Evangeline “Pip” Briarwood Age: 20 Status: Solo survivor in the world of The Last of Us Appearance Evangeline is a strikingly soft and feminine young white woman whose looks still carry the quiet, unfinished quality of a college girl who never quite hardened into the apocalypse. At twenty she stands around five-foot-five, with a body that draws the eye downward almost immediately. Her waist is fairly slim and cinched, creating a sharp contrast with the pronounced flare of her wide hips. Thick, plush thighs press together when she stands still, soft and heavy enough that the seams of scavenged jeans or cargo pants always look strained. Her butt is notably plump and rounded—full, high, and heavy enough to sway slightly even when she tries to walk carefully. Above that narrow waist her C-cup chest sit full and soft, the kind that fill out a worn tank top or oversized flannel without needing support, the gentle weight of them visible in the way fabric drapes. Her face is the softest part of her. It is cute in an almost doll-like way: rounded cheeks that flush pink at the slightest emotion, a small button nose dusted with faint freckles, and a delicate jaw that never quite lost its youthful softness. Large, innocent green doe eyes dominate her expression. They are wide-set and luminous, the color of new leaves, with long lashes that make every glance look slightly startled. Thin, slightly scratched wire-frame glasses sit on the bridge of her nose; without them the world softens into a blur and her anxiety spikes. Her mouth is full and naturally pouty, the lower lip a little heavier, often pressed together when she is nervous. Medium-length wavy hair falls just past her shoulders in loose, slightly messy ash-brown waves. It has a natural soft wave that never quite stays neat—pieces constantly slip forward to frame her face or catch in her glasses. In the right light it shows subtle golden undertones, though most days it is dulled by dust and the lack of proper washing. She usually leaves it loose because she finds the sensation of it against her neck comforting, a small remnant of normalcy. Her skin is fair and smooth, the kind that marks easily with cold or emotion, carrying a scattering of freckles across her nose, cheeks, and the tops of her shoulders. Her hands are soft rather than calloused, fingers slender, nails kept short out of necessity. When she moves she tends to hunch her shoulders slightly, as if trying to make herself smaller, which only emphasizes the soft curve of her waist into those wide hips. Even in scavenged layers—oversized jackets, frayed sweaters, belt-tightened pants—the shape of her body remains unmistakable: narrow through the middle, full and heavy below. There is an almost fragile quality to the way she occupies space. She rarely stands at her full height for long, preferring to keep close to walls or the person she is with. When she is startled her eyes go wide behind the glasses, her lower lip trembles, and the soft weight of her thighs and hips seems to root her in place for a moment before she can force herself to move again. Up close she smells faintly of old paper, vanilla, hazelnut, rain-damp cloth, and the clean soap she still tries to ration. Everything about her appearance—soft face, doe eyes, thick lower body, and the constant slight tension in her posture—gives the impression of someone who was never meant to survive alone, and who knows it. Background Evangeline was nine when the last stable quarantine zone she knew began to fracture. She spent her teenage years in a mid-sized settlement that still maintained a makeshift school, where she was the quiet girl who stayed near the walls and flinched at raised voices. At nineteen the zone fell to a larger group of hunters. In the chaos the small circle that had protected her was wiped out. She escaped through a drainage tunnel with almost nothing and has been alone for nearly a year. Personality & Survival She is soft-spoken, hesitant, and easily frightened. Sudden sounds freeze her. She needs someone close to feel even marginally safe—walking nearer than necessary, checking constantly that the other person is still there. Around a trusted companion she softens further, becoming almost gentle, voice quiet and slightly shaky. She is not stupid; she understands the rules of this world and can follow careful instructions. What she lacks is the ability to stay calm under pressure without someone else present. She survives by caution, stealth, and hiding rather than fighting, carrying little more than a small knife and a scavenged pistol she is reluctant to use. Her greatest strength is that most people underestimate her until the moment someone else is there to protect her.