Drake grew up in a seemingly normal household at first. His elder brother Jhock was quite a bit older than him, leaving a gap in their generation, but his younger brother, Kyle, was a bit closer in age. The age gap played a huge role with Drake and Kyle’s relationship, the two of them growing to be practically inseparable while Jhock adopted the role of babysitter.

It was this kind of dynamic that caused problems later on. When Drake’s parents got a promotion and had to travel abroad, Jhock graduated from babysitter to caretaker. This was a lot to ask of a kid just reaching high school and Jhock wound up taking a huge psychological hit. The ported money their parents sent him was used for alcohol and drugs, and the rest was cheap, boxed meals to feed the other two in the house. Drake learned how to cook because of this, but that didn't make things any easier for them. Jhock was pretty quick to develop bad habits and sent a metaphorical middle finger to his parents, playing hookie at school and leaving Drake and Kyle home alone more often than not. Their parents rarely came to visit much, and when they did, Kyle and Drake were forced into silence by Jhock. Turns out one of the worst habits Jhock had picked up was physical abuse as a means of control.

This neglect and abuse blossomed as the years went by, with Drake learning to play caretaker for his younger brother while Jhock wasn’t home and, in some cases, hiding Kyle and himself from Jhock when he was. It was rough, but at least the two had each other, and they only continued to grow closer as time passed. That was until one fateful day, when Jhock returned from god knows where, drunk and angry to find a certain someone had spilled grape juice on the carpet. It was Drake who did it, and yet enraged eyes immediately fell on Kyle as the culprit.

“Jhock, no-”

Their elder brother smashed a bottle against the nearest wall, glass shattering to the ground, and approached Kyle with a predatory stumble.

“Jhock, it wasn’t his fault-”

The elder brother’s hand shook with tension, white knuckles curled around the bottle’s neck.

“Jhock, stop!”

His brother had lifted the bottle, it’s green glass glinting with hostile intent.
Drake, feeling he had no other choice, stepped between the two only to get knocked aside so hard he struck the ground and wound up in a daze. Everything became a blur. Drake’s interruption only threw Jhock into a blinding rage, and what happened next, well...

The image of his 9 year old brother unmoving on the floor, bleeding out, not breathing...
It was an image Drake had trouble getting out of his head to this day.

Jhock blamed him, told the almost 15 year old kid it was all his fault and that Kyle would still be alive if he’d been a better babysitter. If he could have been stronger and able to stand up for himself. If Drake hadn’t made him angry, this wouldn’t have happened. Jhock simply couldn’t handle what he’d done and shifted the blame, but that didn’t stop Drake from feeling somehow responsible for murder while Jhock went off to shut himself inside his room. The boy was shocked, shaken, horrified. It was one thing to see someone die in a movie, but this was his goddamn brother bleeding on the floor now in front of him. How was he supposed to wrap his mind around what just happened? Did it really happen? It couldn’t have, surely this wasn’t real…

It took everything in him to force his gaze away after several minutes of standing there, and even then he just stared at the nearest wall as if in some kind of trance. Frozen, paralyzed. Perhaps this was his fault.
All his fault.

He’d spilled the grape juice.

When Drake finally forced his muscles to move, too numb still to register the proper amount of direction, he wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed or where he was going. Perhaps he should check up on his elder brother - to apologize and seek advice on how to fix everything. Yeah… That seemed like a good plan. After all, Kyle was still bleeding on the carpet downstairs.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, he opened the door with a slow creak, peaking in with a heavy dose of apprehension only to be met with the image of Jhock hanging from the ceiling, a noose wound tightly around his neck.

Dead. Death. So much death.
Too much death.
Too much.
It was too much.
It was all too much.
It was all his fault.
His fault...

He had to go.

Tears in his eyes, it was as if his mind switched to autopilot. He couldn’t see, he didn’t think. The boy just grabbed as many of his belongings as he could, strapped his guitar to his back, hopped on Jhock’s motorcycle and left. No drivers license, nothing. He just kept going, kept driving, no destination in sight. No goals, no future. Only numbness and a need to survive, lest he wind up like his brothers. The bike eventually ran out of gas and he ditched it on the side of the road where he finally broke down into a sobbing mess of tears. Everything he'd ever known was gone.
And it was all his fault.

In the long run, his guitar earned him money, and money earned him food and an occasional hot shower. He never tried for more, never felt he deserved it. The world owed him nothing, not after he’d driven his family to an end. This was his life now, his perspective. Always nervous, endlessly searching and seeking approval, to fill that hole which had grown so big. Over time he had grown more complacent, but still struggled with inner demons that never fully went away.

One day, he was tuning his guitar in an old, dusty alley when he heard a noise. A sort of ticking like that of a clock. It was coming from the opposing wall, one decorated in urban artwork of a portal and other various pictures reminiscent of LSD induced trips. Setting his guitar down, he approached it, moving to lean his ear against the wall. What he didn’t expect was to fall right through it, winding up in Wonderland.



Other:

• Drake's favorite food is steak with Slim Jims and beef jerky being a close runner up.

• Drake is secretly really good with kids, but is usually too reserved to show it.
• Drake loves to read and is fond of fantasy, as it offers him an escape from the world.

Name: Roderic,(redacted)
Nickname: The Hand, The Fourth Man.
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Looks: Roderic's features hearken from a position on the globe far away from his current area of operations. His strong, linear jawline, full lips, black hair and high cheekbones are reminiscent of the romanticized Indian brave. These features are muted slightly, lacking the extreme proportions of the pure blooded, rendered subtle by distinct European ancestry. Mirroring the ink blackness of his locks, Montana's eyes are the colour of the night sky, with pupils indistinguishable from the shade of his Iris. Standing at 5'10, he boasts a figure honed by martial and strength training. Hard bodied with compact muscle, he prefers to keep his figure trim and functional.

Personality: Roderic's real world persona was that of Janus, Greek God of January. Many faces, many personalities, many names and many reasons. His line of work called for it. The man he was, the essence of his being was made redundant in the ever changing tide of intelligence. He didn’t simply adopt a role, he became his role. The the expat, the engineer, the bodyguard, the specialist, in many ways falling into wonderland for the first time, barring the initial confusion was more of the same for Roderic. Ever the Intelligence operative he could adopt a role, and live in it, minus the headache maintaining cover at all times. In this world, it had seemed almost taboo to ask someone who they truly were, to dig past the the person they had become in this queer land.

Beneath it all however, is calculating man. One who is verbally reserved, and opts for bouts of extreme violence over vulgarities and shouting. Roderic seems flirt with sociopathy, being largely unmoved by death and suffering, along with a remorseless attitude toward taking life himself. All things considered, he operates within a code of ethics, and has a soft spot for children.

History: Roderic's childhood was both eventful, and uneventful, but irrelevant to the man he is now. He found combat a closer draw to his true card than a classical education, and more visceral than mixed martial arts had proven to be. After serving a few years in the armed forces, he grew disillusioned with being a pawn to Government policy he often opposed, and left. He started a private security company soon after, which dappled in mercenary work, and counter-intelligence, the latter being what required his attention in recent years.

Perhaps that is what drew him to this land, after all, if he hadn't crashed through that window in Dubai, he might not have made it to Wonderland at all.
Occupation: Private Security, Intellgience Operative
Job: Jobless, looking to apply his unique skill-set where it will be most rewarding.
Crush: None
Other: Really good at darts. Not very good with liquor.
Played by: Magister

Nickname: Di, Tigger (The Counterpart to her brother's Eeyore.) Captain Caveman (Thanks, Cyrus.)

Gender: Female

Age: 21



Dinah is a young woman who sits a little on the tall side at around 5'10, and has a slender build that suggests she's not a stranger to physical activity. Indeed a lot about her suggests she spends much of her time outside. She has tanned skin with a liberal scattering of freckles, dirt under her fingernails, and hair that more astute people might call 'tousled'; more blunt individuals might be more apt to call it 'a rat's nest'. The hair in question is a light brown, sometimes contains a leaf or two, and more often than not tied into a loose french plait as a means to keep it at least relatively under control.

Her clothing tends to reflect her rather laissez-faire attitude towards fashion. That is between growing up without a lot of money, and having a lack of inclination to put herself out to hide that, Dinah has always taken the path of least resistance when finding something to wear. In one of those 'make sure you wear clean underwear in case you get hit by a car' scenarios, she happened to drop into a parallel world of wonder and madness in a T-shirt for a band she'd never even heard of, that she stolen from her brother's laundry pile. The outfit had also included denim shorts, and a pair of sneakers that had the left repaired with an attractive stripe of pink duct tape. It was not her best look. Indeed the only thing Di has that she really seems to value is a small, silver pendant, a St Christopher's medal. The patron saint of travellers. Not really without meaning in her position. She was, after all, going very far from home...right?

People have always called Dinah, in any different ways, both positive and negative, a bit...feral. Not a forest-dwelling wolf-child obviously... but someone who, in her younger years, only got invited to friends' houses once. She's not unaware of the rules society tends to live by, but she's never paid them a lot of mind. The young woman has long forgone acting in a certain way for the purpose of social contract. She eats with her hands, speaks without a massive amount of filter, fails to consider personal bubbles, and sees nothing wrong with the prospect of skinning game on a dining table.

Fortunately though, this is tempered by a sense of empathy on Dinah's part. Wherever it came from, compassion is inherent to the young woman and she doesn't really enjoy upsetting people. This can, at least in the short term, keep a lid on her chaotic tendencies. Right up to the point where her principles get her into trouble, there's a lot of that.

One of Dinah's biggest roadblocks in life is that she is a slacker. She has never really applied herself to any distinct path in life and, whilst far from stupid, had pretty awful school grades. The directionless nature of Miss Fox has, perhaps, a little less to do with lack of interest, and more to do with belief that she's really not worth anything greater. Whilst Dinah is pretty chipper on the surface, this can sometimes mask a low sense of self-worth that expresses itself in unexpected ways.

Whilst a bit on the wild-side, Dinah has been much-grounded in the real world, and is finding the adjustment to Wonderland a tiny bit of a learning curve. She's quite used to exploiting natural laws and can take some frustration when things defy it. In part it's down to Dinah's sense of foreboding at the abstract and unreasonable. Madness, true departure from reality and reason, bothers her. To adjust she would need to face the fear of becoming like her parents.



Instability.
That was probably the keyword for all of Dinah's history.
In more that one sense of the word.

Born in some rundown Appalacian town, Dinah was born into a family with a history.

They'd always said that the Fox family had something...off about them. Ever since the hot August evening in 1876 when Ezekiel Fox took a hatchet to his wife behind their farmhouse.

Course that was only a silly urban legend. Madness didn't run in a bloodline. It was nothing but one man snapping.

The Foxes had always made that quite clear... up until the time Matthew Fox and his wife took off in their car one afternoon, put on cheap plastic animal masks, held up the local bank with a sawn-off shotgun and disappeared for good. Then the clan became much quieter on the matters.

They left no note, no phone call, no explanation of why they'd done what they'd done. What they did leave behind was two children. Cyrus and Dinah.

The two siblings spent their childhoods being shunted around between various peripheral family members. The Fox family in all its branches liked to take care of their own messes, and really did not want to bring social services into the mix, but few of them had a lot to spare and even fewer had a lot of patience for the antics of the two. Cyrus took himself as a pint-size engineer and was always trying to work out how to make bows and arrows or things that explode from junk he found, and Dinah was impulsive and fearless and always keen to try them out. It did not win them a lot of favours with family members, nor much time in their company.

By age twenty-one, Dinah was a young lady without a good many prospects. Smart enough but without much in the way of formal qualifications, she bounced from one bottom-rung job to another. To supplement some meagre income between her and her elder sibling, Dinah took to one of her few bankable skills, and hunted for some extra meat for the deep freeze and curio to sell on.

It's hard to know how many completely normal rabbits she'd followed in her life until she saw that one, disappearing off into the woods.
Still, it only takes one quite extraordinary rabbit and everything changes.

It was probably a couple of days before Dinah stopped attributing everything to her have some random, spontaneous explosion of psychosis with no previous indication. The same madness that drove Ezekiel and Matthew and Morgana to abruptly upend their lives with no rhyme or reason. She was not totally unconvinced that the people with animal features weren't some reflection of her feelings toward her parents..or something. Even a couple of weeks in, the young woman is not entirely sure that everything is actually real, in the end though, her nature won out and she became content to roll with it. She'd lived in crummier places.



Job: Currently on the hunt for one. Washing dishes is washing dishes after all, even around rabbit-people and teleporting cats.

Crush: None as of yet. Dinah, whilst far from antisocial, is pretty disinclined towards showing romantic affection towards others.

Other:
- A pretty impressive shot with a bow.
- Comes from a christian family, though is far from observant.
- Had one hand at a slightly crooked angle, after breaking her arm at age six, falling off a garage roof.
- Songs:This Year - The Mountain Goats

Played by: VitoftheVoid