are you sick of me?

&. BASICS

full name: lavinia isla reed

nicknames: lav, reed 

age / D.O.B.: 29 / 18.09.1996

sexuality: bisexual

place of birth: kinross, scotland

gender: cis woman

neighborhood: downtown, moved to deer valley 3 months ago

&. MORE BASIC INFO

accent: scottish, specifically east lothian

languages: english, some italian

education: bachelor of music in composition from juliard

occupation: owner of golden hour records

transportation: an ocean wave green mini cooper s

tattoos: a lavender sprig on her left wrist, vines curving across her sternum, piano keys on her right inner forearm, and a small 's' on her ankle for her mother

drinks, smokes, & drugs: yes, rarely, once

relations: shona reed (mother, deceased), zeke reed (younger brother)

pets: a six year old miniature schnauzer named george, after georgia o'keeffe

&. PERSONALITY

zodiac sign: virgo

mbti: infj-t — the advocate

likes: old records, modern art, classic rock, die hard

dislikes: loud chewing, invasive questions

secret talent: she's really good at fixing things, especially small trinkets. she'll watch a tutorial once and then figure it out from there — she's fixed record players, jewelry clasps, camera parts, door hinges... when she says that golden hour was a labor of love, she means it literally.

hobbies: piano, sketching, reading

prized possession: her father's watch – the only memento she had of his growing up

fears: being a disappointment, cockroaches

five positive traits: observant, charismatic, creative, intentional, independent

five negative traits: sardonic, evasive, nihilistic, meticulous (bordering on perfectionistic), escapist

&. BACKGROUND

tw: familial illness and death

lavinia was named after her great aunt lavinia, a poet. her uncle, a jazz musician, liked to point out that her name sounded like lou reed, and declared early on that she was destined to be musical.

she grew up in a small house beside a lavender field with her mother and younger brother, zeke. her mother was a music teacher, and started her on piano before she could walk.

music was a common thread throughout her childhood. it wasn’t unusual to find post-its with song lyrics stuck to cabinets, dog-eared books with songs scrawled in the margins.

she had her heart set on becoming a concert pianist, and got her first real shot at when she was accepted to juilliard. the family turned the drive to the airport into a proper sendoff, their suv stuffed with suitcases and too many bags of crisps; zeke cried when they dropped her off.

a car accident the summer of her sophomore year cut her dream short. she was in the passenger seat when a drunk driver plowed through a red light. her wrist was shattered, but she was lucky to be alive. it took three surgeries to repair the fractures, and a year of physical therapy to regain function of her right hand. still, her dexterity was far behind what it needed to be for performance.

she changed majors and became a music tutor in her spare time— helping with sight reading, scales, and fundamentals. tedious, but it was an excuse to spend a few hours on a piano bench.

after graduation, she tried commercial composing but found herself stalled in front of blank staves. music was about movement, notes falling off the page and across ivory keys. on paper, it felt fixed. predictable. lifeless.

she kept playing anyway. late nights in a dimly lit office with a desktop keyboard, forcing her fingers through pieces she used to know by heart. it became something closer to compulsion than discipline, playing until her wrist ached, as if repetition alone might restore what she’d lost.

she took a job at a recording studio, mostly small things at first— logging sessions, organizing tracks, sitting in on recordings when allowed. live music was unpredictable, which had captured her love in the first place, but preserved sound had its own kind of magic. vinyl, especially.

a groove cut too shallow, plastic warped from heat— each record was unique to itself, carrying its own imperfections. if she couldn't share her love for music through her fingertips, maybe there was another way.

her mother died after a short illness a year ago, leaving lav and her brother with one request: that they make her proud. unable to follow through on her mother’s original dream for her, she resolved to make second best work.

lav took her inheritance and cashed in all of her savings to buy a shopfront in colorado, which a few months of diy tutorials would turn into golden hour records.

bold which habits your muse has

nail biting | throat clearing | lying | interrupting | chewing the ends of pens | smoking | swearing | knuckle cracking | thumb sucking | muttering under their breath | talking to themselves | nose picking | binge drinking | oversleeping | snacking between meals | skipping meals | picking at skin | impulse buying | talking with their mouth full | humming/singing to themselves | chewing gum | leg jiggling | foot tapping | hair twirling | whistling | eye rolling | licking lips | sniffing | squinting | rubbing hands together | jaw clenching | gesturing while talking | putting feet up on tables | tucking hair behind ears | chewing lips | crossing arms over chest | putting hands on hips | rubbing the back of their neck | being late | procrastinating | doodling | shredding paper | peeling off bottle labels | forgetfulness | running hands through hair | overreacting | teeth grinding | nostril flaring | slouching | pacing | drumming fingers | fist clenching | pinching bridge of nose | rubbing temples | rolling shoulders

&. HEADCANNONS

she prefers to go by lav — "lavinia sounds like someone's granny."

her accent has dulled since moving to the us, but slang still creeps into her vernacular, and she can become harder to understand when she drinks.

she's rarely seen without her dog, george. he's the resident mascot at golden hour and is often the first to greet customers

she adds handwritten notes to the sleeves of her favorite records. sometimes they're disclaimers about a skipped track on an old pressing, and others denote facts about the artist.

lav loves her car. there’s a tiny stitched emblem of a bundle of lavender on the passenger seat headrest, and the windows are always rolled down, filtering whatever alt-rock cd she’s playing through the streets.

she can be a bit sarcastic, but often the sardonicism is undercut with a smile.

&. CONNECTIONS

make it a double twist of fate. unlikely friends. they’re the one person she never thought she’d tell anything to, let alone befriend. the way they listen without judgment, the little jokes they share, the quiet evenings talking about everything and nothing… she would never admit it, but she trusts them more than anyone she’s known in years.

there she goes again. this is someone who's a regular at the shop. she makes a point of setting aside albums she thinks they'd like, and listens to their recommendations in turn.