- Dormouse. |~ Evvi is his name. ~|
count down the CLOCK ___ »»
- He seems so young, so out of tune, yet for all his boyish looks and sleepy, droll ways, Evvi has 20twenty candles on his very special cake.
look into the MiRROR ___ »»
There's little that the Dormouse cares about with any sort of exuberance. Social acceptance, for one thing, isn't high on his list of 'Things Considerably Important', which unfortunately means he has no sense of fashion whatsoever. If one were to simply shove the Dormouse into a closet, for being naked, he would fumble about with whatever is in there until he's clothed, or covered, and walk right back out. There's no talking to him when it comes to clothes or fashion, either, making him quite the boring conversation buddy if your into that sort of gossiping. Too bad, so sad, he really doesn't give a lick. Unlike the Duke, in his silks and cashmeres, the Dormouse is oftentimes too tired or melancholy to put any effort into his dressing habits. It's pure luck if whatever he drapes upon his rail-thin physique happens to be 'charming' or 'complimentary.' Even so, he won't even notice his looks unless guided to a mirror and forced to look into it - if he recognizes himself, then jolly good.
His daily attire ranges from the commonly seen - if thread-bare - formal coat, bow-tie, top-hat and trousers, to a jumble of disproportioned, mix-matched pieces of clothing that don't go together at all. On such days that he forgets how to put together a proper outfit, he'll wear whatever is around: this includes frilly skirts, arm-warmers, chokers, ripped shirts, different socks, gloves, feather boas and assorted hats. Not that he cares how strange he looks: he's dressed, isn't he? [Thus, all that matters.] Shirts of sheer material are favored for one bizarre reason or another, but he claims, in good time, that cloth that has holes or light fabric keep him pleasantly cool when he tries to nap during the day and is caught in the sun. In pants, his long, coltish legs are emphasized by belts and ribbons he wraps about his legs. Normal trousers hang low on his hips, which are sharp and defined against his tightly stretched skin. If one were to glance along his belly on a day he wears low-slung pants, they would be astounded to find a tattoo slipping beneath the beltline, centered directly below his belly button. The tattoo itself is an enigmatic thing, but several glances of the same shape will reveal it to be an intricate, meaningless design in black, purple and red: an array of stars spiral around a glistening moon, which is cracked in half and apparently bleeding. The liquid the moon expels waterfalls down from the crevasse and spills into the center of a limp white rose, which actually spans out behind the moon and frames it.
He does, however, take care to keep his full-moon spectacles handy, especially when he wants to examine things close up - since he has such a horrendous time focusing on details, the poor mouse. The spectacles are large and completely circular, which dangle precariously on the tip of Evvi's short, petite nose. His freckles are magnified behind the round, reflective surface of his glasses when he wears them; the only places he has freckles are a smattering across the bridge of his nose and down the length of his arms. Everywhere else, his moon-cream skin is entirely pure and untouched by body blemishes.
Tiny as he is, there's little to be said about height and weight: he changes size too often for a proper measurement to be made. If that dratted Cat comes around, there's no doubt that the Dormouse will be scampering off to hide while the size of a regular mouse. When he is regular in size, Evvi appears to be around the height of 5'5" and around 80 to 90 pounds. Yes, he is quite thin for a mouse, even with all the tea, jam and crumpets for him to snack on. Having an abnormally high metabolism does help, of course. He's remarkably slender: built much like a track runner, he's leggy, bony and with a remotely defined muscularity. His hands consist of dexterous, thin-boned digits, often clean when there's no jam on them, and his nails are usually long and filed to have a smooth, round edge. He colors his nails regularly, when bored, but the colors he chooses rarely coordinate with his outfits. However, his hands are often stained around the fingertips - most likely from eating too much jam or from dipping his fingers in paint.
His hair is a mystery, and perhaps it always will be. Rarely brushed, yet always silky and healthy looking, his tender locks clash accordingly with his shadow-rimmed eyes and disastrous attempts at dressing himself. While sleeping, his hair is - ironically - a mousy gray hue, tinted with an shade of purple at the roots. When Evvi is awake, color flares to life in his dull tresses: mostly vivid purples, with splashes of yellows, as well as an array of soft oranges and flowery magentas. His rich mane of hair reaches to the nape of his neck, descending a few inches beyond the bottom lobe of his rounded ears and sprawling with effective 'bed head' look across his forehead. There is always something sitting in his hair, whether tied or absently placed there no one really knows. Sometimes it's a bit of ribbon or a half-opened flower; lots of times he will place pins of different shapes and sizes into his hair, if only to keep some of his unruly mane out of his face. He is pale, since that seems to be the theme for skin color in his crazy world, but he flushes pink easily.
Speaking of ears, Evvi's mouse ears are rarely seen unless he's small. His tail, however, is always present and pokes out from [or under] what he wears on any given day.
A few more eccentricities are apparent about the Dormouse, starting with his piercings. His ears are pierced, thrice on each ear: two studs and a single silver hoop take up his left ear. His right ear consists of a pair of helix's - one up high and one down low, connected by a thin silver chain that Evvi hangs assorted charms on; another stud sits above the bottom helix. His lip carries a single piercing; a black hoop ring. The Dormouse is often attracted to shiny things, and so wears several rings at the same time, as well as few necklaces, bracelets, bands and anklets. He favors black, red, blue and purple stones, so often he tends to resemble a flamboyant peacock - not that he notices.
As a side note, the Dormouse does not wear shoes. Instead, he is found to wear random pairings of socks, slippers, tights and nylons. Or net stockings, which are always fun.
Lastly, Evvi's eyes - when open - are the color of grape wine during the day and hazy emerald at night. Some say he can see in the dark, while others gossip that he's blinded by light. Neither are true, and neither are right, so one must assume that the Dormouse lives with a happy-medium of blindness and super-sensitive vision. On the other hand, Evvi does has an abnormally good sense of smell: one of the few reasons Shyer [the Cat] has yet to catch him.
fit into a MOLD ___ »»
- Of all the insanity that course through Wonderland, none are quite so ludicrous as the Dormouse's. Nonsensical language flows from between Evvi's rosy, slumbering lips at the most unexpected of times. For some odd reason, his rhythmic, drolly ironic statements often turn themselves around into the twisted remnant of an answer to a question. He is renown for never being straightforwards, and most of what he says is in the form of a riddle, or even a pun. Double entendre he usually stays away from, considering they are often taken the wrong way: that, or the fact he's not much of a joker. Evvi likes to sing, even if his voice is wishy-washy at times, but when he does everything needed to sing properly, he has an astoundingly sweet, crystal-clear tenor song voice, which flies high above the dull chirping and whistling of most flighted species.
The Dormouse appears simple-minded, but appearances are most definitely deceiving. When roused from his perpetual state of snoozing, Evvi's wit is sharp as can be, and not a bit clouded. Even so, he likes to take his time when doing things, and will forget he's doing anything at all if not reminded. Smart, yet absentminded, not that it can be helped. Naivety, though, curses him from time to time, and his youthful, gloomy nature is easily overwhelmed by those of confidence or eagerness. Demure when in the presence of a passionate individual, the Dormouse has the capability to simply fade into the background and disappear without anyone noticing. Or he just shrinks and scurries off, since that's rather effective as well in a tight spot.
A peculiar sneakiness twinkles merrily within his changing spheres on occasion. Be it a play of light or a trick of mind, there is something about the Dormouse that strikes an observer as sly. He's silent and analytical when awake, which only heightens the sense that Evvi seems to know more than he lets on. His ears are acute, as is his nose, which leads many to suspect that he is a spy of sorts, although his employer - if he has one - is yet to be named. Not that it matters: all too soon that covert glint of intelligence will slip away and Evvi will be innocently asleep once again.
Evvi's a comical character, and off-handedly he can be quite the nice fellow. He may be confusing when it comes to conversations, and has erratic sleeping habits, but that doesn't go to say he doesn't care about anyone buy himself. In fact, he's very good at listening - asleep or no - and carries his worries in a nonchalant manner. Kind, yet constantly nervous, there's only a few reasons that will get Evvi going - emotionally and physically:
The first: if the Cheshire Cat's around, Evvi's not to be found. Evvi will automatically shriek and stampede about if anyone even mentions the C-word, and the only way to calm him down would to either put jam on his nose or stuff him into the teapot. Otherwise he'll pretty much tear things apart, shriek, run around and blindly crawl all over things/people until he's calmed down.
The second: if someone, such as the Queen or the Duke, orders him to do something, he generally will - unless he forgets.
Lastly: when Alex is around, Evvi seems to rouse himself more than usual, even if he is of little help or consequence.
One might have suspected that the Dormouse is a quiet creature, but few care to realize that he's also a very touchy one. Grumpiness is not an uncommon factor when it comes to Evvi's daily personality, since he is often bothered by the most annoying of people while he is trying to catch a few Z's during the day. When interrupted, annoyed, perturbed or irritated while dozing, it would be wise of the individual committing the troublesome acts to keep their fingers - or any other appendage, really - far away from Evvi. He bites. In fact, he has very sharp teeth, and will bite without warning. Whether it is a finger, a hand, an arm, a lip or a leg, Evvi will find a way to sink his teeth into the person bugging him if they do it for too long. He's prone to anxiety attacks, thanks to how many times he's had to remain half-awake to keep from being surprised. He likes surprises, but not when they involve pouring tea on him or pulling him out of his teapot while hiding or messing around with his precious PSP... and, so on. He's obsessive and compulsive about a variety of things, to the point where he actually acts like an OCD-inflicted person.
ones POiSON ___ »»
- Pens. APRICOTS. Cats. CHESHIRE CAT. Freshly cut grass. THORNS. The White Rabbit. THE MARCH HARE. The Mad Hatter. EVERYONE. No one. BRIGHT SUNLIGHT. Itchy clothes. HAVING SOMETHING POURED ON HIM. Being bothered. BLOOD STAINS. Cats. DEAD BATTERIES. Being forced out of a nap. WAKING UP. Going back to sleep. BEING CONFUSED. The color... lemon. LIMES. Flamingos, damn them. A FAULTY CD. Being thrown through the air. CHESHIRE CAT. Cats. CATS. Getting sick. NO MORE JAM. Watching others eat jam. STALE COOKIES AND THROW UP, EWW. Windows. THE MAD HATTER FORCING FASHION TIPS ON HIM. Being cold when asleep. LISTENING TO THE CARDS TALK. Stupid jabbering. HEADACHES. Spicy things.
ones WiNE ___ »»
- JAM. Every type of jam there is, except apricot - that's just gross. ROSES. Shiny things. CAKES. Tea. COOKIES AND JAM. His PSP player. HEADPHONES. Summer days. WINTER NIGHTS. Music. SINGING. Alex. THE SMELL OF JAM. Comfortable clothes. RIBBONS. Strings. TEACUPS. Hiding places. QUIET. Riddles. PUNS. Jokes. CONFUSING OTHERS. Answering questions. SLEEP AND MORE SLEEP. Drowsing. PILLOWS. Blankets. HIS EARRINGS. Having his ears pet. THE CHESHIRE CAT'S EYES [but don't let him know that. XD]. Everyone. STARING OFF INTO SPACE. Video games and movies. RUNNING. Pointless things. COUNTING. Alcohol. POPSICLES. The Cat's tail [not that he knows.]. SPIDERWEBS. Clocks. STORIES. Cutting things. COLLECTING THINGS. Soft things. BITING THINGS.
hide under the COVERS ___ »»
- A few things absolutely terrify Evvi. Like the Cheshire Cat. Or Cat's in general, really, but the Cheshire makes a habit out of tormenting him. Or is it teasing him? He can't tell half the time, and probably won't get over this fear since all he does is run away when he's around. GETTING HIS TAIL BROKEN - IT HURTS! The Queen's bad mood. NOT MANY OTHER THINGS, REALLY. Bad surprises [like hot tea down his back.]
soundtrack to your LiFE ___ »»
just a TASTE ___ »»
- "Twinkle twinkle, little bat / How I wonder where you're at? / Up above the world so high / Like a tea tray in the sky."
"The world is falling, falling, falling /... and /... the pies are rolling up the yawning..."
Indeed, the world was falling, falling, falling. And quite rapidly too. There seemed to be no end to the falling, physically, figuratively, mentally, cosmically, but in all sense of the word 'falling' it would come to an end sooner or later. Later would be most desired, but time would tell if his dire wish would be granted. Most likely not. He had run out of crumpets after all. Oh! But the world was falling!
The Dormouse sat up with a jolt, his windblown locks tumbling about his angular, cherubic features - at a lost thanks to his abrupt motions. Frivolous, curling lashes batted at the air, doe-like, until the fog of weariness departed from the gleaming wine-hued spheres below. A few moments passed, with only the whistling of birds in the background to guide the bewildered 'Mouse into an explanation for his abrupt awakening. Long fingers were swept through the already remotely curly locks that swung about his ears now. For a moment his digits paused within the mass of color and flares, dancing delicately along the length of one round, quivering hearing device. Slowly it descended onto one helix piercing, and there it stayed, playing, playing, playing.
"There never was such a path for a crazy man to pick from..." Evvi's voice dipped languidly out from between his parched, rosy lips. A short, pink tongue dabbled along his lower appendage, drifting until a moist line of wet substance slackened the bottom part of his mouth from its feeble cracking. "All he wanted was a bit of cherry rum, and big ol' drum..."
Drums... Drums... Alas! That's what had awoken the poor boy, who's gaze had finally swiveled to the source of the noise. The noise that had broken his slumber. His habit. His lovely two o' clock snooze. Gone, it was gone, and it was all because of HIM and the ruckus he was listening to. Yes, the Dormouse was staring, dully, at the Mad Hatter - who was truly Mad. Drums were beating against the air and making the birds fly overhead chatter incessantly at the blaring sounds that interrupted their trivial singing hours. Yawning, widely, Evvi managed to crook an arm onto the table he sat before. Normal sized for once, he had taken up a chair for himself and didn't require any books to sit upon to see over the top. Pulling a jar of jam his way, the Dormouse idly dipped a finger in its glassy depths. Swirling a quivering lump onto the tip of his index finger, he slowly lifted it to his mouth, sniffing at it with anticipation. Without further investigation of the gooey concoction, Evvi spooned it into his mouth and relished it with eagerness uncommon to his lethargic demeanor. The splendid stuff that was JAM! Lovely, lovely, lovely jam.
And yet there were drums.
"Mind the volume, doom-doom-doom, crazy loon. I feel that I must tell the Queen of you and you and you, sometime soon, maybe noon..."
Should the racket continue to play, the 'Mouse would certainly be most perturbed and irritable for the rest of the day. Nobody likes a cranky mouse, especially one with rows of sharp teeth. Panting a bit, having forgotten to breath after swallowing his precious jam, the mouse slowly lowered his head to the table once more. The effects of jam - on him at least - were more or less instantaneous: drowsiness began to set in, even though the blasted noise the MADDEST HATTER OF THEM ALL... called... music...
"Mary... Mary... Quite Contrary... Where do your... Flowers, grow?" A tinkle of giggles, a riot of bells from the tiny ones dangling from the bottom of his pants, and Evvi began to drift off, thinking solely of nothing and nothing of solely thinking. Ah, bliss, yes?
hand behind this PEN ___ »»
- .Black.Stitches.
I Was Supposed To Be Dead.
OMG iT'S: Frances M. Wolfram
BUT i GO BY: Lori
i'VE PARTiED FOR: 17seventeen years.
FLiRT WiTH ME: All the boys...
i RAWK THE; Vocals [Lead]
i'M H3R3 F0R: Oh, a number of things. Most importantly would be trying to kill myself. Let's just say I was a little... insane. I had caught word that neither of my parents would face jail time - they had some pretty damn good lawyers, being high profile doctors - and that pushed me over the edge. Just a bit. That caused a great emotional disturbance in me, which I partially released by decimating my room; my Aunt locked me in there, with some pills. Of course, that was a bad move on her part since I DETEST locked doors. So, come nightfall, and I had decided to kill myself on a very COLD night, I smashed the window and jumped down from the roof. I went outside with few clothes but my pajamas on, equipped with a pair of scissors [the knives were locked away.] First came exposure - four hours of sitting outside in the freezing snow - and then I promptly stabbed myself in my left wrist and then again in my side near my hip. I was so cold, I didn't even feel the scissor pushing into my body. I passed out thanks to hypothermia and blood loss. Of course, my Aunt had to go and save me. I didn't even know she had a degree in medicine, like her sister. Damn her. She wrapped me up and kept the bleeding down until the medics got there. I haven't really recovered all the mobility in my left arm yet, so I'm often sensitive about it. If anyone at the rehab places even mentions it, I might have to kill them.
i HAVE A CRUSH ON: [Fill in later.]
R3M3MB3R M3?: There once existed a girl named Frances M. Wolfram, the daughter of Doctors Sarah and Charles Wolfram. Her parents believed in structures, rules, limitations and guidelines, and urged their own modest, dull lifestyle upon their only daughter. Doted on since her parents had no other children, Frances remained the ever devoted daughter, who went to school, brought home straight A's, joined 'acceptable' school committees, didn't go to parties and occasionally brought home Student of the Month awards. A good daughter, most would say, who's demure, polite behavior was looked upon as perfection by other, mostly jealous, parents that belonged to her family's social circle. Any form of public exhibitions that might 'embarrass' the family name was strictly forbidden, as were frivolous activities such as going to parties, listening to 'crap' music and wearing the 'scandalous' fashions of her fellow students. Punishment was necessary when Frances failed to meet her parent's expectations or put a toe out of line in some disagreeable way. No one - friends, parents, councilors, teachers - would have ever believed Frances to be capable of immoral, forward and rash behavior. Even when her favorite grandmother had passed away, Frances had simply continued with her routine - her classes, her studies, her private lessons - without a hitch.
Then, on a moderate November day, something finally cracked. Steady-as-she-goes Frances M. Wolfram, one of the sturdiest branches on the family tree of the Philadelphia Wolframs, sensible and devoted daughter, quit school. Not take a sabbatical from the high school she attended, not ask to leave because of a stomach ache, but quit, right in the middle of the semester and her sophomore Chemistry tests. It had been as much a shock to the principal and teachers as it had to her parents. They confronted her: her father lost his temper - something that NEVER happened - and locked her in a closet... For four entire days.
Which brings me, Lori, into the picture. During those four, long, endless days inside that dank closet - without food, water or light - poor little Frances dissolved into nothingness. She no longer exists. On the other hand, I was born during one of the screaming fits Frances fell into. For four days I shrieked, cried, begged, and moaned; when that didn't work, I became utterly enraged and violence became my new drug. The passionate emotions, so subdued during my first fifteen years of life, plunged out of my body: I tore at my skin, ripped out bits of hair, dug my nails into my eyes, bloodied my hands against the wall, door and floor, kicked, punched, swore, rampaged and destroyed whatever I found in that closet. On the verge of the fifth day, the door opened: nearly blinded by the invading light, I couldn't make out who was there. It took an hour for some of my senses to return, and I realized that the person talking to me was a police officer. Apparently someone - a friend of my parents most likely - had heard odd sounds in the house while visiting and called the police.
I was sent away from my parents; they were charged with child abuse and other such things, but I didn't care at the time. Shoved into the social services, I awaited a new home at an orphanage. There, things went from bad to worse. Without question, Frances had lost her mind in panic and fear during that time in the closet, bearing me into the world. I couldn't stay in that orphanage: so I ran. I ran away; and was caught after several weeks of stealing for food, begging for the odd substances I'd heard about in school [aka, drugs, cigarettes, booze] and other such things. I was sent to live with an Aunt I had never met: she was a kind person, but naive, and because of her naivety I grew wild. I went to a new school and made new 'friends'. I partied until I was sick, I screamed at teachers and councilors that tried to get me to 'calm down and act like a normal student.' Rules were ignored and my body suffered. I tampered with several types of drugs, but in the end I grew to dislike them. Cigarettes were fine, as was beer, but mostly my new-found freedom was the end of my sanity.
I hated school. I detested it. So, on another fine day - this time in May - I destroyed a classroom. I arrived at class before school one day, found my homeroom, and wrecked it in a fit of passionate fury. Chairs were thrown out windows, the lights smashed, the desks overturned, the teacher's desk in pieces, scissors thrown into the ceiling, shelves destroyed, the computer torn apart, bookshelves pushed over... All the while I screamed out my hatred for the world. From that day on, I was expelled from school, put into therapy and put on medications. It's the social services fault I became even more violent that day on.
i'M CRAZY (NO SERiOUSLY): Obviously, without question, I've lost my mind. All the signs are there, have been there, hovering and humming about me for months. The edginess, the short temper, the tendency towards daydreaming and forgetfulness. There's a lack of motivation in everything I do, of energy, of purpose. Mostly purpose. Nowadays, I'm the sort of girl who seems perpetually sunken into a pit of febrile, nervous, touchy resentment. Do you want to know why? It's simple really, and since this is Lori speaking, perhaps you already have a good idea...
Did I happen to mention I'm Frances' other personality? Yeah, hi, welcome to the life of a multiple-personality inflicted teenage girl. Mildly bipolar, or extremely: it shows depending on 'who' you happen to be speaking to at any given time.
I'm the side of Frances that likes to be in control, at all times. If bothered or aggravated, I'm prone to 'losing my head' or simply blowing up in people's faces. I like to be sexy, I like to be independent, but I love having a freedom of choice and opinion. Yeah, I'm the one who throws things, breaks things, screams, rants, rages and commits acts of self-mutilation. Frances is too much of a meek little mouse to even think of doing the things I've done, and often cowers in the back of our subconscious until I calm down - somehow. I'm passionate and wild, daredevil and hellcat, a dangerous, volatile tempest who can be a downright b***h. I'm moody and easily swayed by my emotions: jealousy is common, as is hate.
Frances, on the other hand, is the sort of girl most guys who want to control the relationship look for. She's mild and soft-spoken, polite and generally unable to speak her mind on anything. I'd be surprised if she had one individualistic thought in her head: she's the one that needs to be lead around on the leash. She's sweet, naive and basically the polar opposite of everything I am. Kind and gentle, she's often found listening to another person's troubles or lending a shoulder to lean on. Disgusting, friendly things that will get her used and abused, you know?
TATS & PiERCiNGS: Two helix's, connected by small chain on left ear; three hoops and a stud on the right ear. Middle of bottom lip is pierced with single silver hoop with tiny silver bead in the middle. I have several scars: the most obvious ones are the raised, white, triangular scars on both sides of my left wrist and above my right hip bone. There's a long white scar down my right leg from crawling out the broken window. I have scars under my jaw and all over my arms from scratches and cuts. My tattoo, although it consists of many, is a pattern of stars beneath my belly button, spanning across the length of my lower abdominal wall. There's also a tattoo on the back of my neck: a wolf head surrounded by a crescent moon.
R00M NUMB3R: Dorm 2
PLAYED BY: .Black.Stitches.
