#dv.intro

full name : caroline woo. nickname(s) : carrie. age : thirty - eight. date of birth : february 26th, 1988. place of birth : los angeles, california. gender : cis woman . pronouns : she or her. religion : none. romantic / sexual orientation : bisexual. languages : english, cantonese. occupation : owner and baker at care for you.

faceclaim : melissa o'neil . hair : long, chocolate - colored; lazy waves, heightened by nightly heatless curls. eyes : brown. distinguishable features : n/a. height : five foot and three or 160cm . build : curvy, softly rounded . tattoos or piercings : several.

mother : angela maddock, unknown. father : steven woo, deceased. sibling(s) : n/a. spouse : colt ashford (divorced) . children : none .

tw: child abandonment, cancer, parental death, infertility and miscarriages.

caroline doesn't quite remember her mom – for as long as she can remember, there was her dad. solid, warm, steady. he stayed, while she didn't, and so caroline learned from him: she learned how to cook, how to speak mandarin, how to care for others, how to sew and how to tell really bad jokes.

it was fast, when he got sick. she remembers when the phone calls went from weekly to monthly, like her visits from college; it was during one of those she found him face first in the bathroom. within six months, she quit college (she didn't even have anything figured out as far as a major went, so it's fine) and returned to their flat; within six months, he went from her dad to a husk of a person. in the end, no amount of chemo could have made it work – and he accepted that. caroline didn't, not quite.

unable to cope with staying home by herself, she decided to travel around the country instead. it was one of those trips that got her to some small town in colorado – her friend had told her they had sick trails, even though caroline went more for the company than the exercise on itself – and one night at the local rodeo led her to meet colt.

she surprised even herself when she decided to stay. his family ranch was crumbling, he was crumbling, and so caroline saw fit to see him steady again – maybe there was something to say about the challenge, about the project that was colt, more than her feelings. not that they didn't exist, because he had a way to make her flush whenever his eyes laid on her, and, so, she had found some kind of home. she hadn't had a home for a while.

alongside her budding romance, she tried to find something to do. college had been more about breaking away from home, drinking until the wee hours of the day, spending weekends in the library to cram for a test and befriending her roommate – academics didn't quite grasp her, nor did she them. her only skills were those learned from back when, of days with her dad on the kitchen. baking had always calmed her, and it made her feel some sort of good longing, besides the satisfaction of feeding someone.

so she started loitering about the ashford's kitchen when colt went out; the first sales were made from the back of her car, which she parked in random places around town during the first years. for all of her newfound impulsivity, it worked out, but she kept at it until she built her clientele – it would be a few years until she got a place downtown to put up a proper café. by then, she had gotten married and felt proper settled. her home had always been so far as the people around her, so it didn't surprse her when she found herself fitting right in; to this day, she's got a knack for remembering people's names and their orders.

as far as building your own dream goes, there was one thing missing: children. caroline never felt obligated to them, but she did want a family, want it all. so they started trying. the first pregnancy came fast – they were trying for around six months only. it didn't last three. a pattern soon was estabilished: a pregnancy, then a loss. in six years, it happened four times – four times too many. at some point, they attempted ivf, only for the expense to blow up on their faces.

&. 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.

statistics.

name.    xavier dallas lyons.   nickname/alias.    dallas.   gender.   cis   man.   pronouns.   he/him.   orientation.   bisexual.   age.   twenty-seven.   date   of   birth.    january   1, 1999.   place   of   birth.   toronto, canada.   hometown. deer valley, colorado. occupation.   comedian.

brief background.

born in canada and raised there until the time he was four, at which point he came to live with his grandparents in deer valley. his parents were incredible, insightful, loving, but overall couldn't handle being parents with their lifestyle and careers in filmmaking and producing. his grandparents are old money rich, only becoming more affluent with each check cashed from their daughter, amber, to support dallas. he wouldn't see a dime of it until he turned twenty one, when he'd be more responsible. or so they thought!

dallas ended up blowing through a good chunk of it before he knew it, catching flights to different cities, different countries even. he'd be in significant debt by now had his grandparents not passed on their fortune to him. lucky isn't even the word, but he just sees it as his destiny to be rich.

his comedic career began when he was in high school, but really took off in his early twenties when he was discovered at a comedy club on a trip to los angeles. he won't ever leave deer valley for long, for good -- it's home, after all. so, he does comedy specials and streams from his basement workspace.

fun factoids.

lives in his grandparents' old house, but has done a ton of renovations to call it home.

is nice to an extent, but if something isn't benefitting him, it may not mean much to him.

his comedy is never really mean or offensive, he genuinely believes that comedy doesn't have to be ruthless or tear others down to be funny.

doesn't own or will ever own pets, because he doesn't have the lifestyle to support them.

can get quite reserved, almost to a fault, and doesn't like to get too close to many people despite living in deer valley most of his life.

travels out of town a lot and enjoys the solitude that comes with it.

BASICS :

full name : nico santino moretti

dob: june 25th

zodiac: cancer

birth place : san pedro, ca

occupation : bartender

orientation : bisexual, biromantic

PERSONALITY :

moral alignment : neutral

positive traits : creative, loyal, caring

negative traits : reticent, blunt, lazy

TLDR :

when nico thinks of his childhood, he thinks of his father coming home late at night, the sound of slamming doors, arguments through the thin walls. it never felt like his family had enough - always living from paycheck to paycheck. his father was a session guitarist though his talent couldn't make up for his shitty personality, so his work kept fading throughout the years. his mother was a nurse who constantly worked too much, leaving little left to pour into him.

school was fine, though his grades were not. none of it came easily to him, and tutors were out of the question. he didn't care, anyway. he got in with a 'bad' crowd, but most of his weeknights he spent playing music with friends while getting high.

when he turned eighteen, nico moved out. he left home with only a couple of bags and couch surfed for the first few months. he got a job as a bartender at a dive bar, saved enough money to share a place with a few roommates. saved up to buy a old guitar from an antique shop and started playing again.

he plays with shitty bands at even shittier bars, though he enjoys it. he never really believed in himself to think it'd ever be anything more than that, anyway. he mostly just hates how much it resembles his father, how much of his talent comes from him.

he's content with his current situation ( and a situation he's had for eight years now ) - roommate, bartender pay, occasional gigs - but maybe it's because it's all he's ever really known. he's never been a big planner, never imagining at perfect future.

coming to colorado : he's in town as a plus one to the upcoming wedding of mrs. whitlock, joining his la roommate at his mother's nuptials. all of this is insanely new to him - the money, the town, the farms, ski resorts, etc ! he has decided to take some bartending shifts at the golden hind because he needs to keep making money while he's out of town. let's see how he fits in !

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

he's new to town but there's plenty to explore ! if any character spent any time in the la area there could be a former connection. maybe someone who is a regular at the bar he's working at, maybe friends of the whitlocks who don't agree with his friendship with benjamin, a party friend, music friend, someone he doesn't get along with ( maybe because of money, or off on the wrong foot, whatever ! ) ! one-sided crush, hookup, anything & everything !!

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS :

benjamin whitlock : roommate / friend ( complicated, derogatory ) / reason for being in town

stella woo - good friend

dallas lyons - (past?) hook up

aeri  jeong - old babysitter

full name: Charlie May pronouns: she/her gender: cis woman sexuality: Bisexual birth date: August 29, 1971  birth place: deer valley occupation: Owner of the Golden Hind family: no family in town. relationship status: Single

✧ ⸻ BACKSTORY:

tw: mentions of child loss, parental abandonment, toxic family environment.

she grew up in a house that never quite recovered.

there had been a baby once—someone small enough to be held in both hands, someone who softened everything just by existing. and then, just as suddenly, that softness was gone. grief didn’t explode through the house—it settled. it seeped into the walls, into the quiet spaces between words, into the long stretches of silence that followed.

her parents didn’t know how to carry it together.

arguments became more frequent, sharper in tone even when their voices stayed low, like something constantly on the verge of breaking. doors closed more often. eventually, they stopped sharing a room altogether. the house divided itself into separate spaces, separate lives, and somewhere in the middle of it all, she was left to drift between them—unnoticed, unanchored. so she learned not to need.

she became the kind of child adults described as “easy.” quiet, well-behaved, independent beyond her years. not because she didn’t feel things deeply, but because she understood, in the way children sometimes do without being told, that there was no room for her feelings here. not anymore.

most nights, she made her own dinners.

nothing elaborate at first—simple things she could manage standing on a chair, carefully watching, learning through trial and error. she’d sit at the table alone, a stuffed animal tucked into the chair across from her like a silent companion, filling the space where conversation should have been. the house would hum with distant tension. muffled voices behind closed doors, footsteps that never quite met in the same room. and she would eat quietly, teaching herself how to exist without being noticed. but invisibility didn’t mean emptiness.

if anything, it made her more aware. she learned to read people the way others read books—every shift in tone, every glance, every unspoken feeling. and where she had once searched for care, she began to offer it instead. kindness became second nature. she remembered small details, checked in without being asked, softened her presence to make others feel safe. cooking stayed with her.

what started as necessity became something else entirely. control, comfort, creation. in a house where everything felt fractured, the kitchen was the one place she could make something whole. recipes gave her structure. flavors gave her expression. feeding people became its own quiet language, a way of saying all the things she never quite learned how to ask for herself. still, beneath the gentleness, something lingered.

a quiet, persistent anger—not loud or explosive, but steady. the kind that surfaced in small, fleeting moments. when she realized no one had asked about her day. when kindness wasn’t returned. when she caught herself thinking, i was there too. because she had been. she had needed them too. so she became someone others could rely on. soft, attentive, endlessly giving. the one who noticed, who remembered, who stayed.

even if, deep down, there was still a part of her sitting at that dinner table. alone, across from an empty chair; wondering what it might have felt like to be chosen first.

✧ ⸻ STATISTICS.

tbd.

✧ ⸻ HEADCANONS.

graduated college with honors in culinary. the first in her family to achieve this accomplishment for both graduating and with honors.