“hell yeah.” orla starts on her path, fanning herself with her hand. “i feel, like, all of my life is counterintuitive. you know?” she laughs at the other woman’s words. “all the usual hollywood shit. i’m an actress.” she rolls her eyes and makes a sound at the word. “it feels pretentious just saying it. what about you?”
the writer knew before the brunette said it. there’s just an aura... about actors. it’s like they come out of the womb with perfect skin or the sun shines differently on them. “ somewhere i might know you from? and listen, as far as actresses go... you don’t sound that pretentious to me. ” taylor gives her a small grin. “ oh, i’m a writer. not a famous one by a long shot, though. ”
“me?” devon asked somewhat incredulously, her french accent peeking out behind the single word. she follows suit, listening to the instructor and doing her damnedest not to fall as she opts for the harder of the two positions for no reason other than boredom. “no, i’ve actually had sex,” a cheeky grin spreads across her cat-like features. “plus,” she whispered a quiet wheezing laugh, thanks to the position and the humidity in her lungs. “if i’m going to sweat this much, i would’ve at least gotten off by now!”
her newly acquainted companion attempts something incredibly tricky for taylor, as she struggles to get the beginner pose right. “ oh, okay. ‘cause you know how sometimes you talk shit about something and you know you talked shit to the wrong person when they ask you, ‘well, why don’t you like that?’ just making sure that doesn’t happen here. ” she rambles. “ right? like, yeah, man, if i’m in so much pain i would rather be dying or suffering from le petit mort. ”
“you can’t be shoveling out that much shit, have you?” she laughs. sometimes she remembered all the good times she had with taylor. fleeting moments like now made her feel nostalgic for those days. “maybe i should try it. i need some control in my life. swear this simulation shit is weird and whoever is controlling me sucks.” it makes her hopeful that there is a chance to have a somewhat normal friendship again. imogen reaches in her bag for the pastry she had packed and took a big bite of it. sticky fingers reach out to grab the script and started to skim over it. “i don’t think so,” she mumbles as she reads. “there’s so many stories to tell. this is one of them.” imogen pauses to look up. “how have you… been… by the way…”
“ i guess it’s no bohemian rhapsody, but it ain’t rocketman either. ” taylor shrugs her shoulders. it’s incredibly easy to talk to imogen, she knew taylor like few. “ i don’t blame them. if we’re anything like the sims, we’re never fully content and at some point we just gotta stop caring. ” she waits anxiously as the other reads the few pages of her script. a sense of relief washes over her as imogen’s critique is far kinder than her own. “ oh... you know. ” she grins nervously. “ good. can’t complain. ” taylor takes a sip of the coffee. “ you? ”
⟨ avan jogia. cis male. he/him. ⟩ ↪ have you met rohan dayal yet ? this twenty nine year old aquarius has been living in the echo park area for ten years. he makes a living as a podcaster, which works for their ebullient, methodical, dramatic, and troublesome nature. sabotage by beastie boys is one of han’s favorite songs, and they’re written by ron, 24, gmt -3. ⟨ 🔪 ⟩
honestly i don’t even know what to say anymore
meet han dayal. only his parents call him rohan, well, his parents and the officers that eventually come a-knockin’. rohan is the product of parents who really didn’t care much about... anything? they’re not necessarily bad people, they just don’t believe in like... worrying about anything, ever.
of course this meant that his home life wasn’t the same as his classmates’ and han had to fend for himself pretty early on in life. if there was a bully around, he had to deal with it on his own. if he was hungry, he had to cook for himself. and that’s what his parents called growth, lads
so yeah, it didn’t take long for han to adopt a rebellious type of attitude. he was always a troublemaker, or so the teachers and principals dubbed him. in his mind it’s not like he was trying to be like that. it just made sense not to abide by the same rules since he was introduced to a cut throat lifestyle very early on
han worked odd jobs from his teenager years. if someone needed a car to be set on fire, or a piece of evidence to disappear or perhaps someone to sling some dope --------- hey, han’s your guy
someone who was always fascinated with history and the way things tend to repeat themselves over time, han read a lot. and came in contact with the true crime world. it really interested him the way criminals thought and acted and so han spent most of his free time reading ( well, he’d been kicked out of school, so whenever he wasn’t working, he was reading )
he acquired a pretty sizeable knowledge of this subject, and started writing about it, but only for himself. it wasn’t until a friend of his suggested that he breached the subject to other people that he got the idea to make a podcast about it.
the podcast has gotten its fair share of attention, way more than han expected. and because of his daredevil attitude, han doesn’t care about the limits of what he can and cannot do, being arrested more than once trying to obtain more information about ongoing cases.
around the time he turned nineteen, he decided to relocate to los angeles so the podcast could really grow. after all, it started paying some of his bills through donations from supporters. the listeners like han’s raw way of dealing information. it’s safe to say he doesn’t sugarcoat it.
nowadays, the podcast has a steady following and han’s able to keep himself afloat with donations for the podcast. he still works sketchy jobs every now and then because it’s a way to exchange information and because he’s lowkey an adrenaline junkie
personality wise, han’s brash, loud and sometimes even blunt. but he doesn’t really mean it. the way he’s been raised just makes him think that everyone is as impatient as he is. incredibly loyal, though, the kind of guy who would take the fall for something if a friend was in danger. likes to have fun and never can sit still for more than five minutes, he’s just all over the place
a small look into his psyche
but yeah man, he’s just a chaotic boy
if you’d like to plot smth w han pls lemme know!!! love u
corey makes to bite at taylor’s hand, pulls back with a toothy grin. “where’s this dame? all’s i see is a lil thot.” winking, she holds her cup between her teeth, using her free hand to fish a spare cigarette from it’s pack. “aw c’mon, tay, you gotta let me live vicariously. i’ve been up all night and not in a good way.”
the writer feigns hurt, a hand over her chest. “ that hurts me deeply, jones. ” taylor laughs as she lodges the cigarette between her lips and lights it up. “ oh, you poor bastard. ” she exhales the smoke, giving corey a small grin. “ it was nothing to write home about. ‘m pretty sure she doesn’t even remember my name, which is good because i sure as hell don’t remember hers. ”
“ you’re so dramatic. ” retort comes with a chuckle, head shaking as the brunette playfully rolls her eyes. maybe arielle was simply used to the class’ speed by now; after all, she was an avid student. it certainly wouldn’t kill her to show a little more empathy, but where was the fun in that? “ it wasn’t even that bad —– i’m pretty sure she was taking it easy on you. ”
“ well... considering who’s calling me out on it, i won’t take it very seriously. ” taylor takes the teasing in her stride, after all, she makes herself out to be the butt of the joke constantly. if anything, it’s one of the few things she appreciates about herself. “ listen, i won’t stand for this slander, lockhart. we can’t all be fit goddesses or whatever. the world needs average people too. ”
orla’s sunglasses are perched perfectly on her nose and she’s finally got her arm draped across her face just right to keep the sun out of her face. with a huff, she props herself up, smelling of tanning oil and expensive perfume. “which silicone thing?” she reaches out to grab what she assumes he’s talking about and tosses it to him before laying back down. “oh, all the time. i think there’s probably someone in my basement. or i have a ghost. i don’t know if i have a preference on which one is true.” she pauses. “can i hit it?” she motions to the juul.
from underneath his shades, diego merely points toward the sealer. “ thanks. ” a small nod before he starts dispensing it around the cracks on the wood. “ better a ghost than an actual person. the way i see it, a ghost will only hurt you if you fuck up... people can hurt you anytime. ” it’s a bit of a pessimistic view on the world, but diego has had his fair share of disappointment. the composer hands orla the juul. “ don’t you worry that i might have cooties or somethin’? ”
“ kid , ” she scoffs from her porch , biting back a smile as she snaps herself back to attention —– apparently she’d spent a moment too long enjoying the view , eventually acquiescing and handing over his request . “ is this because you watched parasite ? maybe i ought to find someone who’s in search of an art therapist . ” she’s back in her plastic deck chair , sipping on lemonade and pretending not to stare . “ could have someone under your deck right now . ”
“ nah, i had that particular worry before it was cool. ” diego smiles, taking another hit of the juul and stopping to stare back at clara. “ jessica, only child, illinois, chicago... ” he sings while doing the gestures, it seems that he’s always in the best mood when his neighbor is around. “ well, i’d appreciate if they helped a little instead of only stealing my ritz crackers. ”
dressed in shorts and the customary hawaiian shirt, diego is the portrait of the exotic los angeles citizen. a juul firmly in hand, he’s trying to fix some water damage in his deck --------- he doesn’t have to fix it himself, but he has the type of can do attitude that seems to ask ‘what could go wrong?’ and the answer to that is: a lot. “ kid, ” he exhales a cloud of smoke. “ can you pass me the big silicon thing right there? ” diego scratches his chin slightly. “ you ever think about those squatters that live in people’s homes without them knowing? ‘cause sometimes i can’t stop thinking about them. ” @angelestarters
⟨ oscar isaac. cis male. he/him. ⟩ ↪ have you met diego de leon yet ? this forty year old libra has been living in the venice area for twenty two years. he makes a living as a composer, which works for their companionly, humorous, compulsive, and nihilistic nature. never going back again by fleetwood mac is one of digo’s favorite songs, and they’re written by ron, 24, gmt -3. ⟨ 🌅 ⟩
well, i guess third time’s the charm??? or i just have terrible self-control. anyway, here’s another loser for y’all.
diego was born in colombia. in barichara, to be more precise. it’s a beautiful small town, commonly known as the most charming small town in colombia. anyway, the de leons are probably the wealthiest family in barichara because they are behind a well-established cattle company.
the oldest of four, it’s safe to say that a lot of expectations were put on diego from day one. and though he tried his best to meet all of them, he always felt he came up short. even if his parents were supportive of him, even if his siblings said he was their favorite child... something was missing.
a fastidious child, diego never really got into trouble, which was something that his parents always talked about when lecturing his siblings. outside, diego seemed like a fairly calm, agreeable kid. on the inside, however, he was nervous and scared of just about anything.
diego started picking up little twitches here and there. turning on and off the light like six times before he left a room, washing his hands excessively, being afraid something would go wrong if he didn’t take the time to count to fourteen everytime he saw the number anywhere. every single one of those things seemed to worsen at periods of stress, like when he had a big exam coming up, or when things weren’t going right with his friends. it was clear to the de leon’s that he needed some help.
diego was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder at thirteen. spent the next five years going to therapy and treating himself, and it worked. well, sort of. what helped the most was picking up a few piano classes. what was a problem everywhere else in his life didn’t translate to when he was composing or learning a new piece. in fact, this obsessive feeling of having to get everything right helped him take off, musically speaking. and all the compulsive energy he had dissipated whenever he was playing.
at eighteen, the de leons were certain that they would send diego out to the states to come back with a business degree, help run the family business, but that didn’t pan out. in fact, diego quit business school as soon as he arrived and, with the paychecks his father made sure to send his way monthly, enrolled in a music school.
diego loved the emotion music evoked, the tension it could create, the feelings it brought out of people. and he perfected his art to a t. though he didn’t know anyone in the business, he wanted to write scores for movies. of course this didn’t go over well back home, which caused a rift for some time.
though as diego progressed, as his work got more recognizement, it was clear that he was always meant to pursue this career. after a while, he made a name for himself, winning awards and a couple of golden statues for his work. a comfortable life started to draw itself and his parents forgave him for using the money to learn music. any of his three siblings would do a great job running things back home.
he’s been in la so long that he considers himself a native. composing takes off the edge of his need to be compulsive and repeat gestures and thoughts, but diego has found out that so does weed.
diego has a pretty agreeable personality. not the kind to boast the money he’s gotten, he prefers to live humbly. a good enough house by the beach, wearing stuff he mostly finds in thrift shops ( mainly hawaiian shirts ), the only place he really spends money on is his studio.
probably vapes
goes to the beach every morning to do some reflecting. the kind of old man who will sit on the sand at six a.m. and watch the seagulls
always in a good humor and very friendly
sometimes the ocd acts up and he repeats the same thing or gesture a few times, but he eventually snaps out of it
used to be married but got divorcedt
has a two legged mutt called kevin. he’s thirteen years-old and a gentleman
his composing style is similar to ramin djawadi’s
doesn’t really give a shit about fame, he just love what he does
so yeah, this is my guy diego. if you’d like to plot smth w him pls lemme know
andres’ head tips back as he lets out a heart laugh. he liked someone who was honest and could take it and dish it out. it was refreshing. “sorry i should have stopped saving face,” he joked. his eyes spotted another champagne flute on a tray floating around the crowd and nimble fingers pluck it off a silver platter to sip on. “you’re right, but isn’t it all bullshit?” he offers. “i always agreed with the old sentiment— drunk words are sober thoughts.” andres takes a drink before nodding over to the other male. “why are you here?”
the producer makes a waving gesture, as if to say andres didn’t have to worry about that. one of henry’s biggest qualities --------- not that he has many, is that he’s able to see everything clearly. for better or worse. “ that much is right. but these people, and i’m in no mean excluding myself from the narrative, think they can do no wrong. ” henry sighs, used to the way things were conducted around here. “ listening to pitches, getting investors... seeing if there’s anything i can use as blackmailing material. business as usual. you, however, look like a fish out of water. ”
baz has often been told that life could be a lot easier for him if he was willing to put his pride away– but he has far too much pride to even admit to himself that that could be the case. he’s practically stewing with the urge to blurt out talk to wright! but, he restrains himself. he can’t be a sell out. right? “aw, c’mon now,” baz’s easy and relaxed grin starts to form. “that’s at least twenty five percent of the reason.”
“ god, dapperton. you have some serious delusions of grandeur. there’s another topic for you to touch on with your therapist. ” it’s ironic that he’s pointing the finger at baz when henry himself is the poster boy for megalomania. “ but you know what? i’m happy the whole sob routine works out for you. ”
devon let out a laugh far louder than she intended to, a child-like giggle erupting from her lips as she lost control of whatever pose she had been trying to achieve. surely comparing something to sex and drinking pee wasn’t the same. “devon,” she motioned to herself as she used one hand to wipe her damp forehead. “i’d say it’s nice to meet you but i think you’re having a terrible time.”
“ oh, no. it’s really no biggie. ” taylor quips, failing spetacularly at replicating the same position the instructor shows them. “ so like... are you one of those people? who think this is better than sex? ”
“i don’t remember anything you wrote being shit. maybe not always great, but never shit.” she’s sincere. the way her voice softens and she smiles says so. as much as she didn’t want to care about taylor, she still did. she knew she always would. imogen shakes out of her funk. “that’s better than what i do. i don’t even make lists. i either buy too little, or too much. i’m either starving or wasting a shit ton of food.” although things were different between them, there was still an air of familiarity. little bits of their previous relationship slipped through the cracks of the walls she had built. “can i look at it? give it a quick look?”
a sense of guilt swells in her chest when she notices that even in their current predicament, imogen still finds it in her to be kind to taylor. the writer offers a small smile. “ oh, boy, you got some catching up to do. ” taylor jokes. “ it’s silly, right? what person under forty writes shopping lists? but it’s sort of a therapy thing... makes me feel more in control of things. ” it’s a bit of a relief to speak to someone who knows her previous history and doesn’t judge her for it. taylor opens her laptop and slides it towards imogen. “ it’s like... this gay kid loses their mom and then they have to live with their grandparents, and his grandfather is a pastor. i’m sure it’s been done before. ”
she makes her laugh, and that’s enough for orla to be best friends with someone. “i’ll stand up on the podium and thank you. my hot yoga buddy.” orla adjusts her hold on her mat. “i usually walk a few blocks and get a milkshake after. it’s kinda counterintuitive, and i should probably be getting a green juice or something, but it’s my ritual. if you wanna come.”
as controversial as it may be, a milkshake sounds perfect. a sort of wicked satisfaction washes over her because most of the people in this class will do exactly what orla said and get something lighter. “ oh, say no more, dude. you had me at counterintuitive. ” the writer puts away her borrowed mat and trails behind her newest acquaintance. “ so like, what do you do when you’re not suffering willingly? ”
