We just saw elizaveta augusta liddell entering the rabbit hole. I heard through the grapevine that their loyalties lie with [ the Jabberwocks ] and that they also go by the devil*. Be careful, they work for them as a failed nepo baby / professional liability / glorified trainer and can sometimes be reckless, impulsive, or even volatile but I’ve also heard some people say that they were loyal, exuberant and quite personable.
( tw violence , assault )
stats
full name: elizaveta augusta liddell
nickname(s)/alias(es): eliza, el, the devil
age: 26
date of birth: june 26
star sign: cancer
place of birth: devon, england
current location: london
gender: woman but as a threat
pronouns: she/they
sexual orientation: lesbian menace
religion: agnostic / apathetic
occupation: trainer of recruits / failed nepo baby / professional liability
family: constantine liddell ( father – deceased ), tbd ( mother ) , viktor liddell ( older brother ) , alexei liddell ( older brother ) , zoya liddell ( older sister ) , one more older sibling
education level: kicked out of several prestigious boarding schools
living arrangements: flat paid for with daddy’s money in kensington
financial status: wealthy
spoken languages: english, mandarin, french, russian
details
Eliza found it hard to sleep.
Her flat – paid for with dead daddy’s money, of course – conveniently close to her siblings and the others tasked to keep an eye on her, was perfectly fucking fine. Too fine, too convenient, and way too fucking close for the hurricane in human skin that was Elizaveta Liddell.
Really - she was bored; achingly, mind-numbingly, maddeningly bored. Her skin screamed out for violence, her various scars protesting the banality of training those god forsaken idiotic recruits. Until now, she’d never fully appreciated the pain inherent in the phrase ‘itching for a fight’, nails digging into her arms in an attempt to resist every cell in her body crying out for release.
As a child, Eliza had taken to violence the way other children took to reading, or maths, or perhaps a musical instrument. Does not play well with others - was how her teachers phrased it all through primary school. And for a while, they didn’t want to believe it. She came in such a pretty package, big blue eyes and a darling face, her ponytail slightly askew and accented with an overly large bow. And what a good family, they all said, the Liddell’s ran Devon, even to this day.
But there were…incidents. Some could be dismissed as childish spats in the school yard, willful ignorance playing a huge role in this. Still, the school could not overlook the time a classmate ended up with a pair of scissors jabbed into their thigh; and although no one could firmly tie Eliza to the deed, she’d watched the blood drip down the leg of the student next to her with what was described as a chilling interest. Various boarding schools did little to tame this violent streak, though it was difficult to tie such violence to a Liddell. The once friend who ended up at the bottom of a staircase with several broken bones whilst Eliza cried her very best crocodile tears, such a lovely friend to wait by the injured girl’s side. The school tossed her out for theft – the one thing they could actually prove. At the next school there was a rash of sudden illnesses – all girls who’d dared defy little Eliza Liddell’s will when she arrived. Unable to tie the poisonings to the blonde, the school accused her of cheating ( guilty ) and had her thrown out.
A cadre of well meaning but ultimately ineffective teachers and other school administrators offered a variety of explanations - the trauma of the youngest child, attention seeking, perhaps she simply wasn’t challenged enough at school? Eliza wanted to shrug, brush away their concerns with the simple fact she’d come to accept about herself - she liked how it felt. But instead the blonde got better at hiding, leaning into that pretty face and charm she could summon if she tried hard enough. She learned to fight dirty, literally tooth and nail, learned to lean into her smaller stature and the presumed weakness.
By her teens, Eliza was quite sure she could be lethal if she wanted. Her early twenties only proved this point.
She knew her father controlled the Jabberwocks, as the youngest Liddell she’d learned to listen at doors and hide in corners as soon as she could walk. His death was a shock – Eliza overseas in one of the various schools. Constantine had never been a loving father, nor was he particularly present in her life – but he was still her father. Maybe it was the sudden lack of fear, the slight chaos that persisted before her eldest brother took over – but Eliza’s teen years were her most violent and volatile.
Of course, that was when she thought she still contributed. When Eliza hoped her anger and violence was honed into a weapon poised to do her family’s bidding. Sometimes, late at night in that too silent flat, her rage turned against her. Eliza would pace, the anger mixing with bitterness and resentment, a toxic blend resulting in uncharacteristic self-doubt. Did they think she was weak? Some stupid, vapid socialite like her sister or Max? Or was Viktor so self-obsessed that he could not see the benefit her brand of jagged cruelty might offer?
But no, Eliza was on a very short leash and in an even shorter temper. Training nobody recruits in basic self-defense was almost more offensive than if her brother had called her a slur. But Viktor controlled the money, and Eliza needed that – so she did her best not to kill the idiots.
This bar was supposed to be safe, yet it took every ounce of self-control Eliza could summon to keep from smashing her glass into the face of one of the aforementioned idiotic recruits who dared speak to her outside of training. Instead, the blonde shot him a glare that threatened to take a year off his life and made it approximately twenty more minutes before fucking losing it.
In her defense, Eliza fucking hated to be touched except under very specific circumstances of her choosing. And really, they all should have foreseen something like this happening – her leash and temper were both notoriously short. The man was blind drunk, embarrassingly so, such that she’d expected someone else to step in. Here Eliza will admit to one single mistake, she underestimated the will of drunk and vulgar man who’d spent his afternoon being bossed around by her.
So when he grabbed her ass and slurred something about not taking directions from girls - really, who could blame her for how quickly she slammed his head into the table?
