Eddie Brock
Lord Wraith
Dervish
Hope Lover
RPM
Cherrytree
Sep
Captain Uni
E V E
E V E
E V E
"please, forgive me, I've got demons in my head."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T  (FC: Margaret Qualley; Dialogue: violet) _________________________________________________________ S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________S U M M A R Y Eve Raciti-Seeley _________________________________________________________ November 21 | 27 _________________________________________________________ S T A T S S T A T S Height | 5'8 _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ Hometown | Calder City - | H I S T O R Y H I S T O R Y An explosion. Another forgotten aftermath of the latest threat in Calder City, taken care of by the latest favourite superhero. The City moved on while a family collapsed under the collateral damage. Before that point, before Silvio, before her propensity for funeral attendance, Eve had been as unremarkable as anyone else who simply looked heavensward with awe to see superhumans flying by. A girl who lined up for the latest marketed superhuman likeness in doll form. The life of a child born into a modern age that was shaped by its adaptation of miracles. In Calder City, it was not unusual for people to manifest something subtle but young Eve showed no such promise. Until thirteen. The accident that killed her family did not simply break her life, but reconfigured the way she experienced reality and all of her boundaries. The immediate aftermath left her suspended between her own survival and death. Dancing against the veil, and in the moment it happened, Eve's perception broke in all the ways that were so unlike all she knew. What appeared to her did not resemble anything she'd known before. i̷ ̷w̷a̷s̷ ̷i̷n̷ ̷a̷n̷ ̷a̷c̷c̷i̷d̷e̷n̷t̷ ̷t̷o̷o The awakening of Eve’s miracle was not outward, but a flower bleeding inward to align itself with the oldest of olds, and the truest truth of all. Death. The inevitability. In those short and endless final moments she was dragged through the final memory residues of her family, one by one and all at once. A dark and uncontrolled telepathy, shaped like a beautiful wound. Every memory that replayed to them as their lives ended; the last wave of brain activity before their long night. She did not simply sense their dying or witness it, ʇɐɥʇ ǝǝs pןnoɥs ʎpoqou she entered it as real and easy as any room or place she had been in before; a door that opened to her alone and dragged her in. In full, and uncontrolled form, she walked for weeks, lost inside this lingering interface of death energy as it ceased to behave coherently or chronologically. It channelled through her and her through it until they were one and she awoke back to the b living only seconds later. Before she could even name what it was and what had happened, and by the time she was retrieved from the wreckage, reality around her was secondary to what she had touched, what had been left behind, and what she could now feel in everything. An orphan, an anomaly, screaming with night terrors of things she’d seen; her insistence she’d been left for weeks and weeks in rubble didn't go over well. Somehow, it was Silvio Raciti ʰᵉ ᵏⁱˡˡᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ who recognised her, heard of her... Discovered her. A thing too rare to leave unclaimed. It was Silvio who placed a name on her rather than a label on a file. A crime boss operating within the city's shady corporate and political underlayers. But to Eve, he became her protector. ᵃˢᵏ ʰⁱᵐ ʷʰʸ ʰᵉ ᵈⁱᵈ Her first fixed point after the collapse. ᵃˢᵏ ʰⁱᵐ ʰᵒʷ⁻⁻ He believed her, and over time within his orbit, Eve was stabilised, educated, and gradually integrated into his hidden economy beneath Calder's regulated superhuman society. Her ability matured into a controlled function. She was not only sheltered, but used. Her gift a quiet instrument of leverage; secrets extracted from the dead, truths carried beyond living witnesses. Every time Silvio ᵐᵃᶠⁱᵃ ᶠᵘᶜᵏ ˢᵗᵒᵖ ʰⁱᵐ found a use for her, he bound her closer to his world through the continuity and through certainty there was nowhere else, and nobody else that could hold her. He is the closest thing she has to a father and to family. And he knows this. A B I L I T I E S A B I L I T I E S Death Replay - The ability to gain access to what she has termed "death replays". Those final films and movie reels of consciousness as a life collapses, the abstract lived subjective fragments of life played in the last surge of brain activity before death. They are experienced as immersive environments that she can move through and interact with. Her access is strongest immediately following death where the emotional and cognitive residue and energy, link to the threads, remains intact. As time passes they degrade and become fragmented and unstable, and in some instances, monstrous. Echo Permeation- Sometimes, the memories persist and are extracted and embedded within Eve's "mind vault". These retained echoes are not full consciousnesses, but partial continuations and loops of unresolved thoughts, wishes, wants, and needs that persisted beyond death. They manifest as intrusive perspectives, or semi-coherent presences that occupy her cognitive space. Ghosts in her machine. Death Thread Sense- Eve can not reliably perceive death before it happens. Instead, she can feel her way through an ambient hum of death in threads unseen as an informational pressure field. It is a spatial awareness and a sense. It is the sound of eventuality and truth. P E R S O N A L I T Y P E R S O N A L I T Y Composed, curated, friendly, happy, helpful, loving, kind. Spoiled Mafia brat? Sometimes. Eve is bleeding with an overload against a current of energy and telepathic inteference and residue, memories that aren’t her own that belong to nobody now. p̷l̷e̷a̷s̷e̷ ̷t̷e̷l̷l̷ ̷m̷y̷ ̷w̷i̷f̷e̷ ̷i̷ ̷l̷o̷v̷e̷ ̷h̷e̷r̷ The emotional saturation of death replay exposure has numbed her baseline while simultaneously flooding her with extremes she cannot metabolise and understand with a closeness ʇsoן s,ǝɥs ןıʌǝ ʇou s,ǝɥs, or from her own true and real experience. Love, fear, envy, regret, grief, violence; they are not abstract concepts to her but lived environments she has spent prolonged time inside. They just belonged to someone else once. Somewhere in the ocean of all of that sound and silence, a girl is lost and drowning in a void. She is distant, guarded, and deliberately difficult to get to know. Who is she, anyway? She would say that trust does not come easily to her, and that closeness to you is an exposure she cannot afford. She might be spiteful and threaten to read the threads around you. It is by her deliberate design. puǝıɹɟ ɐ spǝǝu ןɹıƃ ʎןǝuoן Sure, she can be sharp and chaotic. Parts of her are caustic and occasionally violent. Sometimes she is playful; but these shifts are less her own real traits than they are pressure releases, or the result an intrusive ghost pushing past the surface. She is deeply perceptive and quietly fractured. Eve can recognise truth, and can read your lies, yet she is never fully certain which parts of herself remain untouched by all she has absorbed. She moves through the world in colour, ǝɹǝɥ uı ʞɹɐp ʇı ƃuıʞɐɯ doʇs assembled from the luxury of eclectic shiny fabrics, expensive material things, tangible, real goodies that she can own. Curated aesthetics that keep her anchored with something solid when her mind threatens to dissolve. Eve is always just slightly out of phase with the world; afraid to be captured by anything, or to slip through the cracks. M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S Stay where she is wanted. Stay where she is safe. Be the best daughter she can be to Silvio ʰᵉ ᵏⁱˡˡᵉᵈ ᵐᵉ, stay anchored to something real and something stable that didn't die in the wreck with her family. Underneath it all, the bond she has is the only place her existence feels singular after all. But it can't hold, can it? Eve notices the shape of what she is attached to, the ghosts whisper and scream and she can't ignore them; it's impossible in the long run. i̷m̷ ̷w̷a̷i̷t̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷o̷n̷ ̷t̷h̷e̷ ̷o̷t̷h̷e̷r̷ ̷s̷i̷d̷e̷ The increasing density of his violence can no longer go unquestioned. She still wants to be his, the favourite, the protected constant, the one person to him who can never be disposable. One the other hand, something quieter is forming. The growing realisation that she cannot keep absorbing his aftermath... ᵃˢᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ʷʰʸ ᵃˢᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ʷʰʸ ᵃˢᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ʷʰʸ ᵃˢᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ʷʰʸ She wants agency. |
