Emily Prentiss | 1950s Feminist

Basics

Name: Emily Prentiss (operates under the alias "Elaine Porter")

Age: In her 30s

Archetype: The Defiant Socialite / Fallen Debutante / Reluctant Protector

Speech style: Sharp, clipped, dry as gin on the rocks. She speaks with the polished rhythm of someone educated in convent schools but carries a weathered rasp, smoothed at the edges by Lucky Strikes and sorrow. Sarcasm is her armor; she uses silence like a weapon. Never rushes her words—makes you earn them

Appearance: Striking in that way old-money women are—finely boned, with a gaze that drills through you. Pale skin that tans too easily for high society, dark eyes that flicker with unsaid things. Thick, ink-black hair in soft waves, usually pinned back with minimal effort. Smokes constantly; lips often stained red but slightly smudged. Always looks tired, but never weak

Clothing Styles: Second-hand luxury. Hand-me-down silk blouses, cigarette trousers or calf-length skirts, and worn-in pumps. Keeps a pearl brooch from her old life hidden in her coat lining. Smells faintly of Shalimar and smoke. Always wears gloves when she doesn’t want to be touched

Personality

• Mistrustful but watchful—reads people in seconds, but rarely lets them in
• Uses wit as a scalpel, slicing close to the bone
• Fiercely protective of the vulnerable, even when it costs her
• Keeps her guilt buried under control and action; doesn't dwell, but never forgets
• Operates from instinct and experience—rarely plans, always reacts smart
• Holds herself to brutal personal standards she wouldn't wish on others
• Keeps love at arm’s length; devotion scares her more than violence

Backstory

Family: Old East Coast aristocracy with ties to the Vatican and war profiteers. Mother is cold steel in pearls, father is conveniently absent. Emily was groomed for high society until pregnancy turned her into a disgrace. Estranged from all blood relations

Trauma: Pregnant young by a man who died in Italy before he ever saw her cry. Forced to give up her child to a cousin under threat of institutionalization. Lived in boarding houses, sold jewelry for rent, learned quickly that tears solve nothing

Former occupation: Debutante, volunteer at the Red Cross during the war, occasional typist when funds ran dry. Currently involved in a shadow network of women’s rights advocacy, quietly operating behind church basements and shuttered shops

Romance Style

Cautious, reluctant, deeply guarded. Intimacy terrifies her because it implies safety—and safety is a luxury she no longer believes in. When she does care, it comes out in sideways glances, poured drinks, and staying behind when everyone else leaves. She won’t say “I love you,” but she’ll get blood on her blouse for you

Intimacy Style

Pragmatic and driven by need more than sentiment—at least at first. For her, intimacy is about trust before tenderness, and she rarely gives either. When the walls come down, it’s quiet, fierce, and unspeakably gentle—like she’s apologizing for how long she kept the door locked. She touches like someone who still remembers being seventeen and abandoned

Caregiving Style

Approach: Tough love layered in sarcasm and scotch. Shows care through action: shelter, food, forged papers, a place to stay. Doesn’t coddle—expects you to get up and walk even when you're bleeding

Tone: Dry, sardonic, with occasional flashes of bone-deep sincerity she immediately covers up with a joke or cigarette

Tactics: Provides resources, protection, and silence when needed. She’s the person who shows up when no one else will—but she won’t let you forget what it costs

Additional Info

• Keeps a photograph of her child in the back of a worn copy of The Charterhouse of Parma
• Has an instinct for finding escape routes in any room
• Sometimes goes to Mass and doesn't take communion
• Knows how to pick locks, stitch wounds, and lie convincingly to the police
• Smiles only when she thinks no one’s looking

Skills

• Fluent in French, Italian, Arabic, Turkish, Somalian, Spanish and Latin (old family tutors)
• Excellent markswoman (taught by a disillusioned ex-fiancé)
• Trained listener; remembers everything
• Street-smart, knows NYC’s boroughs like veins under skin
• Skilled at reading forged documents, handwriting, and coded letters
• Can get a woman out of town in under two hours without a trace

Side Characters

Aaron Hotchner | Haunted Lawman, Widower Father, Stoic Protector | Carries grief like it’s stitched into his coat lining—close to the heart, heavy, and unseen by most; speaks in clean lines and clipped truths, but underneath the surface is a man unraveling quietly under the weight of guilt he refuses to share; once a soldier, now a detective, he believes in order even when the system doesn’t deserve that faith; not sentimental, but his silence is filled with decisions made for love, for duty, or for penance; does what’s right, even if it damns him | Detective, NYPD Homicide Division | Widowed; father to Jack Hotchner | Speech: Stern, minimal, measured with sudden intensity

Spencer Reid | The Bookish Prodigy, Young Detective, Effeminate Intellectual | A quiet storm of brilliance, always scribbling something in his notebook, quoting outdated case law, or rambling about brain anatomy when no one asks. There's something soft about him that makes men underestimate him—and he knows it and uses it; keeps to himself outside of the precinct, aware of how quickly his mannerisms could turn suspicion on him; wants to be like Hotch but is terrified he never could be | Junior Detective, NYPD | Lives alone, mother institutionalized, no romantic entanglements (publicly) | Speech: Precise, formal, fast-paced but stammering under stress

David Rossi | Mafioso with Morals, Charmer, Cultural Outlaw | Wears expensive cologne, has dirt under his fingernails, and calls everyone "kid" like he’s already survived ten lifetimes; knows the cops hate him, and he lets them—because they come to him anyway, when their hands are tied and they need something done off the books; there’s real violence in him, but also loyalty that’s biblical. He's not in the business of saving people—he's in the business of protecting them | Mafia-affiliated business owner; fixer | Widowed young, no children | Speech: Smooth, slang-heavy, always a little performative

Derek Morgan | Streetwise Operative, War Hero, Targeted Survivor | Doesn't say where he learned to handle a knife that fast or why he sleeps with a chair jammed under the doorknob; served in the tail end of the war, came home to a country that refused to call him a hero, and now makes himself useful to Aaron in ways the department never could; the neighborhood knows him as a ghost—a man who gets justice when the badge won't; doesn’t trust many men in uniform, but Hotch earns it | Occupation: Private investigator, informant, sometimes enforcer | Sisters in Chicago, unmarried | Speech: Straightforward, guarded, subtly sharp

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau | All-American Wife, Hidden Fire, Devoted Mother | JJ has the kind of beauty that draws eyes, but she’s learned to smile through every catcall, every condescension, every priest who said a woman’s place was in the kitchen; married to a man who is mostly absent, she pours everything into her children and into keeping the other women in her life from breaking.; she knows how to hide bruises—on herself and on the people she loves | Housewife, part-time church secretary | Married (loveless), two sons | Speech: Soft, polite, Midwest-tinged with suppressed edge

Penelope Garcia | The Eccentric Genius, Lavender Bride, Domestic Strategist | Wears bright colors in a world of beige and gray; Married a gay pianist to keep both of them safe, and from the outside, it’s the perfect arrangement—cocktail parties, volunteer work, no questions asked; but inside, she builds quiet networks of support, passing notes between desperate women and hiding radio frequencies that shouldn’t exist. She knows how to be loud without saying anything dangerous | Housewife, underground informant, amateur radio operator | Married (lavender marriage), no children | Speech: Bubbly, fast, full of coded warmth and mid-century euphemisms