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EVIE, VIVI

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AGE: twenty-one

DATE OF BIRTH: june 29

HOMETOWN: tacoma, washington

GENDER: female

ZODIAC SIGN: cancer

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:[break] single

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:[break] heterosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:[break] heteroromantic

OCCUPATION:[break] line chef (roundsman)

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[b]RWBY, blake belladonna[/b] as [i]evelyn blake[/i]

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Evelyn is almost always seen as a shadow, trailing behind someone in relative silence, and usually only speaking up in agreement to whatever is being said of the person she's following. This stems from a need to feel needed, or at least wanted, and a fear of stepping out of line and upsetting those who she's grown fond of. Most anyone who claims to be a friend of her's is vocally bothered, if not annoyed by such social doormatting, but old habits die hard, and no amount of scolding seems to have shaken it so far. In the end, you'll really only get to here purely original thoughts falling out of her mouth when she's caught alone, but moments like those are purposely rare.[break][break]

Her house is filled with birds. Filled with them. Most were purchased from local pet stores, although some have been wild birds that have flown in through an open window and ended up staying (or trapped) one way or another. Still, she treats them all with the utmost care, having spent more than enough time researching the best ways to raise the various species she owns, and visitors are frequently impressed by the condition and manner of her pets... if not a bit off put by the sheer number of them.[break][break]

Evelyn has, for the majority of her life, always wanted to be a bit of a “bad girl” - getting tattoos, dabbling in less-than-legal things, intimidating those around her by the sight of her cracking her knuckles alone. After meeting and befriending a certain Aggie Pollock, such desires only increased, partly due to having fuel for the fire from such mutual ideas of rebellion, but mostly out of a want to have more things in common with her new found (currently long-standing) friend. She's even gone so far as to acquire what would be necessary to fit the stereotype, and would fit into place just perfectly – assuming that she had the guts to do it. In the end, she'll never really get that tongue piercing if only out of fear of its permanence (and all of the food that could get caught in there), and she'd definitely lend herself over to the needle... if it didn't risk putting her at ends with the police. In the end, all of her big talk is just that: talk.[break][break]

Used to write her own rap songs. Upon taking a particularly harsh bout of criticism for it, though, she was discouraged from taking it up again. As it stands, even the genre alone has her bristling, and she's long lost her love for it.[break][break]

Works as a line chef – essentially a sort of “catch all”, moving about the kitchen to fill in places that need to be filled in – at her mother's restaurant. In reality, she's not all that great of a cook, and any claims of her job existing purely out of nepotism aren't without a bit of grounds. Still, though, she's definitely got the enthusiasm for it, evident in the way she goes far above and beyond her call of duty and the way she'll talk anyone's ear off about cutlery's finest should she be given the opportunity.

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She loses everything when she's seven years old.[break][break]

The world tells her to cease such drama, that nothing's really lost, just moved somewhere else far, far away. “Don't be so dramatic,” her mother says, and even if it's only spoken into the air, she hears it like a mantra in her head. Of all the people in the world, she'd expected her own flesh and blood to understand the crippling loss – the fact that her only consolation from mother is a scolding, filed falsely under “being dramatic” only goes to prove that much more than everything is gone. What she doesn't understand now is that there are greater things to be taken from her in life, but at her tender age, nothing the Earth has in its violent arsenal can be a greater tragedy than being taken away from her home. They can promise her a replacement, a new one, but Seattle will never be Tacoma, and she vows to never replace the friends she's been made to leave behind one million miles (a forty-five minute drive) away. Even if she cannot stop her parents from moving and taking her with her, her mother's eyes set on building her own restaurant from the ground up and her father a conformist by every definition of the word, she can make sure to be as sour about the entire ordeal as she likes. Maybe, just maybe, if she's just sour enough, they'll wise up, turn on their heels, and take her back to the only place she can ever really love.[break][break]

Evelyn learns early on that it isn't difficult to uphold her vow of friendlessness in a city thrice as large as the one left behind. Bitter about her circumstances and more than a little fond of pulling the hair of any children who get close, it doesn't take much to ward off any potential candidates. She's never been a problem child before, but there's something that feels... right about watching her peers scatter whenever she steps into the vicinity, each afraid that she might rip their toys from their hands and break them because she can. It's the reaction she likes. What takes her a bit longer to understand that it's the process of getting there that's a little more rocky. Two years into her miserable stay and she has her first epiphany, granted to her in the form of a girl some unknown number of grades below her offering her lunch desserts out of nothing but the kindness of her younger heart. A punch to the face – instigated by nothing more but the curiosity of what curled fingers might feel like when hurled against a smaller face – and a crying underclassman later, and she's being sat down in the principal's office (again), mother's toes tapping against the oddly colored tiles beneath them while the man in charge lists this year's crimes as a lawyer would in court. Things are different now than they'd been before, though. Hurting the others has never been beneath her, yes, but the most she's ever gotten from it were pointed looks and explanations of pain. Not tears. Never tears. Her maternal figure tries to argue that she's really, truly a good girl and has simply been having a difficult time adjusting, but the words have fallen deaf to her, buried under the replaying image of purple blossoming on an innocent face and water cascading down discolored cheeks. This... this doesn't feel right. This feels wrong. So she'll nod numbly when they ask her if she's remorseful of her actions, if she'll make amends, words never truly making it to her brain to be processed.[break][break]

In the end, they don't need to be.[break][break]

Not a year has passed by before the raven-haired girl finds herself wandering the halls of the St. Joseph's church, stained glass painting the white of her finest Sunday dress a rainbow mosaic and the figures they paint her only company. Solitude isn't something she's unused to, but there's something different between that which she's been enduring for the majority of her time spent in Seattle and that which falls over her now. Before, it's always been an intentional result; she barks cruelties and all the little children scatter. Now, however, she's been abandoned, forgotten in the rush after mass and left to her own devices in a massive building she's still largely unfamiliar with. What feels like an eternity (and can't take more than fifteen minute's time) passes like this, lost and forgotten, and she's nearly on the verge of tears when she meets her. In time, she'll come to call her Aggie, but for now, she's simply the girl – the one who she crashes into, arms thrown out and pulled in tight in a frightened hug. She's never been left behind like this before, and anyone, anyone, would have functioned as a proper comfort about then. It takes hours for Mr. and Mrs. Blake to realize their mistake, and it may as well have taken a longer time still for them to detach their daughter from the blonde-haired girl in the church. Regardless, she finds her vow from Tacoma lost open returning home, and it isn't long before she's come crawling back, slipping away from the pew during service to play tag in the yard with the only person in the city she can bring herself to care about.[break][break]

Evelyn learns of Aggie's trials and tribulations in the years that come to pass. It seems odd to her that the girl is trapped on a path leading to something so holy when her attitude and preferences could speak of anything but. While there doesn't seem to be as violent of a history to her, there's definitely the heart of a rebel buried inside – the likes of which she, herself, has entertained the thought of attaining but has only ever succeeded in falling short in. When the blonde finally goes on her pre-vow rampage, the cook-in-training sits behind the scenes, pulling strings to get Aggie just where she needs to go and without those awful repercussions attached. She tries, too, to follow suit – tries so, so hard – but fear manages to outweigh such plots every time. It's almost a godsend when the habit is first donned (“Wow, Aggie, never thought you were into this kind of thing. Any other dirty secrets you've been keeping from me?”), although it'd be a lie to say that she doesn't continue to fanning the flames of Agnes Pollock's inner fire just to watch the beauty of its burn. She dreams that some day, she will be able to swipe her away from the church and its priest's iron claws, maybe take her back to where she'd left her heart in Tacoma. There are a lot of things that Evelyn wants, though, but nothing so strongly that she can overcome her personal obstacles. Sometimes, she wonders how long it will take for her friend to realize this.[break][break]

(Sometimes, she wonders if this will be the force that leaves her alone again.)

[attr="class","rcapprp2"]OTHER CHARACTERS

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