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Evangeline Pip

A Man or a Mouse? A Mouse, obviously...

0 · 360 views · located in Wonderland

a character in “The Deck - Wonderland”, as played by Traveler


♦ Diamond's Adviser ♦
♦ Dormouse ♦


"You might as well say 'I breathe when I sleep' is the same thing as 'I sleep when I breathe' "

Name: Evangeline Pip
Age: 24

Race: Humanoid

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Orientation: Counter-Clockwise (Whatever she deems necessary)

Relationship Status: Manipulative?

Role: Diamond’s Adviser/Dormouse

Faction: Mercenary - Bound to the Prince

Abilities: Evangeline is small and sly, quick with a riddle when caught off guard, but even quicker to sneak away. She possesses no magic, although some claim that she can read minds, and others are unaware of her presence until her affinity for the chemical arts has already perpetrated their systems.

Best Feature: Her voice is velvety and inviting, especially when combined with the sparkle in her eyes that tends to charm. It’s difficult to resist the call of someone who claims they have your best interests at heart, that you’re not just another pawn, another puppet, another experiment. Deep inside, you know it cannot be genuine, but access to logic is hard to reach when your heart craves love, regardless of how synthetic.



Standing at a petite 4'9", Evangeline is someone easy to lose. She's icily pale, even paler after living in the frozen tundra of the North for several years now, venturing into the warmth only when her job requires it of her. Chestnut locks wave down past her shoulders, framing her elliptical face, although frequently dropping her bangs against her curved eyebrows. Her skin is smooth, unmarred by wrinkles or laugh lines, contrasted by her rosy lips, rarely pulled into enough of a smile to be classified as more than a mere smirk, unless her charismatic charms require a flirtatious grin. Upon looking into her eyes, they may shift between a light chocolate brown and an olive green, unless the light shines directly into them, revealing an intense emerald shade for a few mere seconds. Although aware of this, Evangeline has yet to note any significance.

She prefers tight clothing when at parties, accentuating her slight curves, although nothing too low-cut, as to prevent from being approached for the wrong reasons. Evangeline attempts to appear inviting, but for conversation and manipulation purposes rather than a one-night stand (although they do come in handy). Her sexuality only comes into play when a target requires a bit more seducing than her voice can supply, and adjusting her outfit to suit her needs is all too easy. When Evangeline isn't entertaining guests, she slips into a deep red or violet tunic and black stockings, the tunic too long and belted at her waist, a sheath for her rapier attached.

Before becoming the Prince of Diamond's Adviser, Evangeline donned whatever attire she could scavenge, the remains of these clothes in her bedroom in case her life reverts back to what it had once been.


Evangeline likes to watch, but even more than watching, she likes to influence. Evangeline enjoys power, but in the most subtle of ways. She wants to convince someone that their entire life is a lie, and then watch them respond, completely under the assumption that it was their idea to begin with. It begins with the charm -- she pulls them in and gets them to trust her with a flirtatious smile and the warm touch that is seemingly missing amongst the court. With enough eye contact and distracting maneuvering, they're in the proper position to reveal something they would have brought to their grave, but talking to Evangeline is easy. She understands people, and has no problem lying coolly and on a regular basis. It is often difficult for her to stop lying, even if there is no reason to continue, although she remains as honest as possible with the Prince, something she has yet to explain. When she shows what seems to be warmth, joy, love and compassion it is more feigned than experienced and serves an ulterior motive. Outraged by insignificant matters, yet remaining unmoved and cold by what would upset a normal person. Since she not genuine, neither is promises. Her impulsive nature can result in rage and abuse, alternating with small expressions of love and approval produce an addictive cycle for abuser and abused, as well as creating hopelessness in the victim; believing that she is all-powerful, all-knowing, and entitled to every wish, with no sense of personal boundaries, no concern for their impact on others, and an incapacity to determine if she is feeling something or merely prepared to falsify an emotion. Contrarily, Evangeline is meticulously calculated. Certain plans require a mystique about them that Evangeline gets a rush of adrenaline from, the perfect con done immaculately, undefined, undiscovered.


  • Hot Tea and Teapots
  • Moonlight
  • Conversation
  • Sleep
  • Poetry
  • Singing and Music
  • Poisons
  • Getting Dressed Up for Parties
  • Having Someone Play With Her Hair
  • Unnecessary Violence
  • Necessary Violence
  • Manipulation
  • Fooling Others
  • Money

  • Getting Caught
  • Emotions
  • Sunburns
  • Cold Tea
  • People Shorter Than Herself
  • The Colors Orange and Yellow
  • Queens
  • Red Roses

  • Chemistry
  • Sword Fighting
  • Brewing Tea and Creating New Varieties
  • Conning People out of their Money
  • Sneaking Around


Evangeline was born to a seamstress and a traveling potter, her mother dying upon giving birth to her only child. Her father carried her around in a large teapot as he traveled, singing softly to the newborn to calm her crying while he walked. There was little money for a traveling potter in a land where tea parties were only so frequent. As she grew, he told her a story of how two men once angered Time so greatly that he trapped them in a never-ending tea time, how time itself was variable, and not an "it", but a "he", capable of punishing those who offend him. During this tea time, the men were condemned to retell the same pointless riddles over and over again, never to find an answer. "But," her father always explained, "that is, in fact, the point of a riddle. It is not the answer, but the process one may go about solving it, rethinking the meaning behind given words and rediscovering the semantics of a situation." He never really explained what semantics were, but Evangeline figured it out eventually.

However, as she grew to be too large for the teapot, he began to lose track of the naturally curious child. Something happened along the way, and she grew to be a twisted young lady. It would be far too easy to retell her story, but the point of her story is not the answer, but the process one may go about discovering it. Evangeline became the adviser to the Prince of Diamonds, originally the small girl within a teacup, spewing songs of teatrays in the sky and twinkling little bats. Something happened along the way to influence a psychological divergence, not an easy task, but fascinatingly quick to occur.

(To be continued...)

So begins...

Evangeline Pip's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: BanderSnatch Character Portrait: The Mad Hatter Character Portrait: Andy White Character Portrait: Claudia Marie Clubs Character Portrait: Ruby Ophelia Heart Character Portrait: Evangeline Pip
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The setting changes from Wonderland to The Center of Wonderland

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ruby Ophelia Heart Character Portrait: Evangeline Pip Character Portrait: Gray Spades Character Portrait: Prudentius Diamond Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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chapter i - treacherous rendezvous
center of wonderland

He found the center of Wonderland in a myriad of colors, flora blossomed in their sweetness and extending gangly vine arms, twisting, coiling around columns of refined marble, their leaves the most vibrant greens and toxic berries redder than the life blood pushing through needle veins. How very alive were they; guests of supple skin caressed by starshine, glistened by their vigor and mirth that composed the ambiance, and thus the occasion was a jovial one of peace, their minds bleached and liberated from paranoia that plagued common-folk and highborns alike.

He'd laugh too, the threads of his vocal cords melted and initiating their own tiny spasms at jokes told, the antics of jesters and a four handed woman who juggled apples, oranges, and a porcelain doll head skewed by the craftsman's penchant against the previous Bloody (Red) Queen. Charming creatures hailing from the West to the East, those that burrowed emerging from tunnels and washing grime from hair thinner than sheer fabric as avian singers perched on crystallized wires, and his lips remained upturned, pulled into cheeks pigmented a diluted moonstone, his pale skin mimicking the living, mouth grinning, talking, eyes reflecting streams of illumination that had been filtered through ice statues and the prisms of their angles. They existed marvelously, and his pupils oscillated between those imbibing on saccharine rose wines and the wallflowers murmuring gossip disguised as poetry into the ears of anyone that would sacrifice to them time.

However, it was the dead who possessed eternity in their caskets, be them made of wood, ivory, water, the living were predestined to wither with the years and decompose once their tenuous hearts ceased beating. A celebration of ephemeral characters simply could not transcend the boundaries of clocks, and ruled were they by mechanical ticking, waiting for the bells to ring and for the flesh to rot. Hymns of everlasting bliss were plucked from harps sealed in liquid gold, lemon cakes were served with miniature cherry blossoms resting upon the sugar dusted surfaces and his fingers turned, delicate motions twirling his parasol of teardrop lace and the snowflake's fractal elegance. He strapped not a rapier to his side because he was no fool, understood the meaning of being openly armed at a place purged of violence, and yes, he was certainly not a fool, no one would see the blade concealed within the handle of his parasol.

Memories of nothing, their minds were fated to drown in silence whilst he collected photographs which would never fade. Noir cravat tight around his throat and dress shirt he chuckled at a fable told by a stilt walker, a tale of witches that cursed pretty maidens to a life as insipid as their thoughts - and that's how butterflies came to be, he explained in a voice weaved with old, false magic. The man gifted the Prince a monarch enclosed in a jar and her wings fluttered alongside glass dented and molded into pellucid roses, and the mannerisms of these people were queer but endearing. He almost regretted not visiting these lands sooner, and Prudence's eyes waned into crescents, humor discovered in the notches of the celebration, enemies parodying friendship and admirers finding themselves bold in the afternoon's zeal. The beauty sustained here was divine, but the warmth in the heart of Wonderland was an unsavory antagonist, not quite a foe because with a breeze gentle and bounteous any fear for his wellbeing disappearing in languid whispers of wind.

Underneath the shade he stayed, donning the glacier glory of The North in attire white and silver, silk gloves devoid of color sheathing his hands and therefore when holding the winged insect’s transparent prison hoarfrost did not creep along the surface and only mere condensation spread, moisture congregating across the contours traced by skeletal thumbs. “Such a curious, feeble creature - why must you endure peril? How can torment be disregarded by any ignorance, or does purity make you naïve, little one?” He questions the limited sentience in hushed words, brothers to snowfall which made no noise in the night. The syllables born from his larynx were synonymous with instruments for delicate hands, a quiet aria striving for no vengeance and his voice is as ceramic and deceptive as the cold always has been.

“Perhaps you will live longer in Evangeline’s hands.” The woman’s presence was momentarily absent, removed from his line of vision when whisked away by all that he had not seen before, never had ventured beyond the North, but as small as she was he’d find her again, preferably sooner than later, lest the butterfly freeze and die like mortals so easily do. Still, he mused the possibility all the same, shards of light swallowed by his irises blacker than licorice, thanking the stranger who so kindly recognized the Prince of Diamonds, as very few could.

His palm cradled the container against his chest, attention wandering from the departing storyteller to the procession of attendees arriving in pairs and groups, very few alone as they entered the garden and even less isolated in a space where merriment sparked a labyrinth of infectious joy throughout the air they breathed. Lightning storms in his lungs his grasp on the parasol relaxed, became tenacious again, and he had traveled from a palace of winter not for frivolous socialization but rather - and his pupils twitched, jerking to a woman with a child’s marble eyes and hair red like candied apples, to a man with dragons tied into his long locks of dusk indulging in what was presumably tea - well, the corners of his lips quirked, thoughts severed, rearranging.

Prudentius meandered, his legs taking leisurely strides, walking through the crowd, wind jostling the tails of his formal uniform, raiment tailored to the traditional style of the Diamond’s Kingdom imperial era. Folded collars, cuffs, fastened buttons of gray spinel and silver thread embroidered into images of Northern stags, his white trousers were much less elaborate, leather boots hardly denting the grass, which was astonishingly resilient, nothing at all like the snow. “Ribbons of fire would be ever so envious, my lady.” He remarked in the same tender tone, offering a smile to the woman holding a lollipop crafted in the likeness of a heart. nodding to her with a sign of respect,. “Would I be mistaken to think you are Princess Heart?” Prudence asked, suspicion strong yet spoken tentatively, head tilting but centimeters to the left and the parasol spun, the butterfly fluttered her wings, and people sang their lighthearted songs all around them, dancing without a single nightmare within their empty skulls.

The setting changes from The Center of Wonderland to Wonderland


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ruby Ophelia Heart Character Portrait: Evangeline Pip Character Portrait: Prudentius Diamond Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Evangeline Pip

A bed shared for business is a bed shared nonetheless. But a morning in bed is rarely for business, and her departure from the sparsely furnished bedroom spanned a mere moment, especially since she wanted no further recollection of the disappointing, and short-lived night she was leaving behind. He remained in the bed, out cold, quite possibly due to the slightly too powerful sedative that was penetrating his bloodstream at nearly fatal rates, or merely from the hangover he fully intended to avoid. His black hair was slick and messy, not from product but the combination of sweat and natural grease. His body odor lingered in the musty stillness, the thick blanket not quite covering enough for Evangeline to bear looking in his direction longer than was required to grab her black leather satchel. A shudder overcame her body as flashes of the previous night captured her attention. She had to get out.

Evangeline knew better than to share the location of her own quarters or the quarters of the Prince, inviting the shady man into a small abandoned house just beyond the village outside the castle to "do their business". Although she knew of his name, Kemis Trie, status, an amateur alchemist at best, and the contents of his pockets, he knew very little of her besides the view he caught down her dress while slightly intoxicated. As they had conversed in the tavern, Evangeline convinced him to reveal the contents of his briefcase and allowed her to inspect the key to his shop long enough to forget that she had it. A few drinks later and she convinced him to come back with her, although no convincing had been necessary. A sly pass at the doorway and the man's key was in the hands of another, his shop being ransacked as throes of ecstasy coursed through his body, obviously an experience he rarely came across based on the time it took to reach such a state.

The return to her own bedroom was a return of relief. Although she now had access to chemicals for her own experimentation and a location to prepare, the mere thought of Kemis' greasy body against her own was enough to give her a headache, grateful for the alcohol that blurred her judgment only twelve hours prior. The room was simple, lined in white linens and the corpses of blue-gray trees transformed for utility. Her bed was made, the pillow cases adorned with the slightest bits of lace to promote the classiness Evangeline felt necessary to mask her other endeavors. As the adviser to the Prince of Diamonds, she had to appear as if her life were nothing but luxurious and organized, rather than the amalgamation of chaos and trickery she catered to.

"Your dress is here, Miss," came the knock on the door; she recognized the rough voice immediately.

"Come in, Val," Evangeline sat before her mirror, brushing her evening activities out from her chestnut hair.

A thin, skeletal woman entered, donning a white dress too short and frilly for her figure. Across her thin arms was a tea-length lavender dress, childishly small compared to its carrier, who towered at least a foot over Evangeline. Valia stood in the doorway, passed on the dress to the shorter woman, and stared at the plush cream carpet awaiting another order.

"Could you put on the kettle for me? I'm feeling some ginger pear chai..." Tea would be necessary to fully wash away the remnants, and Evangeline had to focus on reaching the Prince's level of fashion, at least to some extent.

"Of course, Miss."

"It's Evangeline."

"Whatever you say, Miss." Valia disappeared.

Evangeline slipped into the gown. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Valia knew better than to bring a dress without first adjusting it to Evangeline's exact measurements. After only two years, Valia adjusted to the Prince's adviser, seemingly eager to follow orders, despite her undead status. She had been born into a family of privilege, and her death humbled her to an extent that befuddled Evangeline, resulting in a perfectly obedient servant where none was required. There was no reason to question the service, nor reject the companionship, and thus their relationship blossomed.

The frame of the mirror was opalescent and spanned from the floor to the ceiling, although Evangeline took up less than half of the length. She admired the curvature of her calves, exposed below the dress, spinning the dress to explore the consequences of twirling too quickly. All appeared to be in order. Her hair was brought up into an elegant bun, pearled pins holding it in place, her bangs draped across half of her forehead. A smile cracked across her porcelain face, and the need for make-up became instantly apparent, ruby red lips soon contrasting the green in her eyes and amethyst sparkles skating across her eyelids. Evangeline knew better than to draw too much attention to herself, however, and adorned her neck with a silver and opal pendant, simple enough to avoid the flash of light that was certain to hit her eventually.

Footsteps outside her door made her increasingly aware that the Prince was leaving soon. It was going to be a long ride.


Wonderland's center was warmer than Evangeline remembered, only ever having visited once as a child with her father. He had brought her around in a large tea pot, adorned in purple and gold paint, faded after several years of wear. He sang her a song, of silly things, but important ones nonetheless. Her heeled feet walked among those of the royal families and their regimes, her hands brushed against the sides of her dress, her lips exploring the words of a memory.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:"

Evangeline attempted to block out the blur of voices around her and find a drink. She had completely forgotten about her tea and required something to help her body adjust more quickly to the heat. After several years in the north, one grows accustomed to the frequent tundra, the snowflakes across the window pane, the heavy coats required for travel, the constant desire to sit by the crackling fireplace. In the cold, there is always a way to gain warmth, but the warmth does not offer quite the bargain. In the sunlight, coolness is temporary, and the frost melts away. Evangeline was curious how the Prince of Diamonds, undead as he was, was coping in the warmth of day.

"Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--"

The buzzing surrounding her increased in amplitude as more guests arrived by carriage, their monotonous vanity both intriguing and annoying, fascinating and boring, the superlatives beating against the boundaries in her skull. A waiter, clothed to mimic the image of a penguin, carried a tray of a bubbly pink wine. Evangeline snatched a glass, sipping as she stood at the outskirts of the crowd, merely observing, curious as to the ulterior motives of this gathering. Surely something else must be up. A war was always lingering above them, especially since the power struggle became more obvious and desperate. It was imminent, but Evangeline knew better than to instigate a battle over the right of kings. It was curious, how each royal addressed those from other lands, a wary feeling thicker than hot wax forming a viscous tension.

"And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."

It was impossible to be certain of what was going to happen, but with each sip of the wine Evangeline became more and more aware that it wasn't going to be good. She supposed the point of the party was not to know, but knowing what one does not know could prevent overreaction, could prevent the boiling over of the pot, but not the revenge of the boiling sea.

Before Evangeline could sing the next lines to herself, it began. She heard the screams before she saw the body, the corpse releasing a few drops of blood before stabilizing above the crowd. Evangeline almost swore she heard the crack in the girl's neck. Immediately, she scanned the crowd for Prudentius, the Prince of Diamonds. How he reacted could determine how every other royal saw him. He was near the Princess of Hearts, the ditziest of the royals, according to Evangeline. With her around, the Prince's reaction would never be enough, but perhaps a reaction at all would suffice.

She exhaled sharply. The sea had begun to boil.