the  poorly  concealed  amusement  in  jonnie’s  expression  prompts  an  almost  defensive  stance  in  silas.  from  a  third  party  point  of  things,  he’d  honestly  see  this  as  a  rather  silly  thing  to  be  guarded  about,  but  still  silas  can’t  help  but  bristle.  the  ultimatum  prompts  a  small  huff  of  a  laugh,  though  —  if  only  because  he  knows  that,  in  a  stand-off  between  him  and  treasure,  he’d  cave  a  million  times  faster.  admitting  he  has  no  backbone  around  his  cat  seems  unwise,  though,  so  he  simply  shakes  his  head.   “likely  wouldn’t  work.  she’s  a  stubborn  little  thing,”   is  what  he  says,  though  his  voice  is  heavy  with  undisguised  fondness.

          the  path  of  the  conversation  quickly  veers  once  jonnie’s  taken  hold  of  it,  though,  and  a  sharply  arched  brow  is  the  older  man’s  immediate  response.  he  plans  to  answer  —  i  have;  bit  too  sweet  for  my  liking,  though  —  but  jonnie’s  already  trucking  on,  and  silas  decides  that,  perhaps,  he  isn’t  meant  to.  he  waits  until  the  other  has  run  out  of  breath,  then  lets  out  a  hum,  more  out  of  acknowledgement  that  something  was  said,  rather  than  understanding.   “sounds...”   what’s  the  polite  word,  here?   “...bothersome.  have  you  gotten  them?”

it  takes  everything  in  him  not  to  laugh  at  silas'  mirrored  greeting  ,  for  some  reason  jonnie  finds  it  hilarious  ,  but  then  again  he  finds  most  things  funny  when  they're  not  at  all  .  however  he's  sure  or  maybe  like  50%  positive  that  silas  can  tell  he's  amused  by  the  slight  crinkle  of  his  eyes  and  the  snort  that  comes  out  of  his  mouth  as  he  bites  at  his  lip  to  keep  the  sound  at  bay  ,  “  if  that's  the  case  maybe  you  should  give  her  an  ultimatum  — like  you're  gonna  eat  this  and  be  fine  with  it  or  else  you  get  nothing  or  something  like  that  .  is  that  too  cruel  ?  i've  never  been  a  parent  ,  ”  maybe  the  cruel  part  was  whenever  he  was  at  home  that's  what  his  father  would  do  to  him  so  it  was  just  ingrained  in  him  .  with  a  shake  of  his  head  to  push  that  thought  away  ,  he  let  a  smile  take  over  his  features  ,  “  oh  man  ,  i'm  so  glad  you  asked  !  you  ever  had  a  chocolate  chip  poptart  ?  they're fucking god like seriously and i  start  every  single  day  with  one  and  when  i  woke  up  this  morning  ready  to  smash  that  chocolatey  fucking  goodness  ,  i  was  out  !  can  you  believe  that  ?  so  i  had  to  drag  my  fucking  ass  out  of  bed  at  ass  o’clock  just  for  some  fucking  poptarts  .  ”

          is  there  anything  he  wants  to  get  off  his  chest?  despite  bastien’s  frustrations  with  his  progress,  he  doesn’t  have  much  in  the  way  of  words  for  any  of  them  —  so  he  shrugs,  brows  furrowed  in  thought  before  he  admits,   “nah,  i  just  feel  restless,  i  guess.  stilted.  or  stalled.  like  i  need  to  burn  something.”   a  pause,  then  a  scrunch  of  his  nose.  “…uh.  i  meant  that  as  in  like,  energy.  not  arson.”

          baz  gives  jonnie  a  look  of  consideration  as  he  speaks,  pursed  lips  slowly  morphing  into  a  toothy grin  as  he  offers,  “i’ll  have  you  back  before  midnight?”  he  says  it  like  he’s  promising  a  parent  to  be  home  before  bedtime,  with  the  same  playful  glint  in his eyes of  a  teenager  sneaking  out.  jonnie’s  cheeky  admission  of  affection  has  him  sucking  his  head  with  a  laugh,  but  there’s  excitement  in  there  too,  now  that  the  other  is  officially  on  board.  “awesome.  first  point  of  order—”   he  tuts,  then  spins  a  turn  or  two  on  the  spot  and  points  in  a  non-specific  direction.  “—a  change  of  scenery.”

the  smile  he  has  on  his  face  turns  downward  at  bastien's  response  ,  squeezing  him  a  little  tighter  ,  “  anything  you  wanna  get  off  your  chest  ?  ”  really  he  wanted  to  hear  a  ‘  it's  definitely  going  better  ’  or  a  ‘  it's  going  great  ’  ,  really  anything  that  was  the  opposite  of  it  how  it  was  going  for  himself  because  jonnie  was  sure  that  with  the  other's  accomplishments  maybe  he  could  do  that  on  his  own  .  however  he  should  know  that's  not  how  it  was  going  to  go  based  on  bastien's  body  language  alone  .  

“  easier  said  than  done  ,  ”  jonnie  shook  his  head  ,  releasing  a  warm  breath  into  the  cold  air  as  he  sighed  heavily  ,  wishing  that  some  of  bastien's  wistful  energy  would  rub  off  on  him  in  the  moment  ,  “  someone  will  surely  have  my  fucking  head  if  i  don't  finish  this  shit  ,  but  man  maybe  that's  the  price  i'll  have  to  pay  if  it  means  i  keep  some  of  my  sanity  ,  ”  head  turning  towards  the  other  ,  a  smile  slightly  curving  up  the  corners  of  his  lips  ,  “  and  not  to  mention  getting  to  be  with  you  .  ”  one  of  his  favorite  people  in  the  world  surely  ,  “  plus  ,  i  love  fun  —  so  bastien  ,  whisk  me  away  ,  i’m  along  for  the  ride  !  ”

among  the  artists  he  works  with,  silas  often  tries  to  maintain  some  form  of  professionalism  —  though  often,  it’s  more  for  his  comfort  than  theirs.  perhaps  it’s  from  all  the  emphasis  on  decorum  from  his  concert  days,  but  being  poised  and  put-together  are  key  parts  of  his  image,  helping  him  compartmentalise  between  work  and  home.  over  a  decade  at  revolution  hasn’t  quite  changed  that,  save  for  a  select  few,  and  so  his  first  instincts  are  to  fall  back  to  his  usual  work  demeanour,  sartorial  discrepancy  be  damned.  

picky  cat?   “among  the  pickiest,  i  suspect,”   he  returns  with  a  slanted  smile.  then,  in  a  tone  that’s  just  one  note  too  amused  to  be  deadpan,  “good  morning,  by  the  way.”  he’s  worked  with  yulia  a  fair  bit  over  the  years,  and  thus  far  he’s  known  her  to  be  more…  gregarious  than  he’s  used  to,  friendly  in  a  way  that  feels  genuine  rather  than  just  polite.  regardless,  being  weird  isn’t  the  term  he’d  go  for,  and  he  manages  a  huff  of  a  laugh  before  arching  a  brow.  toothless?  “…i’m  guessing  the  name  is  not  descriptive.”

yulia was finishing up her morning jog when she spotted him , looking as tired as she felt and far from the usually put together silas she'd grown used to . she half smiles , mentally cursing the fact that she'd finished earlier than she'd planned . they might've missed each other had things gone as planned but now things would likely be awkward , especially considering he was where she needed to be .

jogging across the street , yulia grabs the door handle and pulls it open . it crosses her mind to leave him be and go on about her business but the thought of being rude gives her pause . she glances in his direction , eyes landing on the array of cat food seconds later . " picky cat ? " she asks , mentally facepalming at the stupid question . " i swear i'm not being weird , i do actually have a reason to be here . toothless is out of treats and he's miserable without them . "

to  say  that  clarissa  has  been  part  of  his  life  since  day  one  at  revolution  records  is  in  no  way  an  overstatement;  she  was  probably  one  of  the  first  few  faces  he’d  met  and  almost  certainly  the  first  friend  he  made.  though  they’ve  had  a  few…  detours  (and  silas  makes  a  point  of  not  letting  himself  linger  on  the  thought),  her  company  would  always  be  something  he  cherished  —  and  so,  while  there  was  still  a  lingering  wince  of  embarrassment  from  being  caught  so  dishevelled,  it’s  quickly  overtaken  by  a  soft  smile  and  quiet  amusement.

“mm.  the  two  of  you  do  seem  to  have  an  awful  lot  in  common,”  he  says,  like  an  offhand  thought,  as  though  he  hadn’t  been  reminded  of  clarissa  the  instant  he  met  the  scrappy  rescue  he  would  later  adopt.  at  her  explanation,  he  gives  a  contemplative  hum,  an  unspoken  question  sitting  beneath  the  wordless  sound.  couldn’t  sleep?  he  almost  pries,  but  her  follow-up  is  enough  to  give  him  the  answer  he  needs.  ah,  of  course.  “i  have.”   his  words  are  slow,  his  eyes  sympathetic.  “i  can’t  imagine  the  weight  of  having  to  make  that  choice.  guessing  it’s  got  a  hand  in  the  lack  of  sleep?”

silas had always been someone who clarissa appreciated, not just musically but personally. she liked him but wasn't sure if that was just a feeling she had because she felt lost and in shock over her career. he was a familiar face that she felt comfortable being around and she had to take that into account; the last thing she wanted was to misinterpret or put feelings onto someone that weren't there. air was pushed out of her nose with silent laughter as he mimicked her greeting. "oh, she is, is she? makes two of us." after several days of feeling miserable, clarissa couldn't help but smile. "oh, i couldn't really sleep so i thought maybe venturing out to get a coffee might actually tire me out. it's got no logic on paper but i'm bound to experience some sort of caffeine crash?" the woman shrugged. she looked paler than usual and dark bags weighed down her eyes. "im-um, guessing you heard about my non-existent tour, now?" she had to say something.

silas  wouldn’t  call himself  a  slow-witted  person,  really, but  being  caught  off-guard  tends  to  do  unhelpful  things  to  one’s  reaction  time.  his  brows  furrow  and  crease  at  the  centre  of  his  forehead  as  he  blinks  at  jonnie’s  cheerful  arrival.   “mr.  yoon,”  he  mirrors  in  return,  though  while  the  words  are  identical,  his  tone  certainly  isn’t.  there’s  an  almost  guarded  sort  of  exasperation  to  the  set  of  his  shoulders,  and  he  sighs  —  because  of  course  this  is  his  morning,  now.

at  the  younger  man’s  prodding,  he  looks  down  at  the  two  cans  in  his  hand,  then  back  up  at  jonnie.  his  expression  tries  for  composed  and  unamused,  though  indignant  might  be  closer  to  what  he  ends  up  getting.  “she  barely  knows  what  she  likes,”  he  mutters with a huff,  then  decides  to  just  grab  both  kinds  to  put  an  end  to  his  deliberation,  stacking  them  in  his  hands  while  he  watches  jonnie  from  the  corner  of  his  eye.   “what  are  you  doing  here at,  as  you  so  gracefully  put  it,  ass  o’clock  in  the  morning?”

there  was  really  no  way  in  hell  jonnie  was  starting  off  his  morning  without  one  ,  a  cup  of  coffee  ,  and  two  ,  a  chocolate  chip  poptart  .  but  the  kicker  fucking  was  that  when  he  went  into  his  kitchen  after  pulling  himself  lazily  out  of  bed  ,  arm  instinctively  reaching  for  the  box  he  left  on  his  counter  from  the  morning  before  ,  there  wasn't  a  poptart  in  his  hand  by  the  time  he  pulled  it  out  of  the  box  .  with  a  raised  brow  ,  jonnie  brought  the  box  up  to  his  face  searching  for  one  as  if  it  was  a  magician's  hat  and  he  could  just  reach  his  hand  in  and  pull  one  out  of  thin  fucking  air  .  when  he  realized  that  in  fact  it  was  true  that  there  were  none  left  ,  he  groaned  .  “  time  to  take  a  little  trip  i  guess  ,  ”  he  grumbles  to  himself  as  he  shoves  his  feet  into  the  first  pair  of  slippers  he  can  find  ,  not  even  bothering  to  put  on  any  other  clothes  besides  his  robe  .  it  was  new  york  for  fucks  sake  ,  there  was  weirder  shit  than  a  guy  going  to  the  store  in  his  robe  and  some  slippers  .

sure  ,  by  the  time  he  got  to  the  block  the  store  was  located  on  he  got  some  weird  looks  ,  but  that  did  not  deter  jonnie  from  booking  it  down  the  sidewalk  and  going  to  grab  at  the  handle  before  noticing  an  employee  from  revolution  looking  at  him  .  waving  back  ,  he  finally  pulled  the  door  open  and  walked  up  to  them  ,  “  mr.  yoon  ,  ”  he  greets  ,  smile  and  all  ,  “  fancy  seeing  you  here  at  —  ”  jonnie  looks  down  at  his  wrist  at  the  nonexistent  watch  that  sits  upon  it  ,  “  ass  o’clock  in  the  morning  .  ”  he  peers  to  the  side  to  see  the  shelves  upon  shelves  of  cat  food  ,  “  got  a  guilty  pleasure  food  here  or  — ?  you  seem  to  be  hovering  and  most  pet  parents  know  what  they  like  .  ”

i  feel  like  one  of  the  songs  in  the  album  we’re  currently  working  on  doesn’t  sound  right,  erika  starts,  and  silas  straightens  where  he  sits,  expecting  an  enquiry  about  production  styles  or  a  dissonance  in  her expectations  between  recording  to  release,  but  then  she  finishes  and  he  stills,  brow  arching  slightly  as  he  sees  the  particular  shade  of  her  concerns. wordlessly,  he  scoops  up  his  scattered  notes  and  loose  sheets  of  music,  freeing  up  room  on  the  couch  as  he  gestures  with  a  hand  for  her  to  sit.  ...a  hack?  with  a  sigh,  he  deadpans,  “no,  not  really.”

he  glances  around  the  room  they’re  in;  thinks  about  the  little  corner  of  revolution  records  they’ve  made  into  their  own  spaces,  both  literally  and  metaphorically. “a  hobby  simply  means  you  were  passionate  about  it  even  before  it  became  a  way  to  make  a  living.”   though  his  tone  sounds  almost  dismissive,  his  eyes  are  earnest  and  attentive.  “and  the  nerves  show  how  much  you  care  about  making  music  that  you  and  your  audience  can  be  happy  with.  i  don’t  know  if  i’d  ever  say  that  needs  fixing.”

         as  much  as  she  likes  to  avoid  admitting  fault  ,  this  may  be  the  one  time  one  random  high  school  music  teacher’s  words  haunt  her  down  to  the  core  .  of  course  ,  self  has  been  told  before  that  honey  like  timbre  doesn’t  fit  the  likes  of  punk  music  .  though  in  own  syllogism  ,  said  contrast  ,  among  other  things  ,  is  what  makes  their  releases  unique  and  yet  ,  there  she  stands  ,  having  hit  a  roadblock  .

         faintly  arched  figure  approaches  at  sound  of  approval  ,  hopefully  taking  a  few  steps  closer  to  solving  issue  at  hand  .  ‘  i  feel  like  one  of  the  songs  in  the  album  we’re  currently  working  on  doesn’t  sound  right  and  i  think  it  might  be  my  fault  .  ’  insecurity  rarely  makes  appearance  that  evident  ,  let  alone  right  in  the  open  for  spectators  to  feast  on  .  ‘  we  haven’t  been  doing  this  for  too  long  ,  it  used  to  be  just  a  hobby  ,  but  the  added  pressure  of  wanting  to  deliver  something  good  for  an  audience  that  is  actually  going  to  listen  is  getting  to  me  .  is  there  like  a  trick  of  the  trade  sort  of  hack  to  fix  this  ?  ’

          there  is  an  instant,  almost  instinctive  feeling  of  comfort  at  jonnie’s  arm  over  his  shoulder,  the  squeeze  of  the  other’s  hand  bringing  with  it  a  familiar  warmth.  despite  the  smile  that  jonnie  wears,  the  toll  of  the  day  sits  heavy  in  his  voice,  and  bastien’s  expression  is  a  show  of  both  sympathy  and  endearment.  “well  enough,”  he  says  in  answer,  and  while  it’s  objectively  the  truth,  he  wishes  it’d  go  a  bit  better  than  just  enough.

          i  just  feel  like  i  won’t  accomplish  anything  if  i  go  back  in  there.   “then  don’t,”  baz  says,  with  a  deceptively  carefree  cheeriness,  though  the  cadence  of  his  voice  suggests  both  a  plea  and  a  challenge  beneath  —  a  quiet,  tender  i  don’t  want  you  to  burn  yourself  out  intertwined  within  the  mischievous  tone  one  might  employ  when  urging  a  friend  to  skip  class  with  you.   “i’m  sure  there’s  a  lot  more  fun  we  could  have  outside,  anyway.”   we,  he  says,  so  naturally  that  one could almost miss the fact that  he simply slotted  himself  into  jonnie’s  evening  without  asking.

despite  his  mood  ,  the  second  he  sees  bastien  ,  a  small  smile  spreads  his  lips  apart  ,  his  body  instantly  relaxing  at  the  mere  presence  of  the  other  .  it  didn't  take  away  the  splitting  headache  he  had  ,  but  he  was  sure  bastien  would  understand  ,  he  always  did  one  way  or  another  .  like  the  smallest  twitch  on  his  face  or  the  slightest  change  his  in  tone  would  alert  bastien  to  whatever  he  was  feeling  .  in  this  moment  ,  he  needed  a  good  distraction  from  the  ever  pressing  frustration  that  was  bubbling  up  to  the  surface  and  the  complete  exhaustion  beginning  to  weigh  his  bones  down  .  maybe  he  needed  a  little  comfort  too  ,  something  he  could  sense  the  other  needed  as  well  .  

sliding  closer  to  bastien  ,  jonnie  pulls  him  close  ,  an  arm  slung  around  his  shoulder  leaving  a  light  squeeze  on  his  bicep , a gesture to say he's glad to see him  ,  “  could  say  i’m  up  to  the  usual  too  ,  but  i  can’t  say  it’s  going  well  ,  hopefully  it’s  the  opposite  for  you  ?  ”  sighing  ,  jonnie  takes  another  quick  drag  of  his  joint  before  blowing  the  smoke  into  the  frigid  night  air  ,  hoping  the  high  will  kick  in  soon  and  he  can  quit  feeling  so  fucking  tense  ,  “  i’m  just  irked  out  man  .  like  you  ever  get  that  tune  in  your  head  ,  but  you  can’t  translate  it  out  ?  i’m  struggling  ,  but  i  swear  if  i  have  to  sit  in  that  damn  seat  one  more  time  tonight  i’m  gonna  lose  my  mind  …  even  if  my  deadline  is  in  like  three  days  i  just  feel  like  i  won’t  accomplish  anything  if  i  go  back  in  there  .  ”

he  supposes  there  are  worse  people  than  clarissa  to  find  him  in  such  an  unkempt  state;  so  when  the  store’s overhead  bell  rings  as  she  pushes  open  the  door  and pops in to  greet  him,  silas  manages  a  genuine  smile  in  return.   “hello,  you,”  he  says  with  a  lilt  in  his  voice,  tone  matching  hers  in  a  way  that’s  half  affectionate,  half  amused.  he  glances  down  at  his  hands,  each  occupied  by  a  different  can  of  food,  and  gives  her  an  almost  bashful  shrug.  “treasure’s  being  fussy  again,”   he  says  by  way  of  explanation.  he  turns  back  to  the  shelves  to  peruse,  but  he  makes  a  point  of  angling  his  body  halfway,  inviting  clarissa  into  his  space  if  she  wanted  to  stick  around.  “what  are  you  doing  up  and  about  this  early?”

cancelling the second leg of her world tour wasn't something that clarissa did lightly and she'd been regretting it ever since. despite her not being the most desirable of artists, she was practically a veteran in the industry that was well-respected enough to be a sell-out but now she was doubting that was going to be the case in the future. most of her dedicated fans were either older than her or had grown up with her and while she greatly appreciated it, she needed to find a way to appeal to the younger generation. however, that wasn't relevant right now. she'd let the people who had bought tickets down but she was too inside of her own head to truly perform. the past two performances she had completely missed out a high note that she could do with ease, she just felt like she couldn't do it.

if she was going to feel sorry for herself, she could do it while getting a walk in. a familiar face was spotted in a shop window and the woman stopped in her tracks to return the smile. now that they'd both seen each other, she wasn't able to turn away. entering the shop, clarissa still displayed the smile on her face. "hello, you."

╰ * featuring @itechoes .

“kodaaa,” comes bastien’s drawn-out wail from a few feet behind, the only warning dakota gets before he walks up and plops his forehead onto the back of her shoulder. “i… am… so hungry.” it’s barely noon, but still he grumbles; with a sudden, sharp breath, he snaps his head up from where he’d essentially headbutted her, almost stumbling back from the force of it. “let’s go grab lunch? i still wanna try that mediterranean place we saw the other day. fingers crossed they’re open this time.”

╰ * open starter ┊ @revolutionstart .

it  should  have  been  a  weekend  like  any  other.  should  have  being the  key,  here  —  but  when  silas  had  awoken  this  morning  to  a  very  demanding  feline  perched  on  his  chest,  noisily  demanding  breakfast  yet  disinterestedly  sniffing  at  what  was  later  placed  in  front  of  her,  he  knew  he  had  to  stop  by  the  pet  supply  store.  it  was  time  to  buy  treasure  that  one  brand,  again;  the  one  she  heavily  favours  for  a  few  days  and  then  won’t  deign  to  touch  anymore until months  down  the  line.

and  so,  dressed  in  a  baggy  sweater  with  hair  tousled  and  the  sleep  only  half-rubbed  out  of  his  eyes,  silas realises shopping  is  to be his  first  point  of  order,  this  morning.

he’s  hovering  near  the  shelves  by  the  storefront  when  something  catches  his  attention:  a  familiar  face  on  the  street  outside,  looking  over  just  in  time  for  his  eyes  to  meet  theirs  across  the  glass.  wordlessly,  he  raises  a  hand,  offering  a  small,  clumsy  wave  and  a  polite  smile  that  errs  on  the  side  of  a  grimace.  silas  has  an  image  he  likes  to  project  at  work,  and  looking  dishevelled  while  fussing  over  whether  to  buy  cans  of  tuna  whitemeat  with  or  without  chicken  for his cat was  a  far  cry  from  it.

╰ * featuring @phnxomnia .

of  late,  bastien’s  been  using  an  awful  lot  of  his  free  time  in  the  practice  rooms  at  revolution  records.  while  today  had  planned  to  be  no  different,  quite  a  number  of  people  had  shown  up  to  the  building  today,  and  hogging  a  room  felt  a  bit...  much,  in  that  crowd.  but  that  was  fine.  there  were  other  places  to  practice,  and  he  could  use  some  air,  anyway.

it’s  why  he  finds  himself  at  riverside  park  late in the afternoon,  perched  on  the  backrest  of  a  bench  facing  the  waterfront,  half-shaded  from  the  setting  sun  by  the  leaves  of  an  overhanging  tree.  one  leg  is  propped  up  on  the  seat  of  the  bench,  balancing  his  bass  on  his  thigh,  the  other  hanging  loose  off  the  edge.  the  idly  plucks  at  the  metal  strings,  made  quiet  when  amp-less  and  amidst  park-goers,  then  checks  his  phone  for  the  dozenth  time  in  the  past  three  minutes.

he’d  only  just  sent  phoenix  the  text  —  or  really,  he’d  sent  nix  his  location  on  google  maps  along with  a  selfie  of  him  smiling  toothily,  bass  in  hand,  the  invitation  left  unsaid  but  heavily  implied  —  and  yet  his  leg  bounces  in  anticipation  nonetheless,  eyes  darting  between  his  phone  and  the  riverfront  for  any  sign  of  his  friend.

it’s  been  a  bit  of  a  long  day  for  bastien,  having  both  come  in  early  and  stayed  on  late  to  get  in  some  extra  practice.  sleepy  city  riot’s  still  a  new  name  at  revolution,  and  he  can’t  quite  shake  the  feeling  that  he  doesn’t  belong  here  —  not  yet,  at  least,  and  he’s  going  to  need  to  put  in  the  work  if  belonging  is  what  he  wants.

the  sun  has  long  set  by  the  time  he  finds  his  way  out  of  the  practice  room,  bass  slung  over  his  shoulder  in  its  familiar  sticker-bombed  case,  jacket  slung  over  one  arm  as  he  trots  out  of  the  building’s  side  entrance.  a  beat  later  and  he’s  unlatched  his  fixie  from  its  stand;  a  beat  after  that  and  he’s  walking  it  out  the  parking  lot  to  the  main  entrance  on  his  way  out,  but  a  familiar  face  half  cast  in  shadow  and  smoke  stops  him  in  his  tracks.

a  smile  comes  to  his  face  unbidden,  and  before  a  moment’s  thought  he  doubles  back  to  push  his  bike  over  there,  instead.  jonnie  looks  over  only  once  bastien  is  right  at  his  side,  and  baz  knows  at  a  glance  that  the  exhaustion  he  feels  is  mirrored  in  the  other.  “oh  you  know,  the  usual,”—otherwise  known  as  the  overwhelming  need  to  prove  that  he’s  good  enough  and  worth  the  trust  put  into  him  by  his  band  and  the  label—“practice.”  and  that.   “you?”

despite  the  godawful  headache  splitting  jonnie’s  brain  apart  at  the  moment  ,  he  was  chill  …  cool  as  a  fucking  cucumber  …  or  as  cool  as  a  cucumber  as  you  could  be  after  not  getting  a  wink  of  sleep  in  over  24  hours  ,  but  really  who  was  counting  ?  surely  not  him  ,  especially  not  after  having  finished  a  horrendous  recording  session  where  he  couldn’t  get  a  single  thing  right  even  after  the  hundreds  of  times  he  tried  .  

he  needed  a  break  ,  stat  …  quicker  than  stat  actually  .  so  with  a  huff  ,  he  drops  the  tattered  up  drumsticks  onto  his  seat  ,  buttons  up  his  shirt  (  he’s  respectable  ,  okay  ?  )  ,  and  shuts  off  the  studio  light  before  trudging  his  way  down  to  the  main  entrance  of  revolution  .  there’s  really  no  destination  he  has  in  mind  as  he  leans  his  back  against  the  wall  to  light  the  joint  he  had  chilling  behind  his  ear  .  with  a  puff  of  smoke  filtering  out  of  his  mouth  jonnie  turns  his  head  lazily  to  the  person  he  finally  noticed  standing  next  to  him  ,  “  what’s  got  you  out  so  late  ?  ”

open — @revolutionstart .

his  approach  and entry into  the  break  room  with an  absent-minded  ‘hey’  is  cut off  by  a  sharp  shh,  and  bastien  freezes;  stills  and  goes  silent  a  few  feet  behind  the  figure  sprawled  in  the  chair.  as  she  continues,  baz  blinks,  listening  intently  to  whatever  poignant  literature  she’s  reading  that  has  halted  him  in  place.  he’s  never  been  much  of  a  reader  —  never  quite  gets  words  to  work  the  way  he  wants  them  to, really  —  and  he’d be  one  of  the  last  people  to  ever  recognise  an  austen  novel  by  ear. by  the  time  rory  has  finished  with  her  passage,  he’s  drifted  over  to  stand  at  the  side  of  her  chair,  head  tilted  over  her  shoulder  at  the  book  as  she  turns  to  look  at  him.  “i  think  you  guys  got  the  better  end  of  the  deal,  then,  because  i’m  told  that  the  only  things  fictional  women  written  by  men  do  is  ‘breast  boobily  down  the  stairs’,  or  something  like  that.”  he  shrugs,  smile  crooked  but  distracted,  because  he  doesn’t  actually  read  enough  to  know  more  about  that  beyond  the  memes.  bastien  shifts  back  on  forth  on  his  feet  for  a  second,  obediently  patient  but  fidgety  in  his  desire  to  be  polite  and  not  interrupt  her.   “...can  i  come  in  now?”

*       ♡     ◞      open starter      ╱        @revolutionstart​ .

chocolate hues were fixated upon the pages of the novel that laid spread across her lap, all while legs dangled over the arm rest of the comfortable chair she occupied within the break room on the fourth floor. the sound of footsteps across wooden floors announced the appearance of company, but her first response was to raise her index finger in their direction   —   finger hovering in mid air in attempt to stall their business.   “ shhh, ”   she even added, the moment she could hear the first tones escaping their lips,   “ you’re interrupting the best part. ”   free hand continued tracing the sentences on the page with the pad of her finger, as eyes shot back and forth across the pages, ending with a deep sigh as she finished the page.   “ you pierce my soul, ”   she began quoting from the pages of the novel persuasion, voice dripping in dreamy tone,   “ i am half agony, half hope. i have loved none but you. ”   the finished quote finally marked the moment rory tilted her head backwards, gazing over upon the figure standing beside her.   “ don’t you agree there’s just something indescribably sexy about fictional men written by women? yes please, write me love letters, devote your entire life to me. i’ll be gentle with your heart. ”   despite the quite obvious hint of exaggerated sarcasm in her tone, none of those words were far from the honest truth.

he  doesn’t  realise  how  late  it’s  gotten.  doesn’t  see  that  the  sun  has  clocked  out  for  the  day  and  the  moon  has  taken  its  shift;  doesn’t  recall  when  the  backup  musicians  and  audio  techs  he  was  working  with  had  called  it  a  night,  too.  silas  sits  at  the  couch  near  the  door,  eyes  focused  downward  as  he  re-listens  to  the  recording  of  the  day’s  practice,  picking  through  bits  and  pieces  he  liked  or  didn’t. he’s  scribbling  on  the  music  sheets  scattered  on  and  around  the  counter  beside him when  someone  else  walks  in,  and  he  scrambles  his  things  out  of  the  way  to  share  some  space.  there’s  a  click  of  his  tongue  as  he  glances  over  at  his  phone  beside his lap;  it  lights  up,  the  numbers  informing  him  of  the  late  hour.  “hadn’t  taken  note  of  the  time,”  he  says  to  wave  off  the  apology,  brow  arching  at her.  “i’ve  got  plenty  of  it to offer,  though.  what  do  you  need?”

belongings  scatter  on  counter  she  finds  at  entrance  ,  faint  huff  passing  own  glossed  petals  ,  unaware  of  other’s  presence  in  dimly  lit  practice  room  .  hues  will  widen  at  mere  sight  ,  hands  raising  in  surrender  instinctively  so  ,  though  quick  motion  softens  in  recognition  of  familiar  features  .  ‘  sorry  for  interrupting  ,  i  didn’t  think  anyone  else  would  be  here  this  late  .  ’  in  midst  of  approaching  ,  roll  of  shoulders  will  still  frame  ,  now  few  steps  closer  to  newly  acquired  companion  .  ‘ see  ,  i’ve  been  struggling  with  this  one  song  all  day  and  it  just  —  care  to  give  me  a  hand  ?  if  you  aren’t  too  busy  ,  that  is  .  i won’t  keep  you  long  ,  i  promise  .  ’  /  @revolutionstart​

hellooo, it's milk again, here with my second muse on offer: bastien herrera, or just baz, a sunshiney golden retriever boi with the poetically troubled soul of an artist.

╰   *    ꒰⠀⠀⠀⠀froy gutierrez.   twenty-four.   cis man.   he/him.⠀⠀⠀⠀꒱        hold your f*** horses !   bastien herrera  has just been spotted walking into revolution headquarters. they are best known for being the   bassist   in   sleepy city riot   and have been signed with the label for   three months.   they share a lot of interesting things about life in the music industry on their social media, so make sure you don’t forget to follow them at   @BAUHAU5.  fans know them for being   overexcitable  but i swear they’ve got an   attentive   side as well. maybe that explains why they’re always associated with   copic marker doodles on dusty sneakers, coffeeshop receipts folded into origami frogs, waking up at noon and having ice cream for lunch.   stan twitter even voted them most likely to   respond to texts with only emojis or blurry selfies.   we’ll see how they live up to that reputation.

╰   *   statistics.

full name : bastien felipe herrera vargas. nicknames : baz, or whatever you’d like. age : twenty-four. date of birth : december 11, 1998. place of birth : [ undecided, to be discussed with band members. ] gender : cis man (he/him). orientation : bisexual. occupation : bass guitarist for sleepy city riot.

╰   *   backstory.

bastien doesn’t come from a particularly musical background. growing up, he was really more of an artsy kid — the kind with paint-stained fingertips and crosshatch doodles in his notebooks; who hung out at art supply stores after school and bought pens and watercolours just because they were pretty. he picked up a bass for the first time in middle school and learned to sing for a girl he had a crush on, and he only continued with it on account of his more musically-inclined childhood friends deciding to start a lil band in high school. and while these days he does love making music and being with his bandmates more than anything, bastien has a sort of lingering impostor syndrome about it — like he’s only here because his friends are the talented ones, and he’s just lucky enough to come along for the ride. the source of that feeling probably comes from the fact that he couldn’t hack it at art school. it was always his passion, and getting into a good college out of state for it, despite his somewhat poor grades, was a dream come true — but three semesters in, he just… couldn’t do it anymore. classes were hard. fitting in was hard. being away from home was hard. the stress and anxiety led to him dropping out before the end of his first year, after which he just… went home. drifted around. babysat his younger siblings. worked a bunch of part-time jobs (including as a barista, a climbing gym attendant, a waiter, a flyer distributor and a stationery shop clerk). for all his insecurities, however, bastien’s always projected a soft sort of confidence: bright like sunshine and just as warm, incurably friendly and openly affectionate. while he does still have some “bummer feelings” (as he puts it) about being a college dropout, it’s easy for him to put it aside most days, especially if he has other things to focus on. most of the time, that’s the people around him — bastien’s an extrovert who feels most comfortable when he’s surrounded by his favourite human beings, and he tends to follow them around with all the eager adoration of an energetic puppy. so when his childhood friends eventually filtered on back home from their respective post-high school plans, he jumped at the opportunity to bring them all together again. and when the idea of starting up the band again began floating around, he didn’t really have any reservations. pursuing it seriously hadn’t really been the goal, then — it was just something fun for them all to do; go to open mics and play a few gigs as a fun thing to do together, just like when they were kids. he ended up taking it so much more seriously this time around, though. maybe it was because he didn’t want to feel like the weak link. or maybe it was because he hadn’t realised how much he still needed a creative outlet after he’d started setting art aside. but the bass — and the band — quickly became a prominent part of his life in the three years that soon came and went. …and when those three years culminated in a signed record deal with revolution? well, just maybe, it felt like a second chance for him to do this whole ‘growing up’ thing right. 

╰   *   headcanons.

bilingual, and fluent in both spanish and english. not the best speller in either, though. expect errors even in work emails or public social media posts.

bad at texting in general tbh. typing out full words?? worrying about spelling and punctuation?? nah bruh. you’re getting a string of barely comprehensible emojis or a badly-cropped selfie of him giving you a thumbs up. 

big on bouldering. it’s his preferred physical activity, and one of his favourite methods to burn off steam or distract himself when overly stressed or restless.

speaking of — he very much has a tendency to get restless. he’s a fidgety sort, always bouncing a leg or fiddling with something on his hands. try to hold one limb down and a different one starts vibrating. 

oldest of five kids, and so despite his carefree, almost careless disposition, he does also have a bit of a “big brother” vibe. protective. playful. an instinctive caregiver, and a lot more diligent/gentle about it than you might think.

he got himself his first apartment after sleepy city riot signed with revolution records, though he still visits his parents’ home often. known for having a “plant of the week” because he likes the idea of houseplants but can’t seem to keep them alive.

not the tallest boy at 5’8”, but his build and confident oddball charm have a tendency to make people assume he’s bigger than he is when they first see him in photos. 

despite having set art aside on the professional scale, bastien still can’t quite separate himself from it. he doodles all the time (on napkins, on music sheets, on his shoes). his bass guitar is heavily sticker-bombed. he folds origami animals and then sneaks them in his friends’ pockets. he hasn’t felt brave enough to touch a canvas in years, but he’ll always have a lil bit of an artsy streak. 

has a driver’s license, but has historically preferred to take public transport or to bike (he has a fixie he pretty much rides everywhere). the band’s growing fame and recognition hasn’t yet been an issue for him in this.

according to social media and the opinion of the general public, baz is a massive himbo. between the golden retriever energy and the obvious lack of academic interest, it’s not a hard label to stick on him. and sure, he may not be the sharpest knife in the… place where you keep the knives, and he may be beefier than your average bass player on account of the climbing, and he’s goofy and overexcitable and clumsy with words, but… hm. there was supposed to be a point in here somewhere.

far-sighted, so he has reading glasses (that he doesn’t often use, because he doesn’t often read…). the font size on his phone is also comically big because he has to hold it over a foot away to see anything on it.

╰   *   wanted connections.

friends. his bandmates obviously fall under this category, first and foremost, but baz is a naturally friendly person who seeks out the company of others, and so friends (or at the very least, people he considers to be his friends; their own opinions may vary) come easy to him. he's a highly affectionate and expressive sort, if a bit flighty, and is very likely to claim someone he met two seconds ago is his new favourite person.

celebrity crush. another person in the industry, possibly of greater fame, that bastien is just head-over-heels starstruck for. maybe they're a fellow bassist, or maybe they're part of a genre so far removed from scr's yet he can't help but swoon over them anyway. he's very likely to be drawn to people with incredible presence, both on-stage and off, and will display his usual over-the-top energy with an extra dose of fumbling over his words and his footing around them.

sibling-like relationship. gimme that sweet sweet sibling dynamic!! baz, as the eldest in a family of five kids, has spent a great deal of time being a responsible big brother when needed, and would happily adopt that role with others. that said, i think it could also be really sweet if he found someone that likes to treat him like their younger brother, and exasperatedly puts up with him being playful and childish while still being a lil endeared and protective toward him. bickering optional, but adored.

mutual confidant. baz prefers to be the light-hearted one in any given social circle, but it'd be nice (and intimately valued) if he had someone he wasn't afraid to be sincere and vulnerable and real with that goes both ways.

publicity stunt. fake relationships/feuds/whatever that's meant to be mutually beneficial in some way?? baz isn't very good at keeping up a front though, and if the dynamic between him and the person is very different in the public eye than it is out of it, things will either fall apart or lines will get blurred real quick.

misc. fellow bass players he can trade tips with (or just fawn over and admire); maybe a mentor of some kind (in the industry, in life afksdl); exes (on good or bad terms, the latter with the caveat that baz actively tries way too hard to make it be on good terms regardless); friends with benefits (he likes flirting and casual hook-ups but prefers it to be with people whose company he knows he enjoys beyond sex); people he's known since he was younger?

hello hello hello!! i'm milk (she/they) and i'm super pumped to be here and to introduce you to two of my muses! first up is silas, a concert pianist turned producer that's always expanding his horizons when it comes to genres of music he knows less about.

╰   *   ꒰⠀⠀⠀⠀gong yoo.   forty.   cis man.   he/him.⠀⠀⠀⠀꒱        hold your f*** horses !    silas yoon    has just been spotted walking into revolution headquarters. they are best known for being the label’s resident   music producer   and have been working with the label for   twelve years.    they share a lot of interesting things about life in the music industry on their social media, so make sure you don’t forget to follow them at   @silasyoon.  the office knows them for being   taciturn   but i swear they’ve got a   sentimental   side as well. maybe that explains why they’re always associated with   cold hands and pressed shirts, perfect spelling and grammar in text messages, headphones playing classical music on the train home.   their coworkers even voted them most likely to   always have a pen on hand you can borrow.   we’ll see how they live up to that reputation.

╰   *   statistics.

full name  :  silas yoon seong-chul. nicknames  :  N/A. age  :  forty. date of birth  :  august 29, 1982. place of birth  :  cambridge, england. gender  :  cis man (he/him). orientation  :  bisexual. occupation  :  producer / former concert pianist.

╰   *   backstory.

silas yoon grew up in cambridge, england as a second gen immigrant after his parents moved to the uk for work. more accurately, his father, a professor at the university, moved for work; his mother simply followed. as a kid, he knew his dad to be out of the house a lot, and it was mostly his mother who took care of him. though she tended to be reclusive and struggled with english, she was the warmest part of his childhood — and even the jumpstart for his love of music.

she collects records, his mother. vinyls, of classical music, of jazz, of western pop music from the 60s. though he learned english before korean as a kid (given that his only exposure to the latter was his mother, as his father prioritised him learning the language of the country they were living in), it felt so easy for him to communicate with her when they were grinning at each other over music they both loved.

his mother plays the piano, too, though she never progressed beyond the basics. but she was his first teacher, and he still remembers being four years old and sat atop her lap with her hands guiding his own over the keys. when his father saw how much he enjoyed it, he enrolled silas in classes at prestigious music centres: and from there it was daily lessons, climbing grades and dazzling recitals.

silas was no prodigy. no naturally-gifted child. he worked tirelessly to prove himself as worthy of the regard he had somehow earned within the classical music circuit. when he graduated secondary school, he continued into the royal academy of music in london. by the time he’d finished with that, he was being flown around from vienna to berlin and prague and playing fully-packed concert halls. he fell in love with the piano the first time he heard his mother play, but at some point his passion dimmed in favour of perfection.

it came to a head when he had the opportunity to create and release his first recorded EP: to play and produce it from start to finish. his attempts to reach a standard he couldn’t even decide on led to overworking, and then tendonitis — and even then he tried to work through it rather than rest.the injury was a trigger for focal dystonia, causing a permanent loss of fine motor control in his right hand.

he was twenty-five and the career path he’d started over two decades ago was over, just like that. it’s difficult for him to describe his state of mind during the immediate months that followed, but eventually he tried to ‘escape’ his shame and grief by leaving europe. a friend in the chicago symphony orchestra extended an invite to a performance. and he stayed after, just for a bit, to see what the concert scene was like over there and to remind himself what he loved about it.

he attended shows in a handful of major cities, but it was during his trip to see the new york philharmonic that things really made a difference. he missed the show, actually — got turned around on the unfamiliar city’s public transport and ended up on the other side of town. he stumbled into a small hole in the wall club and sat through a menagerie of amateur performers rotating on and off the tiny stage, but something about that felt… meaningful, to him. like he was four years old watching his mother fumble with the keys, the both of them bursting into giggles when she messed up a chord.

when he went home that night, he pulled up the raw files of his unfinished EP and stayed up until the sun rose to finally create something from it he was happy with. the music had seemed… imperfect at the time of recording. unpolished. but after running it through with new insight, he found he’d made something he could really be proud of.

he didn’t release it, though. still hasn’t to this day. he keeps it for himself as a reminder, because he’s found his love of music goes so far beyond the consumption and performance of it. it takes him a couple of years working with indie artists and networking with his industry contacts, but at twenty-eight he finds himself applying for the position of a sound engineer at revolution records, and he gets it. another few years down the line and he’s a producer, with a hand in helping an artist realise every part of their vision; another few more and he’s made a home for himself here, at a production company that blessedly offers him the chance for creative input and interpretation even if he can no longer play for an audience.

╰   *   headcanons.

these days, silas considers himself to be fluent in both korean and english. having been to many a european city during his pianist days, he also considers himself proficient in german, and able to reasonably carry a conversation in french and czech.

while his injury means he can no longer play at the level expected of a professional pianist, he’s still able to fumble around with the keys and is more than happy to do so every now and then. sure he misses the stage, but he’s very happy doing what he does now.

has a bit of a... not exactly rbf, more just resting disinterested face? he's quick to offer polite smiles when approached, but his default expression can leave him seeming very unapproachable.

somehow gives off both "reliable professional" and "dad trying to keep up with the times" vibes. there are certain aspects of music creation/production and the industry that he's very insightful and eloquent about, but there's also a child-like mixture of wonder and confusion when it comes to new challenges and discoveries.

he lives in a high-rise in manhattan that comes with a solarium, which he's converted into a listening room, complete with his collection of vinyl records as well as a baby grand piano. it's easily the room he spends the most time in.

often prefers to dress smart casual/business casual to the best of his ability, and is typically more willing to dress up than dress down — it's a remnant from his concert days and his need to maintain appearances, mostly.

cat dad. his cat is six years old, named treasure, and is the cuddliest lap kitten you could ever meet (when she's not being a gremlin and sleeping on his work station/important papers/etc.).

texts in one single message (with paragraphs if necessary) using proper spelling/caps, and always signs his name at the end like it's an email, though isn't bothered with how other people choose to text. lots of his chats look like: Good morning. I'd like to remind you that the backing musicians will be coming for callbacks this afternoon at 2, and we'll need you around for the selection process. – Silas Yoon. / ya i rmbr!! thx / Excellent. See you then. – Silas Yoon.

he doesn't go to visit his mum back in the uk nearly as often as he should, but he does make sure to call her (and his dad) at least every other week. he got her to figure out facetime last year; next step, getting her to hold it further than an inch away from her face.

100% has classical music playing throughout the house when he's just flittering around and not doing anything in particular. some of his close friends have absolutely made fun of that giving "hannibal vibes".

while he can cook (and has like... a rotation of four specific recipes he's Very Good at that he'll pull out during date night to impress), lack of time and energy often lead to him dining out or ordering in on the regular.

╰   *   wanted connections.

collaborators. artists he’s worked with, or will work with! as someone with a largely classical background, one might assume that to be his preference — but exploring new styles and genres is one of the things he loves most about this job, so he’d work on anything from ballads to jazz to hip hop to heavy metal.

ride or die. silas knows the value of networking and having contacts, but his actual social circle is very small. this person would be his number one before all else; the person he’d trust with his life as readily as he’d consider them the bane of it. i imagine lots of back-and-forths, lots of bickering threaded with unwavering love; the sort of bond that comes only with time and comfort and intimacy.

work rival. as someone who’s always up for challenging himself, silas would love to be challenged by someone else, too. he might not say it and in fact, depending on the nature of the rivalry, he might not even admit it to himself, but he appreciates people who can keep him sharp, keep him motivated, keep him driven.

mentee (?). this is kinda vague but i’d really like someone for silas to take under his wing, in any sense! whether they’re an aspiring/junior producer or they’re a pianist or also have a classical background or anything like that. silas may be a little clumsy in figuring out the whole role model, mentor thing, but he’ll take the responsibility to heart. 

exes. given that he’s been at revolution records for over a decade, i’d like to think he’ll have at least one or two of these hanging around. whether they’re on good or bad terms is up for discussion, of course! exes who jumped into a relationship too quick but realised they clicked really well as friends? exes who gave each other everything and still hurt when they see each other across the hallway? i’m down for anything tbh. 

misc. friendly faces he’s met over the years through networking (though genuine friends are few and far between); artists he’s a fan of; kinda niche but an obligatory “oh you’re british too? let’s acknowledge that about each other” sort of acquaintanceship that somehow turned into an unlikely friendship; any kind of found family bond (sibling-like, paternal on his end, etc.); people in the industry who knew him when he was a concert pianist?