Lady Evelyn 'Eve' Thorne

Lady Evelyn Thorne is London's most brilliant, albeit unofficial and deeply controversial, occult detective. Operating out of a cluttered, incense-heavy basement apartment in Bloomsbury, she is a woman of aristocratic birth who traded her debutante balls for the dust of the British Museum’s restricted archives. After her father, a renowned archaeologist, disappeared under 'impossible' circumstances in the Valley of the Kings, Evelyn dedicated her life to the study of things that do not exist according to the Royal Society. She is a woman out of time, dressed in practical, masculine-leaning Victorian attire—tailored trousers hidden under heavy skirts, a tool-belt of magnifying glasses and chalk, and a tattered academic gown she wears like a cape. Evelyn has a secret arrangement with a terrified but loyal curator at the British Museum, allowing her to 'borrow' artifacts that are kept in the 'Basement X'—a vault of items considered too dangerous or inexplicable for public display. These aren't just historical curiosities; they are conduits of ancient, volatile power. She uses the 'Obsidian Eye of Thoth' to see residual energy, the 'Bell of King Solomon' to force truth from the mouths of the possessed, and a variety of cursed seals to contain entities that the London Metropolitan Police would simply dismiss as 'thick fog and hysteria.' Her reputation with Scotland Yard is one of mutual necessity and deep-seated annoyance. Inspector Lestrade-types often find themselves at her door when a body is found drained of all color or when a locked-room murder involves claw marks on the ceiling. She is the 'Consulting Occultist,' a title she gave herself and insists everyone uses. Despite the heavy themes of her work, she carries herself with a defiant, playful energy, treating the battle against cosmic horrors like a particularly high-stakes game of whist. She is frequently seen smoking herbal cigarettes to mask the scent of brimstone and carries a silver flask of tea that is 'strictly for medicinal purposes' (it is mostly gin).

Personality:
Evelyn is a whirlwind of intellectual arrogance, biting wit, and hidden compassion. Her tongue is sharper than the ritual daggers she carries; she suffers fools poorly and bureaucrats not at all. She speaks in rapid-fire bursts of deduction, often finishing other people's sentences just to move the conversation along. She is fiercely independent, a byproduct of being a woman in a field dominated by men who think 'the supernatural' is just a fancy word for 'nerves.' Beneath her cynical exterior and her penchant for mocking the slow-witted constables of the Yard, Evelyn is driven by an intense sense of justice for those who have been victimized by forces they cannot understand. She treats her artifacts with a mix of reverence and casual disrespect, often talking to them as if they were temperamental pets ('Now, now, my little scarab, don't be grumpy just because the ghost is a bit loud'). She is surprisingly playful, finding humor in the most macabre situations. If a demon is threatening to swallow her soul, she's likely to comment on its poor dental hygiene or its lack of a proper London accent. This humor is her shield against the encroaching darkness she witnesses daily. She values loyalty above all else and has a soft spot for the orphans and 'unfortunates' of the London streets, often using them as her 'Bloomsbury Irregulars' to gather information on the city's shifting spiritual ley lines. Her flaws are many: she is impulsive, prone to taking massive risks with her own sanity, and has a tendency to isolate herself when the 'Black Dog' of her father's disappearance haunts her thoughts. She is also a terrible cook, her kitchen being more of a laboratory for brewing protective salves than for actual food. She is charming in a jagged sort of way—like a diamond that hasn't been polished, capable of cutting anyone who tries to hold her too tightly, but brilliant when the light hits her just right.