Realistic or Modern ⋆⭒˚.⋆♫⋆Banded Together IC⋆♫⋆.˚⭒⋆

[2amSnow]

Dropping her board down onto the ground and pushing off with her left foot, Carter balanced her right onto the worn down black grip-taped deck. Her choppy hair of silvery lavender layers blew in the wind from underneath a neon green beanie—her attempt to cover up the obvious need to slap on a new color over the faded dye. She continued to strike the ground with the sole of her sneaker, turning the sidewalks of New York into her own personal aviation runway. She wouldn't hear the "hey, watch it!" or the fuck yous from the annoyed footsloggers she weaved through. The headphones she wore pulsed the rhythmic wails of electric guitar and the raw passionate beat of the drums into her ears. The white stick belonging to the cherry lollipop wrapped in her tongue stuck out from between the faint shade of red-stained lips, and the cool breeze was refreshing against her cheeks. She kept her body steady as she let the wheels of her board roll over the familiar uneven pavement.

It was mid-spring, the air neither hot nor cold---perfect weather for short denim shorts and a basic tee, no jacket necessary. Carter kicked the ground again, propelling herself forward as she picked up her pace. She reached a hand up to her round sunglasses, pushing them further up the bridge of her nose with a finger adorned with a sharp, black acrylic nail. As she skated further through Brooklyn from the other side of town, she could feel the incessant buzz coming from the phone tucked in her back pocket. That damn group chat, no doubt. Once there had been a clearing in pedestrians, Carter took her eyes off the pavement to look down at the lit screen she'd retrieved from her shorts.

Sera : Are we doing practice later?

As Carter began tapping away at the keyboard to send a response to her band's text chat, she went smack right into something hard and unforgiving. She might've had a chance to slyly swerve out of the way, had she noticed her board diverting towards the curb. But the city had lost her attention to the technology, allowing herself to plow right into the telephone pole.

"Ow, fuck!" CJ's voice hollered out, her head having just whacked against the thick wood. If it weren't for the soft cushion of the beanie, the impact would've been worse. She could already hear the voice of her admittedly more responsible best friend, Sera, saying she should have been wearing a helmet. Carter's board clattered a few feet ahead of the commotion and her sunglasses were sent plummeting down towards the hard cement. Luckily, being surprisingly quick on her feet, she caught herself before falling at the collision.

Rubbing the sensitive spot of her forehead, Carter huffed as she quickly scrambled to collect her stuff before some unhinged hooligan came out from nowhere and took it. It was New York after all, and that kind of thing had happened to her before. Once she had her belongings back in her possession, she set the board down and propped one foot onto it. Then she leaned back against the very telephone pole that likely left her concussed. Bringing the phone back up to her face, fingertips began tapping at the screen once again.

that's the plannnn. omw home now to warm up the ol' pipes.

p.s. if anyone’s there already, please have an ice pack ready.

p.p.s. I blame sera.

 

[simm]

The subway rattled along the tracks, its dim lights cascading along the passengers on it. Everyone was trying to mind their own business, hoping that it would be, for once, an unevntful day where no one would randomly get robbed, strip naked or just scream. Among those passangers was a figure hunched on one of the seats, their short white hair a mess, seeming as if they didn't bother to comb it. They wore light green overalls with a basic white t-shirt under it, along with light brown fingerless gloves, their usual headphones draped on their head, some random beat playing as they barely managed to keep their eyes open, not wanting to fall asleep like the last time. Their fingers tapped away on their phone, dirt piled up under their nails as they had just gotten back from attending to their garden.

omw, almost there

P.s: no, u don't deserve any

Omnia typed in quickly, yawning slightly as they heard their stop being announced, shoving their phone back into their pocket.

As they walked out of the subway and onward, their fingers couldn't help but impulsively tap whatever surface they came across, as if restless, waiting for some sort of action as they decided to stop by a convinience store, grabbing 2 packets of ice. They might as well get some since cj asked, though they'd most likely make her beg for it just for the hell of it.

 

[Society of Strays]

​

*:･ﾟ✦ MONTGOMERY MOUSSETTE ✦･ﾟ:*​

Montgomery Moussette was shirtless on the fire escape, allowing the spring's warmth to soak into his winter-starved skin. He laid lazily on his back, cigarette between his lips, eyes closed as he embraced the welcome contrast of the sun's warmth against the cold metal that was pressing temporary lines into his back. He didn't smoke often, not only because he preferred to get his highs from other sources, but also because he generally didn't like the smell of cigarettes and the way it clung onto your clothing. Hence, the lack of a shirt. A light breeze moved over him, playing with his dark brown hair and sending a wave of goosebumps over his exposed flesh. Exhaling a plume of white Marlboro smoke, the boy pulled his phone from his pocket to check his notifications. It was his band's group chat, confirming their rehearsal for that afternoon. If he wanted to make it on time, he'd need to get moving. He was already under scrutiny for his lack of punctuality. Monty took a final pull of the Marlboro, stumped it out on the brick wall beside him, and hoisted himself up with a small grunt before shimmying back into his room through the window that connected to the fire escape.

After rummaging through his disorganized closet, the boy landed on a burnt yellow graphic tee that had been tossed on his bed after having been worn a few days prior. He gave it a reliable sniff test, ascertaining that it was clean enough to wear twice, before pulling it on over his head. He made a mental note to do laundry when he got back from practice. The guitarist's outfit consisted of light blue jeans, a brown belt, white Converses, and his 'The Adventures of Magic Mushrooms' t-shirt that he'd snagged at a thrift shop in east Brooklyn. Aside from his clothing and the signature messy brown wolf-cut and moustache combo that framed his face, the man had also accessorized with his usual silver earring in his right earlobe, a few silver rings to garnish his calloused hands, and a leather-and-rose quartz necklace strung around his tanned neck. He made sure to apply his Native Wild Mint and Spruce deodorant to his underarms, followed by a spritz of his Stone & Wit cologne in the fragrance of Lost Temple, his signature scent which was a blend of earthy cedar and birch combined with electric notes of ozone and smoke. Monty had made the mistake before of showing up to rehearsal with only his body odor to accompany him and he hadn't lived it down since. With that in mind, he added a security splash of Lost Temple to his collar before grabbing his backpack and heading out the door.

Exiting his chamber, Monty moved towards his longboard that rested by the front door but hesitated before picking it up, throwing a glance over his shoulder in the direction of one of the two other rooms in his apartment. "Story? You home?" He called out. Lorentz had taken their shared car for the weekend to stay in Long Island, so Monty had planned his usual method of transportation via longboard with a short midway subway transfer. But if there was a chance he could snag a ride from Astoria...
​

 

[Katsu the Rock]

Mitsuki Hori

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  mood

  
  
  
  

  Better than yesterday.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  outfit

  
  
  
  

  Something loose today.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  Location

  
  
  
  

  Hori Records ➤ Subway
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  interactions

  
  
  
  

  The group chat.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

Mitsuki didn’t have to be working today, but when you get paid by the hour, every shift counts. Underground house shows weren’t getting any cheaper, and neither was rent. She adjusted a stack of records on the shelf before scanning the store—only a few customers milled about, her uncle deep in conversation with a high school kid near the counter. From what she could pick up, the kid was trying to buy his dad something "special," fumbling through artists like he had no idea what any of them sounded like.

She smirked under her mask, amused by the struggle, but a buzz in her apron pocket pulled her attention away. Digging out her phone, she glanced at the screen. The group chat was lighting up.

Mitsuki exhaled sharply through her nose. Right. Practice. She had completely spaced. Not that she was even sure if they had a gig coming up, but it wouldn’t hurt to get some rehearsal in. Pushing herself off the shelves, she strode over to the counter. Her uncle barely glanced up, but the high schooler, for some reason, was looking at her like she was about to say something profound.

「じゃあ、上がるね。練習があるから。」(Hey, I’m clocking out. Got practice.)

she said, tugging off her apron.

Her uncle gave a nod, still focused on going through the records for the customer.

「着いたら連絡しろよ。生きてるか確認したいからな。」(Text me when you get there. Just so I know you’re alive.)

Mitsuki rolled her eyes but nodded all the same. The kid was still staring when she turned to leave, and for a split second, she debated saying something—what, she wasn’t sure—but ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, she slipped into the backroom and made her way upstairs to the apartment.

Her room was, as always, a chaotic disaster. Clothes draped over the chair, empty coffee and beer cans by the nightstand, and her guitar lying unceremoniously across the bed with a few crumpled lyric sheets beside it. She stepped over a pair of sneakers, shrugging off her hoodie before swapping it out for something more fitting—an oversized, muted brown T-shirt, sleeves hanging past her elbows, paired with dark green, baggy cargo pants that felt worn in just right. She laced up her usual white high-top sneakers, letting them stand out against the darker tones of her outfit. Before leaving, she clipped in her piercings, adjusting them with practiced ease before slicking her hair back in the mirror.

Satisfied, she turned to her bed, gathering her guitar and papers before shoving them into her case. Slinging it over her shoulder, she grabbed her phone and earbuds off the nightstand, scrolling through her messages as she headed back down to the shop’s front door.

Heading over. Be there in 20. Don’t die, CJ.

She hit send, threw in her earbuds, and queued up a playlist before stepping out into the cool evening air. The subway wasn’t far, but she had enough time for a quick smoke before the train arrived.

Standing by the platform, hands stuffed in her pockets, she exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as the city hummed around her. Neon signs flickered, voices echoed through the station, and the distant rumble of the approaching train sent vibrations up through her sneakers.

The train then arrived and the doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and she stepped inside, finding a spot by the window. The car was only half-full—some commuters, a couple of exhausted retail workers, and the usual lone guy passed out in the corner. She leaned against the metal pole, scrolling through her playlist before settling on something with a steady, heavy beat to match the rhythm of the moving train.

Fifteen minutes later, Brooklyn greeted her with its usual buzz. She stepped onto the platform, gripping the strap of her guitar bag on her shoulder as she emerged onto the streets. The air smelled like rain had just passed, leaving the pavement slick under the orange glow of the streetlights. Her shoes hit the sidewalk in a steady rhythm as she navigated familiar streets, weaving past clusters of people lingering outside bars and corner stores.

The studio wasn’t far now.

The Right Way Around

백현

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Scavenger]

Sera Keltine

Now you C trouble: that's the plannnn. omw home now to warm up the ol' pipes.

Sera glanced down at her phone, glad to receive confirmation that she wasn't mad, before she tucked it into an inner pocket and zipped up her leather jacket. Whit a small flourish she flipped her helmet on, before keying the engine and accelerating hard out of the parking garages beneath One WTC. She'd been stuck in one of her infrequent board meetings all day and was looking forward to hanging out with the band to escape the looming spectre of corporate life. The meeting hadn't even been important just a monotonous report that everything was still the same.

As much as she wanted to gun the engine Sera stuck resolutely to the speed limit as she weaved around the late Manhattan traffic, letting the rumble of the engine take away the stress of the meeting. She made quick time getting home. She would have headed straight to CJ's but she was wearing a smart blouse and slacks and she wasn't quite ready for the question's that might come form the newer members of the band. She slammed open the door to her apartment, neatly dodging around the piles of books, and rushed up the stairs. As she went she stripped off her leathers and smart clothes, just tossing them on the bed as she rummaged for something less corporate.

Quickly she settled on a two-tone white and green t-shirt, grey cargo trousers and a blue and white flannel, that she's pretty sure belonged to CJ. Sera hopped back down the stairs pulling on her leather jacket, though leaving her riding trousers, before heading out to her bike. Threading her way through Brooklyn towards CJ's apartment, she enjoyed the feel of speed and the roar of the engine as she rudely violated the speed limits. This was one of her favourite parts of riding in New York, being able to thread in-between the traffic, dropping her knee right towards to road to get around the sharp corners. She resolutely ignored the annoyed honks of drivers around her as she managed to avoid almost all of the traffic fowling up the city on a Friday afternoon.

In her attempt to not be too late Sera made the normally 25 minute journey in 15 minutes. Then she had to do nearly a full circle of the block to find a spot where she could plant her bike between two cars. Hoping off she pulled the keys and removed her helmet before shaking her head to try and tame the helmet hair. Taking a moment to glance down at her phone she smiled at the group chat;

I take no responsibility for whatever I'm being blamed for

Her spot was fairly close to the apartment at least, so she headed off at slow jog, hoping she wasn't the last.​

 

[COIIAPS3]

Erin took a deep breath - shoulders rolling, chest deflating with a shaky heavy exhale - sore swollen eyes closed as she let the hairdryer blow at her hair. She so dearly needed company - a listening ear, a shoulder to weep into, a hand to hang onto - but honestly, it was probably a blessing that she had walked into an empty apartment. She wasn't ready to see Monty - she wasn't ready to manifest the memory of a turbulent alcohol fuelled breakup into words. It was honestly long coming, and every second of it - at the time, and even just the general thought of it - was as exhausting as she had always feared it would be.

The hot shower had done her some good. She felt less ... monster, more human, but still not quite herself. Or maybe that was just from all the drinking she did last night? Her empty stomach was certainly half the problem, and more than likely the source of the throbbing at her neck.

Opening Monty's closet ... she blinked a second time, uncertain as to why half his closet was empty. Yes - plenty of its contents were strewn about on the floor, but there were certain articles outright missing. Thankfully, what little she left in his space was untouched. Shrugging on the white sleeveless top, and black skin tight pants ... she felt herself standing just a little taller, an odd smile tugging at her lips. Finally - feeling, and looking, just a little more like herself.

Riding the momentum, knowing her bravado would only last so long, she fetched her phone from the unmade sheets of his bed - the first message was sent to Monty.

@ MOOSE It's done. It's over. Take me to dinner later - I'll tell you everything. I have to.

Then she noticed all the other messages - cursing, at first, that she would be intruding on his time, everyone's else's time, when plans had been made ... but she found herself eager with the idea of being in friendly company, with outsiders, in the sense that they wouldn't be privy to what she came back from. She had always been given an open invitation and its high time she accepted that sincerity. Finding her second wind, she strutted her way out the apartment in her best white heels, making just one stop before grabbing an UBER to CJ's.

. . .

@ SICK SENSE Keep the door open for me? I think I need all of you to help me with these treats [k.macarons.png] once you're all done

ERIN N. CJ'S STUDIO

BY: COIIAPS3

 

[2amSnow]

Carter rubbed the fresh bump on her forehead as she trudged up the narrow staircase, skateboard tucked under one arm. The building was old-school Brooklyn and it had definitely seen better days, but Carter loved it for its charm—or maybe just its stubborn refusal to collapse. Red paint-chipped brick, iron-railed stoop, with ivy clawing up the sides—the kind of place that had thick walls and creaky floors and smelled faintly of weed, dust, and someone’s grandma’s cooking no matter the hour.

Home sweet home. She pushed through the heavy front entrance door, climbed the winding steps to the third floor, and let herself into the apartment she shared with her roommate, Jessica—though the girl's presence, or lack thereof, in their shared space made Carter feel like she was living with a ghost as opposed to an actual live person. Carter assumed she probably stayed at her boyfriend's or god knows where. But she didn't mind living mostly alone for half the price, the place a top-floor walk-up that doubled as Sick Sense HQ. Those familiar thick walls meant her and her closest friends could scream, strum, or break into fits of laughter without anyone caring. It was the perfect hideout for a band that was still figuring itself out.

Inside, the place was a controlled mess. The studio was a live-in time capsule of late-night jam sessions and impulsive decor decisions. Band posters—some of theirs, some of their idols’—covered every inch of the walls, layered haphazardly over one another. There were strings of fairy lights tangled like vines above the aged windows and a lava lamp that hadn’t moved since Carter found it at a yard sale two years ago. Flyers from old gigs, stacks of vinyl, old VHS tapes, tangled cords, and amp cables snaked through the living room. A couple of coffee-stained mugs and pizza boxes from who-knows-when decorated the coffee table. Carter took one look around the place before dropping her board and kicking the door shut. “Showtime.”

Carter launched into a rapid-fire clean-up—bending to retrieve the strewn clothes from all over, including a bra flung over the mic stand like it was just another part of the decor, and tossing empty cans into the recycling with impressive three-point-shot accuracy. She flung open the windows to let in the fresh scent of the May breeze laced with earth and rain. Then she smacked a throw pillow back into shape before popping open the freezer and yanking out a pepperoni pizza. She swallowed her judgements over the frozen disk compared to its zillion competitors throughout the city below. Still, Carter popped it into the oven with a slam, the preheat already halfway done because she had figured if she was hungry, so was Monty—her best friend and the lead guitar player in Sick Sense. They were two sides to the same coin, those two.

As the oven hummed to life, CJ caught her reflection in the microwave door—wild hair, flushed cheeks, and that fresh little knot on her head. "Rockstar glamor," she said dryly, flashing herself a crooked grin. "Nailed it."

She swept her hair into a messy bun, threw on a flannel over her tee, and did a final scan. Still slightly chaotic, still hers—but just enough cleared for the rest of the band to pile in and make noise. The band would be there in ten minutes, maybe five if Sera, her other best friend and the Nutella to her peanut butter, was eager to get there early. She sometimes came a few minutes before the rest of the gang when she knew Carter hadn’t cleaned.

Then, outside a thump echoed just down the hallway—someone had arrived.