PRAIS, APRIL VASHTI

[vashti]

TWENTY. COLLEGE STUDENT. BISEXUAL. SWEET. BLAKE LIVELY.
( APRIL VASHTI PRAIS )

I SEE YOUR EYES, YOU'RE BARELY SOBER.
I HEAR YOUR VOICE, YOU'RE CALLING OUT FROM ME TO YOU.
the character

one letter of admissions from kingsford college from two years ago

Dear April Prais,

Congratulations! It is with great excitement that the department of admissions and financial aid informs you that you have been accepted to the Kingsford College Department of Dance! If you choose to accept this offer of admissions, please send a deposit of $300 to hold your registration and residence hall room. You will receive all of the forms you will need to fill out within two weeks. We eagerly await your decision, and hope that you accept our offer!

Sincerely,
Tara Viti, Head of Admissions, Kingsford College


ten items in her purse
--lighter and pack of cherry flavored cigs
--80gb ipod classic with dead battery and full harddrive
--keychain with keys to her car, dorm room, and house
--one deposit slip from her latest paycheck
--a box of bandaids with a small tube of neosporin
--small bottle of tylenol
--makeup bag
--one roll of blister tape
--one bottle of aveeno lotion
--wallet with driver's license, debit card, old concert/movie tickets and a few credit cards


10 most recently played songs on her ipod
--"love is the peace" by serart
--"deserving?" by serj tankian
--"whatever it takes" by tom morello
--"most of the time" by bob dylan
--"come together" by the beatles
--"start wearing purple" by gogol bordello
--"paper planes" by street sweeper social club
--"all along the watchtower" by bob dylan
--"like a rolling stone" by bob dylan
--"helter skelter" by the beatles

five ways to annoy her:
--be a frat boy.
--make fun of her major.
--call her by her first name.
--be homophobic or sexist.
--like bad music.

five ways to get on vashti's good side:
--call her by her middle name.
--know what her middle name means in Persian.
--talk about good music with her.
--compliment her good rand de jombe form.
--buy her candy.

on vashti:
her roommate: "Vashti's alright, I guess. Clean, quiet, isn't rude or in the way. I don't see her much because her classes take up most of her time, but that's not really bad, since we both like our space."

her best friend from home: "VASSSHHHYYYY. She's my dancing bean, and I miss her. She's such a sweetheart. She could have gone to Julliard, but she decided to be dumb and go to some college in California. New York misses her face."

her most recent ex: "Vashti's a cool girl, I guess. A little too into her education and not enough into me, though. That's why we broke up. She was willing to leave New York for her education, but unwilling to come back for me."

places she has lived other than kingsford
--new york city: raised there, lived there for most of her life.
--chicago: born there, moved away at a young age.
--london: studied abroad for a semester during her sophomore year.

if she had a time machine:
--woodstock, obvious reasons.
--san fransisco/berkeley, during the late 60s.
--victorian london, for the culture

five new years resolutions:
--quit smoking
--stop dancing with injuries
--eat more fruit
--get over fear of tattoos
--take a math class without failing

favorite activities
--srs dancing: ballet and modern/contemporary
--joke!dancing: swaying to hippie music
--reading
--drawing
--writing in her journal
--blowing bubbles
--getting stoned and watching lava lamps
--beading/making jewelry
--knitting
--playing guitar badly

little known facts
--vashti had dreads when she was in high school and misses them. a lot.
--her mom was at the kent state riots.
--her parents met at woodstock.
--at her graduation party, she had bob dylan karaoke. and her parents got high.
--she has trouble doing pirouettes because she broke her ankle when she was 17 and lost a bit of mobility in it.

SO SAY THAT YOU JUST WANT TO RUN AWAY.
AND REPLAY ALL THE THINGS THAT I TRIED TO SAY.
behind the character

hhey bitches, it's victoria and i've been pimpin' these hoes for about 7 years. i know right, it's great isn't it? need to get a hold of me? hit me up by PM, AIM, MSN. i'm also in the eastern time zone just so you know. don't need to be telling you people twice. also meet the rest of my lovely babies, none yet c:!

Hungover. Tired and overheated and hungover were the words to best describe David’s physiological state at the moment, which was rather unfortunate, as he was (as always) out at the concert, doing his (two) job(s), which was, of course, getting pictures of musicians and related people in compromising positions (sometimes literally), and then selling some of them their favorite illicit, harmful substances. It worked out well. What was not, however, working out for the photographer, was his annoyance with other people at that moment. At that point, Marley wanted nothing more than a warm bed with a warm (preferably fairly attractive) body in it, next to him. That wasn’t really too much to ask, was it? David ran a hand through his hair idly as he strolled the concert venue grounds, weaving in and out of large groups of people with an odd amount of grace.

Although Marley clearly toted a camera, hanging on its strap around his neck, and a gear bag slung over his shoulder, nobody ever really gave him much trouble…well, nobody in the audience ever gave him trouble, that is. Which was definitely good, but it did baffle him, especially since (in his opinion) he really did not look like the average stereotypical musician or tour crew type. Maybe he just sort of…blended in, he reasoned with himself, which to be honest was fine with him. Given his profession, the more he blended in with the crowds, the better it was for him. The less trouble, the better, was the general rule of thumb he abided by when getting pictures for the blog. As he mused on the topic silently, still strolling through the massive, heaving crowds with some decent amount of speed, occasionally pausing to lift up his camera to get a particularly…interesting shot of the occasional stray musician, crew or staff member in a compromising or amusing situation, or even a shot of an audience member doing something ridiculous. Nobody ever gave him trouble for snapping all the photos in the crowd before the show, but even if they did, he had his media badge hidden away, tucked in his back pocket. David never understood the people who kept their media badges clearly visible at all times, given the number of people—both in the tour, and audience participants—who were staunchly anti-media. It just made no sense to draw that attention to yourself if it wasn’t necessary, he thought.

With that thought lingering in his mind for a moment, he decided that it was far too warm at the moment. Marley was, to be blunt, very overheated and sweaty, two conditions which he just could never tolerate. The heat of the weather, plus the body heat from the lurching crowd was enough to make the normally-cantankerous David downright mean. Mumbling under his breath, complaining about the heat, he decided to head over to one of the vendor tents, to buy some water, or some Gatorade, or anything like that. It would do the photographer no good to pass out in the middle of a crowd because of heat stroke or dehydration or anything like that. Really, all David really wanted was to get through today’s shows, get some great shots, and then go to a bar or a club where he could either sell some shit or get laid…or, preferably, both. Maybe even at the same time, he mused, with his usual arrogant smirk gracing his features.

As David made his way to one of the refreshment tents, he asked for and paid for four fruit punch Gatorades, tucking away two of them in his gear bag before more or less chugging the other two. ”Ugh…still thirsty. Damn,” he muttered unhappily as he tossed the empty bottles into a nearby trashcan. He knew he should save the other two drinks for later, when he would invariably be dying of thirst, but it didn’t annoy him any less. As he started aimlessly wandering the grounds, he paused next to a random tent—an autograph tent, apparently—to snap a few photos here and there, figuring that it would be best not to over-exert himself. He was happy as a clam…or, as clam-like-happy as Marley could possibly be…until a random woman knocked into him, grabbing his arm as she almost-fell. It was all too comical, David thought, with an eyebrow quirked and a devilish grin on his face. ”Nah, don’t apologize…although, next time, I suggest groping me a bit lower,” he replied to the woman’s apologies, ever the sexist lecher. His eyebrow raised even higher when she mentioned her camera. Another photographer, huh? And a fairly attractive one, at that, he silently remarked to himself, automatically looking her up and down, as if assessing her figure (as was his way). As she spoke, Marley simply shrugged, giving her a cocky smile. ”No, not new…just…not very popular,” he stated, holding back a chuckle. ”Yeah, I’m a photographer, but not the kind everybody likes,” he said with a smirk. ”Am I right in assuming you’re also a woman of the trade?”