Music is everything to you; it always has been. From the moment you could hold a guitar, you have been all consumed by the melodies your fingertips could generate. You come from a long line of musicians, in fact; it’s practically ingrained in your very DNA. Growing up, you’ve always known you would want to play music for the rest of your life. Your career would revolve around just that. You’d find like-minded people to start a band with. A band that would cover all the latest songs on the charts, before eventually releasing some of your own. Original pieces that would reel in all of the locals, and surrounding towns and cities before eventually reaching past California. You’d move to Hollywood and be amongst it all. Fame is in the palm of your hands. Your band is as close as ever; it probably helped that you were all high school best friends. You’d all sworn that none of you would walk away from the band; that making music together would be a long term thing and nothing could tear you apart. Until something did; until someone does leave. It leaves you all out of sorts because, without one of you, it’s all for nothing. Your band falls apart one after the other. You’re all on a break now, trying to work out what to do with your career, with your band, with your music. You feel lost and, more than anything, you feel betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you.
the basics.
full name: hope elizabeth harris
gender: cis woman
pronouns: she/her
sexuality: bisexual
age: twenty seven
birthday: december 3rd, 1946
occupation: musician
residence: a sprawling modern house in birch bay
aesthetics: colorful eyeshadow trying to hide the exhaustion behind your eyes, bellbottoms and mini skirts covered in patch work, an old wooden guitar with flowers hand painted on it, vinyls of every musical genre thrown across the room, the aimless plucking of a piano.
appearance
faceclaim: anya taylor joy
hair: naturally blonde, but has recently dyed it red in a fit of unnatural frustration
eyes: brown
height: 5’5 / 165 cm
tattoos: a small stick and poke of a flower on her wrist,
negative traits: obsessive, reckless, emotional, fickle s
in: envy
virtue: kindness
hobbies: her life has always and will most likely always revolve around music, listening to it, collecting vinyls and cassettes, and playing. she also loves reading and has a particular love of french poetry
skills: can play anything if she puts her mind to it, though her favorites are the piano, acoustic guitar and harp. what really sets hope apart, however, is her singing and her songwriting, which tends to be highly poetic, provocative and most times nonsensical.
biography
from the beginning, there is music. you learn how to write notation before the abcs, how to sing before talking. your house is big and empty but there’s melodies and harmonies filling the air so it can’t be all that bad. your parents love you, but they just so happen to love each other more, to be more interested in their careers than in a docile and meek child. as a kid, there’s nothing you would like more than a sibling, a family member that you can talk to and spend your days with. instead of a sibling, you get a guitar, and then a keyboard and a banjo and a series of increasingly complex and rare instruments. it’s almost enough.
you are an optimist. on your 17th birthday you get a lesley gore record and listen to sunshine lollipops and rainbows so much it wears out. you smile at the world and it smiles back at you, shiny and inviting. it’s not that you can’t see the ugliness, but you are amazingly good at taking the bad parts of life and stuffing them inside of a lonely shoebox to be kept in the attic and never looked at. when your parents don’t show to your high school graduation you don’t even bat an eye, making a joke about christening the car they bought you. no one has to know you spend the entire night muffling sobs into your pillow if you are just as smiley the next day as you were before.
your band tends to be the focus of your unwavering optimism, but that’s just because you know you are good. writing music is something you simply have to do to stay alive, but writing with them is always exciting, difficult but all the more rewarding because of that. you play on shitty bars and record less shitty demos, climb the charts and tour the country. it’s a dream come true, and you get lost in it, forget that all good things must come to an end. you are drunk on the music itself, on the idea of people singing your lyrics, playing your chords. (you are also drunk on whiskey. your father used to say all serious people drink whiskey, and you wish he could see you now).
when things do come crashing down they do so extraordinarily, the presto of a concerto, screaming matches that sound like frenetic violins. you crawl into yourself, hide in a way you haven’t done since childhood. your label is already speaking of a new band, or a solo project, but for the first time in your entire life, you don’t want to bleed your heart into fun little songs pressed into a vinyl. stillwater feels like somewhat of a safe haven, where you can spend the days in your shiny new house plucking dissonant chords, ignoring your agent, and trying really hard to keep your smile from feeling like the lifeless caricature of a plastic doll.
If you had told her she would be sitting across from Hope Harris at a diner in California just one year ago, Phoenix probably would have laughed in your face. The woman's dreams had always been far bigger than her expectations. Even if she had enough personality to convince others that she would one day achieve every one of her goals.
As she slid into the booth across from her friend, Phoenix reached for the ceramic mug that housed Stillwater's 'finest' cup of burnt coffee and raised it to her lips. "Guess I've gotten kinda used to it. It's free when I'm working and well.. as long as it gives me a boost of caffeine, I'm not picky. Do you miss it? LA, I mean. Not the coffee."
"guess that counts as employee benefits. though i'm not sure how much of a benefit i would consider this particular coffee." she jokes, reaching to toss her hair but missing it by a couple of inches. she is still not used to the new length. "you know, it’s funny because everyone wants to go to la but even as a child all i ever wanted to do was get out. malibu was not enough, i wanted hollywood and new york and the whole world… but really i just wanted somewhere that was not my house." not her home, never a home in the way the cramped tour bus was. though she was beginning to realize that had everything to do with the people and nothing with the place. "i do miss it sometimes." she admits. "my house had a huge garden. i liked that."
Benny hated the glow he was sporting the day after sleeping with a stranger. At first, he didn't realize it, but it only took five minutes for the other guys in the kitchen to ask why he looked different. He couldn't tell... with what reflection the back of metal pans had to offer, but he knew he felt different. It was like he remembered what confidence felt like, but it was a different kind of confidence. It reminded him that he was, well, desirable. Benny never really looked for that sort of thing. He always kept to himself and held opportunities to feel that way at arm's length. He was intentional about who he let in, so it continues to surprise him that he allowed himself to be as free as he did last night. It was a rare but fun opportunity nonetheless. It reminded him to live a little.
It was a bit embarrassing as the morning went on, however. The guys kept making faces and whispering about why Benny wasn't being a grump— as usual. They unanimously agreed that he must've "gotten laid." Before he could brush them off, however, Benny was called to help pour coffee for the person who just walked in. He doesn't look up to see who it is until he pushes through the kitchen doors, surprised to see the answer to all of their questions presented herself right before their very eyes. Benny only smiles as he walks over, taking the hot pot. He pulls a mug from under the counter, placing it before her. "Hi," he greets, pouring her fill.
she reached forward instinctively, wrapping her hand around the mug quickly and feeling the warmth transfer to her always too cold fingers. hope doesn't feel quite awake, but to be honest she hasn't felt truly awake in months, probably since the last time she was on a stage, microphone and guitar in hands. still, she takes the man's expression as a cue, and suddenly there's a dazzling smile stretching in her own face. "hi." she says, again, stifling a giggle. "fancy seeing you here. well, i suppose that's your workplace so not really, but i did just stumble through the door because of the coffee and maybe pancakes, so..." hope is quick to shut herself up by taking a large sip, humming contently. "how have you been? in the past six hours or so." she added jokingly, giving benny a wink for good measure. benny. god, at least she remembered his name.
One of Jo's favorite things about The Joint was the clientele. It was impossible to predict who would come through their doors, and aside from a few regulars, it was nice to get to know her neighbors this way. Planting her elbows on the counter, Joselia pushed forward to take a look at the woman's ink. She shrugged, "Everybody starts somewhere, right?" Jo revealed her own patchwork sleeves, both arms dotted with smaller designs. "Each has their own, or whatever the fuck Shakespeare said." She walked around the counter, tapping on the flash design booklet and smiling at the customer. "Anything in particular you're wantin' today?"
"that's a cool collection. bet the ink carries a lot of history." she tiptoed gracefully around the room, waltzing around and trying to look at the different designs exposed. "hmmm, not really. some things are all about the experience, right?" her first tattoo had been a fuck you to her parents, in some ways, but it had mostly been a love letter to her friends. if hope was honest, she wanted this one to be a fuck you to her friends. "i like tarot. the tower. that's all about crisis and changes and... catastrophe." kinda dramatic but hey, artists should be all about drama.
Eloise looked up at the motion in front of her with an easy smile already in place, the book she'd been reading during the lull at the desk set aside right away. "Me," she repeated, that smile inching up a little further at the now-familiar face. "That little birdie would be right." Hence the book. Eloise hadn't wanted to start a task that would set her over, which....well, she was a little known for. It was easy to get lost in what she was doing and accidentally run the clock, especially since she was absolutely the type to see things through and ensure they were done correctly. "What would that proposition be? Also, could it involve coffee? It's been a slow morning and I'm lucky to not be drooling on the desk right now."
"it can most certainly involve coffee, eloise meadows. as long as you agree to show me the best coffee place in town. i've been surviving off of instant packets the past few days." exploring the city still felt weird, somewhat too personal. it was one thing to get lost in the streets and shops of la or new york, when you were just a face amongst thousands, but in stillwater hope felt naked every time she entered a corner store with her thick rimmed sunglasses. "come on, you can be my navigator." she jingled her keys and started walking into the parking lot, where her baby - a bright red, convertible jaguar - was waiting. "i feel a bit weird driving everywhere in a town this size, but betsy just needs to be driven around. i wouldn't want her to feel excluded" hope joked.
Well, shit. That - sounded a way, didn't it? Like the voice of experience, or something. Dee just clicked his tongue, tipped his head, not sure what to make of it; at least he wasn't the only one getting grim, around here. Kinda refreshing, though. More real than most of the rose-tinted crap you heard about shooting for the stars.
Pretty little Stillwater. He had to laugh, but not meanly, or anything. Stillwater was home, after all. "Oh, yeah. Spoiled for choice." So many possibilities. Like landscaping summer homes for out-of-towners or repaving roads. Or playing weekends, sure, at the legion bar or the biker den, or the Mint, if he really moved up in the world. Shaking his head, Dee sighed out smoke. A perfect bum - made one of them. The hours between gigs were still getting to him, too quiet and too lonely when Elly was off at the Lodge. "Not much, lately." He flicked his scorched hand up and down the rest of him, the explanation all there. Nobody wanted to think about 'Nam, nevermind employ a walking reminder.
And maybe LA would be different, if he gave it a shot. Not that she sounded... fond, exactly, of her big city hometown. Sort of. (Malibu. Hadn't been there, either.) "So you made a go of it, huh? On your own, or, like - with a band?" If that was her story, then... what sorta chapter was bumming around in Stillwater? Didn't seem promising, godlike, but. The hell did he know? Could be that all those breakthrough stars he'd missed while he was over in the jungle were getting into the seaside village vibe these days.
"i like stillwater, for the record." she liked the streets and the bars and even the beach, something that never lured her back home. "it makes me feel like i could be a poet, or a gardener, or anything i wanted, really." not that hope had ever wanted something other than music. it was nice to think about it though, even if her thoughts always ended up more musical than she intended. hope hummed. "well, guess we're kinda in the same boat. you should give LA a thought. nothing to loose, huh?"
she hid a grimace. it was nice, not getting immediately recognized, but it also felt like walking on quicksand. she could never really be hope, not without the shadow of hope harris from the primroses. "yeah, me and my friends." a bitter laughter cut through her mouth, and hope finished her whiskey. what a fucking joke. "we toured and recorded and then recorded and toured. even played on tv once, you know? the primroses take over hollywood! we're on a break though. never start a band with your fucking friends unless you are okay with losing them, that's my piece of advice."
Probably the first test he ever passed. Dee threw her a grin around that cigarette he was starting back up, and had a smoky snort as the review came in. Unpolished? Alright. He flourished his good hand, tipped his head in a half-serious sorta bow. Like he even knew what unpolished meant, in guitar. But Ginger seemed happy enough, anyhow. Probably just the beer. Setting his Gibson aside, Dee leaned into his better knee and took another look at her, still wondering. She didn't just have one of those faces; she had a specific face, from someplace. Shit, though. LA? He pulled a bit of a face at the unlikeliness of that, his bone-deep aversion to high hopes kicking in hard. "Mm. And how many of them get anything much out of it? In the end."
Jesus; way to kill the goddamn mood. Tuning himself up, Dee huffed a blue-grey sigh over his shoulder. "I mean, I don't know, like - if I had much of anything else going on, for work, I wouldn't be playing small town bars. On a weeknight. So." Maybe there wasn't much he could lose, stopping by to try his luck in the city. He shrugged, and took a deep, genuinely thoughtful drag. "That what you're gonna do?" With that guitar she knew her way around.
hope grabbed a clove cigarette of her own, lighting it dismissively and smoking quickly. once upon a time she would savor every little drag, taste the mix of rebellion, rock and roll and nicotine. she couldn't bring herself to enjoy much of anything nowadays, however. for the first time since the conversation started her smile was forced, her laughter bitter. "not many, i suppose. though lately i've been thinking that not making it is the best possible ending to hollywood dreams."
"what, are you telling me that pretty little stillwater is not bubbling with possibilities?" her tone was clearly ironic, but filled to the brim with a girlish mirth. hope did, after all, quite like the town so far. she wouldn't be stalling there if she didn't. "i'm sure you could play on a weekend as well." she joked, finishing her cigarette and putting it out on the nearby ashtray. "what do you do when you're not amusing this wonderful audience? no judgments here, i've been a perfect bum the last few weeks." her mother would certainly have a choice few words about her avoidant behavior. good thing catherine harris didn't have her daughter's phone number.
"oh, i was born in LA. well, malibu, but same thing in the end. then i got out of there and back again and then out again." she shrugged. perhaps her own experiences were not the best way to convenience someone to take a chance on LA. "the city can run people dry. it can also turn them into gods. but that never really mattered to me, just... the music."
open starter, at the joint tattoo + piercing, just before 11 p.m. @swstarters
Weekdays were always slow, and after the four-hour back piece she'd completed this afternoon, Joselia was grateful for a breather. Cigarette dangling between her lips, she propped her boots up on the desk and doodled in the flash book. Her dad had always reckoned Joselia was some kind of artist, what with her 'bohemian soul', but she was twenty-one before she discovered her love for visual art. A late bloomer, or maybe she just never had time for artistic pursuits in between Daddy's ups and downs.
When the front door jingled open, Joselia peered up from her sketchbook and surveyed the customer. She leaned forward, lips curling upwards. "Please tell me you've got something nasty that needs to be covered up," she teased. "What is it-- an ex's name? A mom heart?"
hope pushed her thick sunglasses up as soon as she entered the store, looking around curiously. going to a tattoo parlor was not in her plans when she woke up that morning, hell, it wasn't in her plans ten minutes ago, but something had drawn her in. tattoos were not her thing, but she already felt so disconnected from the hope harris she used to be... a look couldn't hurt. "i'm afraid i don't have anything as cool or funny." she shook her arm until the sleeve moved to show the very small flower on her wrist. "this is the most adventurous i've ever felt."
She did, huh? (Where had he seen her? Someplace.) Head cocked, Dee kept trying to place that face. The Kinks. Sure, he could manage; his eyebrows ticked up even as he nodded along, though. In London? Real jetsetter, here. The only plane tickets Dee'd ever seen were Army issue. That just about clinched it - she couldn't be local. Who in Stillwater had got so far outta here as London?
The kinda person who'd buy him another for songs she hadn't heard yet. Dee almost held a hand up to the barman, a no, thanks, I'm all set racing to the tip of his tongue. Didn't make it out, though. "Just a little," he echoed, finishing that first freebie with a quick turn of his wrist and an even quicker drag on the cigarette he'd started, rasping out a smoky chuckle. "Dazzling kinda seems like a tall order. But, uh - let's see." He threw the bartender a smile as his fresh round showed up - free shit - then gave his double Jack and coke a raise, and the lady a wink. "Be brutal, hey? I can take it." Couldn't sting anywhere near as bad as dinner with the nearly-in-laws, and he'd always managed to grin and bear it through that. He nipped the end of the cigarette and tucked what was left behind his ear, then headed for the low stage.
"Turns out I'll be fucking your night up a little longer, hey?" he kicked off, to a scatter of hoots and hollers. The good kind. (Crazy.) "You don't like it, blame Ginger by the bar." Dee pointed her out, then drank, swallowed back the sweet, barely-there burn - two doubles was nothing, all in all, it was nothing - and set the glass on top of the battered piano. The whiskey went down nice, chewing at the tight ache that'd started to pull that limp out of his bad leg; he shifted the guitar around, weight on his better side as he tried a couple notes. Two shots, two songs seemed fair. The radio favourite, first: All Day and All of the Night, that fucking power chord quivering under his thumb as his burnt-up hand hunted down the right shapes. Dee checked in with that Jack as the weeknight crowd kept the noise going. This Time Tomorrow had been a real hit with the boys; that, next.
And done. Like his drink, downed as he took a seat on the edge of the stage. Shit, his voice had been threadbare before; it'd gone ragged, by the end. But there were tips coming in, anyhow. Dee gave them all a breathless smile, looking around for the lady who'd got this little encore going. Stillwater would never be London, but. Maybe he'd passed muster.
to many (perhaps most) making it was all about the stardom. the fancy hotel rooms, magazine covers, drugs, sex and everything that came with a big name. to hope, though, it had always been about music. her music, sure, but lately thinking about that was too hurtful, too much like grieving something she would never have again. after all, it was not just her music, but their music.
this, however, was different. feeling the chords of a gibson pass through her body, familiar notes given new life by a stranger, the musical rush no drug was ever able to imitate. hope smiled unabashedly, clapping and hooting like she saw so many people doing on the front row of her concerts. she would have to sneak a twenty in that tip jar later.
unable to keep still for too long, she jumped out of her seat when the mini set ended, bouncing to the stage with only a minor hobble. "you are good." is what she said contently. "unpolished, sure, but man, it's been too fucking long since i've heard that." she sat down next to him on stage, eyeing the set up with a sort of wistful glint. a stage was a stage, be it in stillwater or new york. the music remained the same. "most people with that kind of talent are all out there trying their luck in the city of angels, you know. i'm pretty glad i get to hear some good fucking music, though."
when hope had first arrived in stillwater, exhausted and completely broken down, the birch bay travelodge had been a bit of a sanctuary. she ended up renting their biggest suite for two weeks, always telling herself that tomorrow would be the day she would pack up her bags and go. and then she didn't. that day, however, hope was going back to the travelodge with a mission. a mission with red hair that had been the first friendly face hope encountered in the city. "you." she said, smiling and waltzing to the reception desk. "a little birdie told me your shift ends in 5 minutes and i have a very good proposition."
for a so called rock star, hope hadn't had that many wild nights. she'd been around them, surely, partied hard and then played even harder the next day, but compared to others, she was as tame as a lamb. the music had always been her number one priority. so to wake up fostering a massive hangover, with hazy memories of a stranger, was a bit surprising. especially considering she wasn't in some glamorous city, surrounded by other bands.
she walked to the town's diner, sporting sunglasses that were almost too fashionable, sitting down quickly and ordering the biggest cup of coffee they could manage. she pushed her sunglasses up, trying look at the sparsely populated place before her eyes fell on a guy behind the counter. a very familiar guy, as of last night. hope's face fell. "oh. hello."
don't befriend fucking groupies, hope harris, is what her agent had said once upon a time. tim's eyes had been trained on her, not in any other band member, and the implication was clear. the boys could have their fun inviting screaming girls backstage, but hope's bleeding heart was a threat. well tim, look where all that good advice lended her, with no band, no friends and actively befriending a groupie. though perhaps it was unfair to call phoenix that. she was a fan of the band, sure, and they invited her to tag along on their bus until california, but she was also a spark of potential. a maybe perhaps hopefully friend.
"the coffee here kind of sucks." she said cheerfully, settling down two cups on their table - one for phoenix and one for herself. "l.a. has all of these cool hippie places with live music and poetry and shit, you know... but i guess their coffee isn't any better."
If this was what was gonna pass for work, for the moment - hell, Dee could live with it. Leaned up against the bar, he swept all those curls back and went hunting for a cigarette to keep his (complimentary, couldn't turn down free shit) drink company. His fingers paused on the lighter, though, as another kinda company turned up. Red hair - Elly had stayed in, for this gig, too tired - and a few-rounds-in sorta sway, with this... pixie-ish face. A cupid's bow off a magazine cover, big eyes, brightly shadowed. Almost familiar? From someplace?
Only almost. He blinked it away, then had a low laugh, surprised. "Is it? Shit, you're a tough crowd." Harsh of her, but. Hard to argue. So Dee didn't. Instead, he passed Lady Lester Bangs a crooked grin around the edge of his glass, the kind that said he couldn't help agreeing. It'd been a rough open mic night. All the better for him. The barman was still counting out that tip jar, swapping coins for bills. Looked pretty alright. Shouldering that Gibson a little higher - the guitar was still caseless, the old one unreplaced - Dee lit up with a more serious, grateful nod. She was being nice, right. "Thanks, man. Cool to hear. You, uh - got any requests? Night's young, mic's still free. Whatever you're into." Sure, he could stay out for an encore. Just one. Meant another fistful of cash in the jar, after all.
the red hair seemed to be enough to make hope not instantly recognizable, which she was grateful for. her luscious blonde locks had been on the front of quite a few magazines, most even about her music. here, she could simply disappear into the crowd, another face out of a hundred, seeking only cheep booze and half decent music. she laughed at the stranger easily, settling her beer bottle down. "i also happen to know my way around a guitar. and i call things like i see them, at least when i'm not quite sober."
"hmmm requests, yes. do you know any the kinks? i got to see them in london last year and it was radical. a shame they were banned from touring here." she then gestured to the barman (a bit more wildly then necessary). "hey, get this guy another round of whatever he is having. a little alcohol can go a long way in rock and roll." she said the last part to the man, trying to hide a slight grimace. if only her fellow band members had focused on the little part. "go on, dazzle me. promise i won't be too much of a critic."
even in her years of teenage rebellion and absent parents, followed by dreams of stardom and rock and roll, hope had never been seen too often at bars. she preferred the occasional nightclub, where she could dance with abandon under the low lights. still, she decided not to worry about her newfound predilection for small downtown bars. her whole life had already crumbled down, so she might as well bear it with a couple of drinks.
the live music was both a bonus and a living nightmare. even the people who were good (perhaps especially those) made hope’s heart race, ache with the feeling that she lost something. still, she knew talent when she saw it, and was tipsy enough to approach the guy after he left the stage. “you know your way around the guitar, huh? it’s more than i would say about most people here.” she doesn’t usually sound so mean, but the beers have probably started to get to her head.
