Confess your doubts and push the band to practice honestly, even if it means facing hard truths.

Bury the tension for now and follow Jay’s risky plan to impress the rumored scout at the Stardust gig.

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The Rehearsal Closet

Setlists and Promises in the Fluorescent Haze

Take the stage at Stardust for one honest, unforgettable show—whatever comes after.

The Rooftop Overlook

Honest Chords, Splintered Hearts

Step onto the Stardust stage together, choosing each other over perfection or fame.

City Center South - Night Streets

Glitter and Daring: The Night Before Stardust

Stardust Club - Backstage

After the Last Encore

The Stardust Club - Main Stage

The Soundtrack We Make

Kieran Vega

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El Lang

Jay Cooper

Parker Xu

Morgan Brooks

Kieran spends more time writing lyrics in textbooks than actually reading them. There’s this way their smile falters sometimes, like they’re weighing the cost of every late-night chord progression. When things are good, Kieran is the gravitational center—the one everyone looks at when the silence gets awkward, because you trust they’ll say the right thing, or at least something true. Their head is crowded with half-finished songs and secret hopes. Every choice you make as Kieran matters: for the band, for the music, for yourself.

El never looks quite comfortable unless they’re sitting on a drum stool—like everywhere else, they’re a little too visible, too breakable. They talk softly (if at all), but you can hear their heart in the music. El is the kind of friend who will notice if you changed your hair or if your mood dropped two notches, and who will stay up with you, wordlessly, until it shifts. Beneath their shyness, there’s a stubborn, steady pulse that holds everything together, whether anyone else notices or not.

Jay is always tapping out rhythms—on his thigh, the desk, the nearest lamppost. His laugh can pull you into a better mood before you realize you’re smiling. He flirts with risk the same way he woos a song: big, bold, unashamed. And even when his confidence teeters on arrogance, you know it’s built over a secret scaffolding of uncertainty. Jay wants more—for you, for the band, for himself—but sometimes he wants it so badly he forgets to ask what you need.

Parker is the sort of adult you forget is an adult until they say something wise and world-weary. They keep a mug of tea in one hand and a stack of sheet music in the other, shuffling like they’re perpetually late to something only they understand. They have this gentle way of asking questions that don’t sound like advice, and their jokes come out dry as chalk dust but somehow still stick with you. Parker knows when to step in and when to step back, which—let’s be real—not every grownup does.

Morgan is everywhere: stage left, back alley, the crowd, her phone lighting up her face like neon after midnight. She’s the one who knows which shows matter, who’s fighting, and where to find new strings or a working amp at 2 a.m. Morgan talks in punchlines and updates, balancing news and encouragement like a juggler who never drops the ball—until the music starts, at least. There’s something untouchable and electric about her, even when she’s laughing too loudly in a doorway.

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Urban Dreamer Ensemble

Quiet Beat Uniform

Relentless Optimist Stagewear

Mentor in the Margins Attire

Kieran wears a faded, olive-green military jacket—fraying at the cuffs and decorated with a scattering of hand-sewn band patches and enamel pins from local gigs—over a soft, charcoal-grey t-shirt with a cracked vintage festival logo. Their jeans are dark, skinny, and worn at the knees, with ink stains swirling around the right pocket from countless busted pens. A canvas messenger bag slings across Kieran’s torso, stuffed with lyric sheets visibly peeking out between the flap and clasps. Around their neck hangs a simple, black guitar pick necklace on a thin cord, often used as an impromptu worry stone. Scuffed black hi-top sneakers—one lace mismatched and the canvas doodled with personal symbols—prop up Kieran’s restless feet, while their left wrist is stacked with a haphazard array of woven friendship bracelets, most half-faded with age. Kieran’s battered acoustic guitar is never far, splattered with old stickers and sporting a unique faded scar along the body that mirrors the one on their cheek. Their wavy brown hair is untamed, partially falling forward into their expressive eyes, and a faint bandage peeks out behind one ear—evidence of a recent midnight rehearsal gone awry. No jewelry except a small, silver stud in the right ear, the kind you'd miss unless Kieran tucks their hair back.

El’s outfit is the essence of subtle comfort, featuring an oversized, soft black crewneck sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to reveal skinny wrists dusted with faint drumstick bruises. They wear loose, faded indigo joggers with a slightly cropped ankle, the fabric soft from many washes and striped in white down each side, a nod to old-school drumlines. Hanging around El’s neck—in place of jewelry—are chunky, noise-canceling headphones with the cord tucked into their pocket, the ear pads visibly scuffed. Pale hands are covered in slender fingerless gloves, black with threadbare palms to help grip sticks during impromptu practice. El’s high-top canvas sneakers are mismatched: one white, one black, both scribbled with tiny lyrics and inside jokes only the band would understand. Across their shoulder slings an understated olive-green canvas stick bag, its exterior pockmarked by little iron-on patches of cosmic symbols. A single, beaded bracelet—forest green and copper, a gift from a childhood friend—adorns El’s left wrist. Their straight black hair, chopped at uneven lengths, sits unstyled but neat, and a muted grey beanie is often pulled low in colder months. El avoids flashy accessories, but a tiny silver moon pin on their sweatshirt’s hem catches the eye if you look closely.

Jay rocks a faded maroon vintage band t-shirt—notably oversized and cuffed at the sleeves—emblazoned with a cracked logo for an '80s funk group, half-obscured by a safety-pinned patch of a local crew. Stretchy, jet-black skinny jeans with frayed hems and a strategically patched knee let Jay move with agility from show to show. Around his neck loops a chunky silver chain and a leather thrifting find—a tiny metal skate wheel charm—offering a lucky talisman for risky days. Twin rubber wristbands, one neon blue and one canary yellow, climb his right arm above a woven friendship bracelet signed by the band in marker. Jay's high-top sneakers are an energetic cobalt blue, in sharp contrast to his monochrome look, laced with mismatched black and white laces. He carries his battered electric bass slung over his back with a broad, sticker-bombed strap featuring doodles and slogans from friends. His close-cropped hair is partly covered by a faded snapback—worn backwards on gig nights, frontwards at school, always with a distinctive enamel bass guitar pin on the brim. Jay's dimpled smile flashes easily, and the whole outfit radiates a restless confidence that dares anyone to doubt the band’s next big leap.

Parker dresses in layered, practical pieces for a life lived partly in music classrooms, partly chasing runaway dreams. Their base is a rumpled, dove-grey button-down shirt—a few buttons open at the collar to reveal a simple silver chain necklace—tucked haphazardly into relaxed, deep navy trousers cropped just above the ankle. Over this, Parker wears a loose, warm mustard-yellow cardigan, sleeves rolled to just below the elbows to avoid catching on guitar strings or sheet music. The cardigan’s pockets bulge with pens, old ticket stubs, and a well-loved tuning fork. Worn brown leather oxfords peek out from under slightly scuffed pant hems, completing the blend of comfort and authority. Their graying hair is always swept into a messy bun, wispy strands escaping to frame their kind face, while wire-rimmed glasses perch low on their nose. A few mismatched enamel music pins cluster near the left lapel of the cardigan, each representing a former student’s band or club. On their right hand, a silver thumb ring glints subtly, a keepsake from an old friend. Parker’s look is as lived-in and approachable as their cluttered office—reassuring, creative, and never entirely put together.

Morgan sports a shimmer of riotous color: a cropped, electric teal windbreaker layered atop a graphic black-and-white comic-printed crop top, the jacket sleeves pushed up to reveal stacked silver bangle bracelets and a red festival wristband. She pairs this with high-waisted, charcoal-black cargo pants, full of zipped and buttoned pockets crammed with backstage passes, phone cords, and Sharpies. Her chunky white platform sneakers are sticker-bombed with mismatched band logos and sport paint splatters from impromptu stage touch-ups. Morgan’s voluminous copper curls are swept high in a dramatic puff, held back with a printed silk scarf in sunset hues, while her quick fingers are adorned with a few quirky silver rings—mini cassette tapes and microphone charms. Her sharp green eyes are highlighted with winged black liner, and in colder weather, she throws on a vintage, oversized varsity jacket borrowed (and never returned) from a friend’s older sibling. A tangled chain of narrow keyrings with mini flashlight and USB dangles from her belt loop, jangling as she’s on the move. Her ever-present phone case doubles as a notepad, crammed with colorful stickers and scrawled reminders for the next gig. Morgan’s look is vibrant, layered, and ready to run from club to school to wherever the next secret show or story emerges.

Scene Queen Streetwear

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Take charge: Insist the band openly talks through last week’s fight before deciding on the setlist.

Embrace Jay’s momentum: Push ahead with a bold, spontaneous setlist and focus on chasing the Stardust scout.

El glances at Kieran, quiet approval flickering in their eyes—still trusting, still gently hopeful even after arguments. Trust edges up: +1.

Jay’s energy draws Kieran forward, but the push for bold moves brings a flicker of tension. Competitiveness nudges up: +1.

Parker’s patience steadies Kieran’s jangling nerves: trust grows, comfort in mentorship rises: +1.

Face the tension head-on: suggest the band talk honestly tonight, even if it means risking another argument.

Brush aside the discord: agree with Jay to push through and focus only on getting ready for Stardust.

Trust flickers between you and El, shaky but not yet broken. You both look away at the same time, like that’ll keep things from spilling out.

Insist on a real conversation—lay everything out now, even if it gets messy.

Push forward on Jay’s energy—choose 'Lightning Bottled' and bet everything on adrenaline.

El seems fragile, but there’s bravery in their doubts. Opening up to them could draw you both closer—or push them to withdraw if things get heated.

Jay is running hot, eyes burning with the need for action and approval. Back their play, and you’ll have their loyalty—though the others might feel steamrolled.

Parker’s faith is gentle but unwavering. Leaning on their wisdom could keep the group steady, but indecision might fray trust.

Backstage Promises

Fifteen-year-old Kieran Vega spends more time scribbling lyrics in the margins of chemistry notes than listening to lectures. With their beat-up guitar in hand and a heart full of big-city dreams, Kieran tries to keep the band—El, introspective and determined behind the drums, and Jay, reckless with hope—together through hallway arguments, secret shows, and midnight recording sessions in borrowed basements. Every choice—the band’s name, a last-minute cover, whether to tell the truth in a messy interview—twists the road ahead. Each branch matters. The city gleams with promise and heartbreak, and Kieran must decide what they're willing to risk for fame, friendship, and the songs that just won’t leave them alone.

Backstage Promises

Backstage Promises

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