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 . ”
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?”
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 ! ”
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.”
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 . "
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.”
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.
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?”
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 . ”
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?”
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 ? ’
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.”
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 . ”
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.
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."
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?”
“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.”
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.
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.
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 ? ”
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?”
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.
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?”
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
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?”
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?
