Tristan Bennett::. You are not immortal

[tristanzale]

001. NAME• Tristan Zale Bennett
002. NICKNAME• Whatever you want to call me, sweets.
003. AGE• 32
004. BIRTHDATE• March 18, 1978
005. WHERE YOU LIVE?• New York City, USA

001. YOUR FACE• David Beckham
002. HAIR• What hair? It's always buzz cut down with a nice, fuzzy finish.
003. EYES• These baby blues may be small, but the women still adore them.
004. HIEGHT• 6 feet even.
005. WEIGHT• A very solid 163 lbs.
006. BODY MODS• Full sleeves
007. FASHION/STYLE• Even at a meeting for work, he displays his relaxed style with some dress shirt that's usually unbuttoned near the top, a suit jacket that's never buttoned at all, and some nice, loose slacks. There's never a tie or anything underneath those pants that would further constrict him, and this is the one of the only times anyone would catch Tristan wearing something "proper".

For the most part, he likes to keep things simple, fresh, and au natural. He won't walk around the city naked, but he'll be as close to it as he can get away with. Usually a t-shirt or tank with some shorts/jeans will do him just fine, shoes being something easy to slip on and off. Boxers or briefs, you won't catch him in any at all. His best friend is all about tight spaces, but not until he's ready to play.

001. LIKES•

• Whiskey and Beer
  
• Women
  
• Sex
  
• Rock 'n Roll
  
• Drawing
  
• Killing Vampires
  
• Children

002. DISLIKES•

• Vampires
  
• Drunk women
  
• Tofu
  
• Husbands
  
• Wine
  
• U2
  
• Jailbate

003. FEARS•

• Getting a woman pregnant without his consent
  
• Being fooled into sleeping with a minor
  
• Lesbians
  
• Daddy coming home with a shotgun
  
• Trannies

004. STRENGTHS•

• Loyal
  
• Marine trained and certified
  
• Cooks a DELICIOUS steak
  
• Great sense of humor
  
• Not selfish in bed. The women always cum first.

005. WEAKNESSES•

• Long Legs
  
• Ham
  
• Whiskey
  
• His dead wife/kid
  
• Never admitting defeat

006. ODDITIES•

• nudist (isnt ashamed of his body at all)
  
• his obsession with killing vamps
  
• hates half of the women he sleeps with.
  
• completely grossed out by artichokes

007. ORIENTATION• Definitely straight.
008. SPECIFIC MORALS•

• N/A

009. PERSONALITY OVERVIEW•
He has certainly changed a lot over the only 32 years he's been running around this place, but overall, Tristan wouldn't describe himself as being too much different from the mannerly and dutiful child he was before. He'll never forget his pleases and thank yous, and no matter how young or old of a woman you are, he'll always hold the door open and let you in first. Still, don't confuse him for being some knight in shining armor. Why bother fighting off dragons in some far away land just to save some lazy princess that can only be awoken by a kiss? There are plenty of other women who are awake in this world. Tristan will be there when you need him, but if there's no food or hot women to keep his attention, he's not too keen on sticking around much longer.

His basic morals have stayed the same as they were when he was human. The whole marriage before sex thing is nonsense, but he'll never curse or raise his voice in front of a lady, and they all deserve his gracious respect. This usually gets them to his favorite place anyways, the bedroom. Boys will be boys, after all. He won't bother waiting for love to come around before he slips between the sheets with another. A man has his needs, and women have their little itches that he never minds scratching for them. He is a gentleman, of course.

Apart from whiskey, ham, and women, children are the next best things around. Although the chances of him settling down to have one of his own is unlikely, he's the best uncle that's out there. Tristan's the one that loves wrestling and teaching the kids how to throw a mean punch, and birthday presents are nothing short of knives, lighters, and the first beer that they'll have on their 15th birthday. He's the uncle and friend that'll help coach them through life's troubling times, and when no other door feels safe or welcoming, his is always open to those whom he loves and cherishes.

When he's not sleeping around with women or coaching a sport with the neighborhood kiddies, you could possibly find him drawing some random scene of the city, but more likely than not he's hunting down the worst creatures of them all. Vampires will never see a playful, loving wolf when they look at Tristan Bennett. He'll admit to his racism proudly and was never really one for "equality for all", especially when it came to leeches. In his eyes, they died a long time ago, and now they're just walking corpses that refused to lay still. No matter though, he's not afraid to give out the first hit and prove just how immortal they really aren't.

001. PARENT ONE• Milena Rani Bennet, Nurse (deceased)
002. PARENT TWO• Nyklus John Bennett, Police officer (deceased)
003. SIBLINGS• Ainslie Day Benett (36)
004. PETS• None
005. HISTORY OVERVIEW•

The only regret Tristan has of his childhood is never really meeting his father. There are still some vague memories of the man who had the pleasure of raising his son for the first three years of his life, but besides those mostly forgotten moments and a few home videos, Tristan never really knew the man as someone realistic. Nyklus Bennett was more like a legendary hero, someone he never got tired of hearing all sorts of stories about. From his mother came stories of romance and passion, and from the other officers came tales of courage and strength. Not a sour word was every said about Nyklus, and to this day his son still aspires to be half the man that his father was.

Since his death, the more memerable moments of his childhood always revolved around women. In a family where he was the only man of the house, there were never any uncles to rough house with, and all of his grandfathers passed away before he even knew how th say their names. There were so many women though, each of them strong and endlessly working hard to get by each and every day. The men down at the police station were always there to teach him how to throw a punch and catch a ball, but nearly every other part of who Tristan became was all thanks the most beautiful women in his life, his mother and sister.

He grew up not only respecting and adoring, but worshipping women over time. It's always been about the women, ever since he could remember. They were the most precious things in the world, and deserved nothing but kindness and love. Always with calm and nourishing tones, his mother would teach him the most important things in life like propper manners and valuable morals. He'd be lying if he said that listened to everything she told him, but what child does fully obey their parents? Despite some of things that he became accustomed to during his later years, like showing his appreciation for all women in his bedroom every night and such, his mother never once scorned or showed and disappointment in her son. He had all of her love and support in everything he did.

And the day she died was one of the most saddest days of his life. Tristan himself was in another country fighting another war at the time of her death, and that was the part that hurt him the worst. The news of the car accident came so suddenly; some fucker thought that a stop sign was only a suggestion. For the very first time, anger and hurt were so strong within him, almost to a point where he couldn't control it. He couldn't go home though, not until his final duties were fully carried out during his last deployment. So, he'd fight through the pain and take his anger out on the enemy troops instead.

It was during a mission that Tristan was bitten. The alarms sounded as they picked up someone breaking into the back of the camp. Tristan along with with his parter, Tyler, were the ones who would check out the scene while the others stood around and waited for their orders. He regretted sending Tyler to check it out first, only to hear screams of pain and witness his dead, mutilated body by the time he caught up with his partner. There was nothing there at first, and for a moment he just stood there alerted and partially confused. And then he saw it, eyes as yellow as the full moon that night, hidden among the dark bushes. The next few moments were all somewhat of a blur. The beast jumped from his spot, his fangs dripping the blood of his former partner. Tristan fired off his gun, but it was too late by then. Those teeth were already sunk into his arm, and within a few more minutes there were nothing but shouts right before darkness completely took him over.

His commander insisted that he went home, and although he argued he was on the next plane within the hour. Seeing his sister and his wife, both still bruised up but alive, was such a comfort yet so painful the death of his mother became so real, but it wouldn't be long before Tristan found a few more things to keep his mind on. Things were great for the next couple of weeks until the next full moon came out again. It hit him so suddenly as he was walking home from the store. Within a matter of seconds his bitten arm was throbbing in pain and his bones began cracking, twisting, and transforming. Not knowing what else to do, he stumbled into a backyard and tried to keep his screaming down to a minimum, although he couldn't tell you if that worked or not. The next thing he remembered was the color in his vision completely gone, and mumbled shouts just before a loud shot woke him up enough to race the fuck out of there.

He took the whole becoming a werewolf thing pretty well actually. At first he was rather confused and pissed, thinking that he could never change back, but it wasn't like werewolves were something he had never heard of before, just something he never though existed. Being in the military prepared him to take strange things in life, though, and within another few weeks life was back to almost normal again. In fact, he never felt better as his new body grew stronger and faster. It was such a shame that he decided to retire from the military for his unborn son; they could've really done some damage with a beast like him on their team.

Yo', my name is Eve-AH!, and I've been the walking dead for TOO MANY years, and I've been grave robbing for THIS MANY! years, I dug up lovely Crimson Kiss by means of UNDER MY BED and adore it.

001. ANYTHING ELSE?• Yeah, Where do you keep those flame throwers at?
002. ROLE PLAY SAMPLE•

This is from Clayton's app. I just like it.

Heavy, huge paws slammed themselves against the ground, leaving deep imprints in the slimy, wet mud. His breaths were short and hollow, muscles tensed and slightly aching as he continued to run through the forest. His mouth lazily dropped, and a long, pink tongue rolled out on top of his bottom fangs. Instantly, saliva began to seep out through his taste-buds as he took a deep breath in through his nose. The buck was getting tired and, slowly, his pace was becoming slower and slower. That was enough motivation to give him a second wind as he pushed his aching muscles to run faster. Soon, and not soon enough, a huge dinner would be served to him, all nice, bloody, and raw.

Furry, pointed ears perked up to listen to the buck's heart beat too deliciously fast. His breaths were much shorter than the wolf's, and his hooves began to fall lighter against the ground. A burst of adrenaline shot through Clayton's mutt veins. Chasing after something with the mystery of if he'll actually be able to catch it was a great part of the hunt, but it was this moment, while Clayton's speed picked up slightly and his mouth opened wider, lips stretching upward to bare his fangs. It was at this moment, when he still hadn't caught the beast, but was undoubtedly sure that he would, where the rush of energy reached it's peak. This was the best part of the hunt, right before that final lunge was taken to surely kill his prey, when his paws pounded only inches away from the buck as he ran along beside him.

He had to hold off on taking that lunge a few times. As a final attempt of survival and defense, the buck's head swooped down, scratching Clayton's shoulder with his huge, sharp antlers. He was able to regain a few inches from Clayton, but the wolf was far more headstrong and determined than that. Soon, the buck became too exhausted to fight back anymore, and when his hoof stumbled over a big rock, that's when he struck. Clayton lunged, and squirts of blood splattered across his face as his fangs sank into the bucks neck, piercing through a vein. Despite the buck's knowledge of it's inevitable death, he still tried to break free of the predator's hold as he hit the ground with the wolf pinning him on top. Kicking, he caused Clayton to slide the few times his hooves made a connection to his stomach and ribs, but even though his grip on the buck loosened a few times, there was no way he was going to let go.

Growls released themselves through his full mouth, telling the buck that it was useless to fight back as his claws dug into the buck's body for support. Of course, the buck didn't have an advanced enough mind to know when to give up. As more blood drained from his neck, his kicks became lighter. A glossy tint covered the animal's eyes as he finally succumbed to death, releasing a last, wheezing breath before his head plopped to the side.

Mmm, there's nothing like a good raw buck to eat right after an intense work out. Huge pieces of furred skin were ripped apart until finally he was able to swallow chunks of sweet, delicious deer muscle. About twenty minutes and barely half a buck later, Clayton's stomach was so full that he had to give up on his little bet about eating an entire buck by himself. So, he hopped up and walked lazily away from his unfinished dinner, leaving it for some scavenger pups, not werepups, that were all too eager to race over toward the dead buffet as soon as they saw the dark brown fur-ball leave.

"Look, sir, you're lucky I wasn't there to see it happen." The officer pulled down his sunglasses, and attempted to look intimidating by uncovering those oh-so-scary green eyes that were now staring directly at Clayton. He was almost tempted to just roll up the window and stomp on the gas, but that would only lead to bigger problems. So, he just sat and listened to the old cop's lecture, looking straight ahead instead of respecting the officer with at least a glance in his direction. "It might be okay for you to do that shit down in Tenne-..."

"Louisiana."

The officer gripped onto his glasses tighter and narrowed his eyes. Clayton didn't care. He was getting a ticket either way, so at this point, what he said didn't really matter.

"Well, here in New York, we don't tolerate bar fights." He shoved his glasses back on, hard, and then ripped off the ticket. Clayton looked down at both of his hands and decided to hold out the one with the most blood on his fingers. He couldn't hold back a smirk as the officer carefully placed the ticket in his hand, and before he could say anything else, Clayton's foot was already on the gas.

"Five hundred. Ya gotta be kiddin' me." His hand flicked, tossing the ticket receipt to the side. Alright, the cop wasn't lying about him going ninety in a sixty-five, but the failure to yield a stop sign and failure to immediately pull over... First of all, the last stop sign he passed was a good ten miles before the cop showed up, and was that second one even a real charge? So, the music was up intentionally too loud when the cop first put on his siren, but so what? He didn't press the gas too much harder or try to outrun the cop. Clayton simply put the cop on hold for a moment, not wanting to pull over right away.

He couldn't really complain, though. Putting together a ratio of how many times he's actually broken the laws of the road versus how many times he's gotten caught for it, four, the odds were clearly in his favor. Especially nice since the 69' mustang he drives around is always catching the cops' attention. Thank god for heightened senses.