[attr="class","GGboxtemp1"] JOCE, JOCEY

[attr="class","GGboxtemp1"] NOVEMBER 21ST

[attr="class","GGboxtemp1"] STUDENT

[attr="class","GGboxtemp1"] HETEROSEXUAL

[attr="class","GGboxtemp1"] UM, FEMALE? OBVIOUSLY.

[attr="class","GGboxtemp1"] 7TH YEAR LION & PROUD

[attr="class","GGcontenttemp1"] "Those will turn your teeth yellow."
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"It's fortunate we've got wands then, isn't it? One quick charm and I'll be blinding you all with my pearly whites again." Joce grinned cheekily, taking another drag from her cigarette. Settled comfortably on the window sill in the Gryffindor common room, one leg dangling from the open window swinging back and forth in a lazy manner, she cheerfully waved to her housemate when they walked away in resigned exasperation. Goodbye, twat. At least this time nobody was giving her a fifteen minute lecture about cancer – which she honestly thought was a joke at first, never having heard of a single wizard dying of a zodiac sign before someone more aware of non-magical medical terms explained cancer was a muggle disease. Like she was supposed to know that automatically based on her halfblood status. How presumptuous to assume her family had copious amounts of exposure to the muggle world because their bloodline didn't sparkle with 'purity' for nine plus generations. As far as she was concerned it was a whopping success, courtesy of her muggleborn friends that she knew most of the electrical contraptions and certain aspects of their pop culture. If you could call some of it culture. Cough Twilight cough. Who knew worse crap than Gilderoy Lochart's books was actually ever published.
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Thinking about family, however briefly, brought a frown to her pallid face. For a moment she was tempted to catch up to the unfortunate sixth year who had sent her thoughts in those murky waters and give them a free sample of a jinx, but knowing her luck recently, one of the psychos who now presided over future of education at Hogwarts would turn up from behind a corner, taking it as a free invitation to assign more detention. Joce subconsciously rubbed the spot on her shoulder where she'd been bitten, now concealed by the fabric of her robe. It faded a bit over the summer, though the scars inflicted from the sharp teeth along with others from the also very sharp claws would be marring her skin forever. Whoop-de-freaking-doo. As if the pain, employment prospects, or fur coat weren't enough; no, they had to make wearing more revealing clothing difficult. Were scars hot on women too, or was it a man thing exclusively? Did it matter? She would make them look hot on her. Flicking her half-finished smoke out the window she stood up with cat-like grace, winking playfully at a duo of sixth year cute twin brothers working on their homework by the fireplace when she passed by to the painting exit. Swinging the grumbling fat lady's portrait open she strolled down the corridor toward her favorite concealed room, now hiding a lot of her personally made havoc supplies.
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Lesson one these nutters should have learned was not to give a volatile, clever, bored, utterly reckless female–who now had two monthly periods–access to potion supplies their old staff was wise enough not to include in their curriculum. Joce loved when the joke was on them. You teach kids dark shit, you're begging to have it used on you in revenge.