlier than that to get on all of his gear and to get to the Quidditch Pitch on time. It was simply torture to humanity (or wizardanity) to not allow such a beaut as Peter himself to not get properly ready. As such, he strongly considered that Reagan picked up a dead-time slot so early in the morning just to annoy and bug him. It would be something that the girl would do, you know. Go out of her way to just simply bug Peter. Or, rather, that's how he saw it. The two were at odds on many things, many, many things. Maybe it was because they were alike? They say that opposites attract. Well, similars don't attract, right? Isn't that the correct phrase? After all, Pete and Reagan were very, very similar. Both have dated more people then they can count on two hands, and both are... are, well, trouble-makers. So they were so similar that they hated each other. Yes, that had to be it. Maybe it was a stupid reason, but who cared? It was a free world, after all. Unless you count the Minister of Magic as a king. Well, then, it wasn't actually a free world. How unfortunate.

Lets skip to the present day. Having just waken up, Peter looks rather... grimly. Hair is matted to a single side from sleeping on said side for more than a few hours. Still in his pajamas. Bed unmade (well, it wasn't like it was ever actually made in the first place!). Just a typical morning. Well, that was the thing. No morning was "typical" with Pete. Never was and it never was going to. He wasn't a morning fellow, and he rather loved the night life. Nighttime was much more funner and lively than the morningtime, where everybody was still rather drowsy and lazy. More lively and energetic people during the night, especially if there were drugs and achlohal invovled. Which happened to be the case quite often. Hey, it was true. Anyhow, Peter lifted himself from his bed, inspecting the damage. Sighing, he uneasily took a comb, along with a t-shirt and jeans, and walked towards the bathroom which winged off of the room. Showering, shampooing, conditionining, and repeating, he managed to "tame" his hair unto submission. Drying off, he worked on his 'shadow', shaving it off (he indeed had one), while juggling his clothing and putting it on. By the time he had finished, students were already stirring about, giving him funny looks as they passed by to bathe and wash up. It was a sight to see Peter Cattermole, the most sleep-loving guy in Hogwarts, up so early in the day. Placing his wand in his pocket, Pete made a short side-trip to his room, where he dropped off his pajamas, he began walking towards the Quidditch Pitch. Or, rather, the Quidditch Pitch's locker room, of sorts. Where they kept all spare brooms and where players kept their gear. Interestingly, Peter was the only person in the room, which made him a little bit... anxious. Reagan had threatened to throw him off the team if he was late to another practice, and natrually he was assuming the worse. If that was the case, he was curious to see the scrawny third-year reserve keeper try and go up against big, manly seventh-year beaters. Smirking, Peter put on his gloves, as well as various protectors along his chest and forearms. Once all geared up, he picked up his personal broomstick, a Nimbus 3000, one of the newer models that his father, Calvin, bought to shut him up and so his eldest son wouldn't be quote unquote "mocked by other Qudditch teams, for that would tamper the Cattermole name". Like the guy didn't tamper it already by dating a whore.

Uneasily exiting the "locker room", Peter took to the Quidditch Pitch, gripping his broom tightly while thinking of an explaination to tell Reagan and the other Gryffindor players. Because watches were horribly ugly to wear, Peter hadn't known that it was in fact six fifty-seven, four minutes earlier than the actual practice time. When he saw that nobody was flying and making snide remarks about him, Pete had to wonder what was truly going on. It was an odd sight to see the Quidditch Pitch empty, when he was always last to join them... very unusual. Frowning and loosening his grip on the Nimbus 3000, Peter leaned back a bit, playing around with the broomstick. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a few players enter the Pitch. Grinning a smug smile, he lifted a free hand. "It's about time you showed up!" He called, voice echoing through the deserted field.