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Preston Vasquez
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My Name: Becca
My LJ: bookelfe

Character Name: Preston Vasquez
Character LJ: bass_line_blues

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Physical Description: Preston is a little on the short side; dark-haired, slender, unprepossessing. He's the sort of kid who used to wear shirts with funny slogans about obscure historical figures, back when people still made shirts with funny slogans about obscure historical figures. (He still wears them, on occasion, but his collection is getting pretty ratty.) His hair tends towards the scruffy and his knuckles towards the hairy, but he's a little disappointed that, even as a werewolf, he has trouble growing a goatee.

Brief Description of Personality: Before becoming a werewolf, with all the control problems and anger management issues that entails, Preston was pretty easy-going. He's still getting used to the fact that whenever he gets into a defense of the value of non-violent protest he starts feeling the urge to bite out his opponent's throat. It sort of takes the fun out of long theoretical arguments that solve absolutely nothing.

Preston's main hobby these days is playing bass. He's not bad, in a garage-band kind of way. He has a tendency to think he's smarter than he probably is; you can take the kid out of sociology class, but you can't take the sociology class out of the kid. He's a nice guy on average, though, so this doesn't come across as obnoxious as it could.

Human/Zombie/Werewolf/Vampire: Werewolf

Character Affiliation: Musician at The Wasteland.

Personal Possessions: Preston will usually not let his bass out of his sight. He also owns a bean-bag chair, salvaged from his dorm room. It's his pride and joy, and, stance on non-violence aside, he will fight to the death to protect it.

History: Preston was a junior at the University of Chicago majoring in International Relations when everything went to hell. His family comes from California; he briefly considered trying to strike out and make it back to them.

Then he looked around him, at what was happening to everyone else he knew, and decided he'd rather not know.

Preston had a pack, for a while; it was mostly made up of other university students who'd survived. (There weren't very many of them.) Most of them ended up heading off in groups of three or four to try to find family members. Preston stayed behind. There was still some canned food in the university dining hall, and it's kind of hard to haul a bass across the country.

He's been getting pretty lonely, though. And while he knows, in theory, that the instinct for a pack is something that goes along with the genetic mutations, and he shouldn't pay it much mind - well, he was more grateful for the offer to play at The Wasteland than he'd like to admit.