Creative Differences

[xXBRITTANNICAXx]

Colin is an introverted Los Angeles born-and-raised writer who has just started making a name for himself. Not enough to be widely renowned but just enough to be able to live comfortably off of his published works. Dalton is a passionate yet laid back artist with a hidden dark side. Their paths cross in a coffee shop and it's almost like fate.



But sometimes fate likes to play cruel jokes. Dalton's dark side soon surfaces and his reckless behavior begins to cause problems for his and Colin's relationship. It's too late for Colin to back out, he is already in too deep. The drugs and partying have rendered Dalton almost unrecognizable to Colin, yet his love for the male prevents him from leaving. What will happen when it all becomes too much?

Colin Henderson

Spoiler

Name: Colin Henderson
Pen Name: Vladimir

Age: 25

Sexual Orientation: homosexual

Appearance:

Face Claim: Ryan Ross

Personality: somewhat passive, chooses to pick his battles wisely, always looking to please others without letting them walk all over him; introverted, tends to isolate himself from others (especially when focusing on ideas for his stories); a bit on the hopeless romantic side; sarcastic; generally optimistic but can be cynical at times

History: When Colin was a young boy, his favorite hobby was reading. Any book he could get his hands on, he devoured page by page, entranced and intrigued by the way words could be strung together to create whole worlds of people, creatures, and fairy tale things. These books transported him to magical places far away from his real life and home, away from his neglectful millionaire father and general hum-drum life. His dream was to one day be able to create his own magic, wield his own ink wand and with a flourish create his own worlds of words.
After high school, Colin enrolled in college, majoring in Creative Writing at a university in the upper part of Los Angeles, California. After graduating, he went on to publish a few short stories and is now somewhat known in small circles.
It was never easy for him to make friends, preferring his books and writing to human interaction. Though he is a loner, Colin is also somewhat of a hopeless romantic, and used to long for the day when he would meet someone who understood him and could relate to him. Everyone he came across didn't quite cut it, though, and he quickly gave up searching. Now he only focuses on his work and he is quite content with that.

Dalton Atwell

Spoiler

[ n a m e ]
Dalton Atwell

[ a g e ]
28

[ o r i e n t a t i o n ]
Bisexual

[ p e r s o n a l i t y ]
Beneath a swirling mass of anxiety and insecurity, Dalton is a passionate, creative and idealistic man. For the most part, he is laid-back and relaxed, the introverted mediator of his very loud and often unpredictable friend group, but nothing makes Dalton happier than a harmonious environment. He likes for things to be easy, and tries to avoid stress however and whenever he can.

When left to his own devices, Dalton is creative and has a natural affinity with all things artistic. He plays a variety of musical instruments, works in various materials and has managed to find success in the art world when he sticks to a schedule. Dalton takes his art very seriously, and is often hard on himself when a project doesn't turn out the way he envisioned.

Sometimes, Dalton's need for perfection leaves him with a great deal of disappointment. If a depression sets in, Dalton has been known to either retreat into himself, or indulge in destructive behaviors like hard partying and drugs. Those benders always leave him looking selfish and irresponsible.
(Dalton is an INFP-T )

[ h i s t o r y ]
Growing up with two wealthy parents, Dalton spent more time with a nanny than he ever did his mother or father. On the off chance that either paid any attention to him, it was always to shower him with gifts or money. From a young age, Dalton was the envy of the neighborhood, but while his friends went home to hugs and hot meals, Dalton suffered through missed birthdays and silence. As he grew, his disappointment turned into resentment and Dalton began to act out as a teenager. At first it was for attention, but he fell into a rebellious crowd at the beginning of high school and never looked back.

It's a good thing that Dalton has a trust fund to pad his life and cushion his many falls, because most high school drop outs with no work skills don't make it very far in life. Like many things, however, Dalton became the exception to the rule and all of the time that he didn't spend in school was put to use through art. In his early twenties, sculpting finally started to pay off and Dalton began to make a name for himself in LA. It's the one thing that he's truly proud of, and is happy to leave his mark on the world in any way he can.

 

[xXBRITTANNICAXx]

Colin Henderson sat in a small cafe, at a window seat that overlooked the busy Los Angeles street, passersby rushing past on their way to one rendezvous or another. On the table in front of him sat a small, black leather bound notebook and, to the right, a black coffee with two sugars. Colin flipped open the notebook to the first blank page and began to observe the other customers in the shop, jotting down as many small details about them as he could. The man sitting alone at the table closest to the door was in a hurry; he checked his watch every couple of minutes and his fingers drummed the tabletop impatiently. The young woman seated at the table directly behind him was trying to flirt with the waiter. Her subtle hints might have gone unnoticed to the unobservant ear but Colin could hear the lustful, almost desperate undertones in her voice. It was too bad that she was too dense to realize that the waiter was clearly gay; the way he carried himself, the feminine lilt of his voice, and the way his hips swung when he walked gave off an obvious homosexual quality. Or maybe that was just his wishful thinking.

Documenting the different qualities of strangers was a favorite pastime of Colin's. He viewed the exercise as practice for his own writing as an author. He'd already had a few of his works published, slowly making a name for himself in the world. Of course, he wasn't very well known yet, but he was hoping to change that. In between projects, this was his way of honing his skills. However, sometimes it proved to be such a bore. Most people that made their way into the little cafe that he sometimes viewed as his makeshift office were so superficial; always had their heart on their sleeve, so to speak. There was no challenge for him, nothing hidden just under the surface that he could dig up and use for his own personal use. That is, until He walked in.

Colin had just given up on detailing people for the day, most of the patrons in the cafe being those that he saw on a regular basis, giving him no new faces to observe. Closing his notebook, he was gathering up his things to leave when a small 'ding' signaled that someone new had just entered the cafe. When Colin looked up in the direction of the door, a man stood there that grabbed Colin's curiosity immediately. He was handsome enough, his clothes showing off a toned body, rainwater dripping from his dark locks. But what intrigued Colin most was what was hidden underneath. Looking closely, he noticed the almost invisible bags under the man's eyes, just a slight difference in pigment that didn't quite match up with the rest of his face. Unnoticeable as well was the almost lost and unattached look that the man hid well, as if he didn't quite belong there but had nowhere else to go. This was the kind of person Colin had been waiting for, this enigma that he was just dying to solve. Sitting back down, he opened his notebook to a clean page and began to write.

 

[neptune]

In a place like Los Angeles, a city soaked in sun and sin, rain was always a surprise. Dalton Atwell had left his trendy apartment that morning in the same clothes he'd come home in the night before—no shower, no change, just a pounding headache and the back of his throat raw and sore. Nights out had gotten crazier and crazier over the last several months, going from fun with friends to a necessity, but the young sculptor had never been one to see the writing on the wall. He was only having a good time, he reasoned, trying to enjoy his youth while he still had it and anyone who didn't understand that must have been boring.

The rain continued to pelt him as he walked, dripping down around his shoulders and down the back of his shirt. Dalton shook his head and ran a hand back through his hair, feeling the damp locks slip between his calloused fingers. They were softer than they had been the month before, retreating to the pampered state they'd always been in before he started working. There wasn't much room for creativity anymore, no time to spend in the studio and work when parties were calling his name. Somewhere deep inside, Dalton felt guilty about it, torn up over his own mismanagement, but something always stopped him from dwelling for too long. Currently, it was the jackhammer behind his eyes, the incessant throbbing around his temples and the ringing in his ears.

Up ahead sat a little cafe and Dalton made a beeline for the door, catching it behind a man who was too caught up in a phone call to bother with basic manners. In that moment, though, Dalton didn't care—he was wet, tired, fucked up and angry, a mess of emotions as the coffee-scented air washed over him. He took a deep breath and slicked his hair back again, shoes squeaking against the tile as he joined the line with a few other people. Some gave him strange looks, other wrinkled their noses, but Dalton didn't seem to notice or care; there wasn't any point.

After ordering his coffee, black to settle his nerves, Dalton found a table by the window and wasted no time in popping the lid off of his cup. Instantly, steam wafted up toward his face, but he didn't stop to enjoy the fresh smell, or savor the taste as he took a sip. The liquid was scalding, burning his tongue and mouth as he swallowed, and Dalton furrowed his brow although he had been much more uncomfortable just a few hours before. Giving a sniff, sinuses a little more open after the sudden heat, Dalton took another drink, a little more cautious as he watched the rain continued to fall just outside.

As the minutes passed by, Dalton began to feel the itch of eyes on him, of some stranger paying attention for no reason. He gave a look around, shifty and perhaps a little dangerous as his fingers gripped the cup in front of him. Paranoia wasn't new anymore, but Dalton had never grown accustomed to that anxious feeling in his skin, or the tightness in his chest. Still looking, he didn't see anything out of the ordinary—some moms at a table, a guy on his cell phone, a woman flirting with a waiter—but then there was someone else. That man who was furiously writing in a journal must have been writing about him.

Right?

Without thinking, Dalton got up and moved seats, striding over toward the man's table and taking a seat in the opposite chair. "What are you writing?" he asked, coffee still in hand, but mostly forgotten about as he peered across the table and at the open journal. He looked for his name that this guy had no way of knowing, something about his clothes or hair, or anything to confirm his specific suspicions.

 

[xXBRITTANNICAXx]

Colin continued studying this puzzling man as he joined the small queue of people waiting in line to get their daily dose of caffeine. More and more things began to stand out as he did so. Those imperceptible bags under the man's eyes were most likely from exhaustion, evident in the sluggish way he carried himself. Behind his eyes swirled a flurry of emotions that Colin couldn't decipher. The most noticeable thing of all was how the other patrons of the little shop reacted towards the unkempt man, expressions of confusion and outright disgust clear on their faces, as if he really didn't belong there. How dare you taint our quaint little shop with your filth, their expressions read. Maybe they thought he was homeless. Maybe he was homeless. The human race was always quick to judge something they had no knowledge of.

Immersed in his writing, Colin didn't notice when the very same man he'd been observing for the past five minutes stood from his table to join him, sitting across from him as if they were old acquaintances. At the sound of the man's voice, Colin jumped and emitted a tiny, involuntary squeak. He was sure he'd been conspicuous enough to not be noticed but then again, maybe the man sitting in front of him now was like him, always noticing the unnoticeable. Which could prove to be a problem for Colin; not many people would take kindly to the thought of a stranger observing them and writing down what he saw, he figured.

"Nothing," he responded hastily, shutting his notebook quickly and putting it in his lap. Hopefully this man's brain functioned under the age-old saying 'out of sight, out of mind'. "It's just..." Colin tried to come up with a logical excuse as to what he could have been writing but he'd never been one to think well under pressure. "Nothing," he finished weakly, coming up with nothing. He couldn't meet the man's eyes with his own and he knew that looked suspicious but he didn't care. He'd always found it hard to make eye contact with anybody. Social interaction really wasn't his forte.

 

[neptune]

The snap of that notebook was more honest than the man in front of him, and some part of Dalton instantly grew angry. The frown that creased his normally handsome features continued, intensifying as the lie festered between them at the table. A year ago, Dalton wouldn't have cared who noticed him, or why, but after a hard night and little sleep, the judgment in the eyes of strangers meant everything. He was unkempt, messy by comparison to the rest of the cafe, but some reason, this man's notice meant more. He didn't care about the other wrinkled noses, or pitying glances, Dalton just wanted to know what that book said about him.

"Why are you writing about me?" he asked, the fingers around his coffee cup squeezing a little too hard. The plastic lid on top bulged with air, threatening to pop off and make a mess in the middle of the cafe. Forcing himself to relax his grip, Dalton continued to stare at the other man, gaze intense and scrutinizing, the way he had once looked at many of his art projects; unsatisfied. "Who are you?" he asked a moment later, speech quick and clearly on edge.

This wasn't the first time that Dalton had feared the unknown and whenever his parents attempted to reign him in, they always targeted his trust fund. This man could have been anyone from a lawyers office, gathering information, collecting his every move to show that he was unfit, up to no good and unable to take care of himself. Dalton had never understood why they couldn't just leave him alone, why they always had to meddle.

"Let me see," he coaxed, trying a smile that still had a bit of lingering charm. He relaxed his shoulders, slumped down in the chair but his posture was still nervous. Beneath the black table, his leg bounced up and down, a tick he had never been able to rid himself of, and his free hand drummed against his other thigh. In retrospect, Dalton wouldn't have trusted himself, and there was some part of his mind that was painfully aware of how crazy he looked. Here he was interrupting this guy's morning with a barrage of questions.

Poor thing. He was probably nobody anyway.

 

[xXBRITTANNICAXx]

As soon as Colin removed his notebook from sight, he could see the man getting visibly angry as the corners of his mouth turned down into a tight frown, the coffee cup cradled in his hands suffering from the strong grip of his fingers. He wasn't getting what he wanted, so he was having an inner temper tantrum. Probably used to getting his way most of the time, which would suggest that he was not homeless, as was previously considered. Living off of family money, perhaps? The stranger's blatant question caught Colin off guard, however. Evidently, this man's indignation stemmed from his belief that Colin had been writing about him. Of course, that's exactly what he'd been doing but there was no indication as to that fact. Even if Colin had been noticed looking at him from across the cafe, it could have jut been that he was admiring the man's looks. Which, all things considered, the man sitting in front of him could've proven to be a hell of a looker if he cleaned himself up just a bit. He seemed like one of those men that cleaned up nicely when they had the mind to. But why did he instantly assume that Colin was writing about him in the notebook? A simple explanation was paranoia. Did this man suffer from paranoia? Was it perhaps a symptom of a serious mental disorder? Colin itched to jot all of his mental observations and theories down but there was no way he could do that with his subject sitting right there.

"What makes you think I'm writing about you?" he responded with another question, trying to keep his voice calm, although his nerves were on edge. "I'm just a customer in a coffee shop writing nonsense passages in my notebook to pass the time until the rain stops. I wouldn't want to walk in that downpour, I live almost eight blocks away." Colin's answer was vague but he figured it would be enough to satisfy the man.

At that moment, the man sitting in front of Colin did a complete 180, switching from tense and on edge to a more relaxed position as he openly requested to see the notebook. Of course, Colin noticed that underneath the table, this man's nerves could not keep still. He could see a slight tremor in the table caused by the man's leg bouncing, a trait that Colin himself had up until his college days. "I'm sorry, that just isn't going to happen," he replied quietly yet firmly. If the stranger in front of him was hoping to bring Colin's guard down with his lackluster attempt at charm, he would have to try a little harder than that.

 

[neptune]

The comedown, the raw feeling in his throat and the scrambled chemicals in his brain made Dalton think that he was being written about. Saying that, however, wasn't going to happen and if this man was working for his parents, opening up about the dark depths of his life was only going to be used against him later. Years ago, Dalton had been so much more trusting, more open with everything, but he had been tricked before and the added paranoia only made him want to retreat. He didn't want some stranger writing about him, scribbling down judgments when he didn't have all of the facts.

That continued refusal was annoying, and jumping over the table to take the book was a good way to get thrown in jail. Dalton didn't want to cause a scene, but some part of his wired mind was sure that he was subject of scrutiny, that this man had taken some kind of fucked up interest in his ragged appearance and wanted to exploit it somehow. Inwardly, Dalton was sure that he could take the man across from him, that he could get in one good sucker punch and just...run, but. Shaking his head, Dalton didn't allow himself to dwell on that half-baked plan.

"Eight blocks is a long way just for coffee," he commented, a little more relaxed but his leg continued to bounce beneath the table. The death-grip that he had on his coffee cup lessened, and Dalton brought the lip back to his mouth for a drink. "There has to be—what—five coffee shops between here and there. Why this one?" They lived close enough together, Dalton discovered, but that was just one more piece of information to keep close to his chest.

 

[xXBRITTANNICAXx]

As the man sitting in front of him visibly relaxed, Colin became slightly less defensive. His upright posture slumped into a more comfortable position and he leaned back against his chair, keeping the hold on his notebook tight in his lap. To anyone who glanced in their direction now, it would look as if they were having a casual discussion. And it seemed they actually were now, judging by the change of topic provided by the other man. It was true that there were other coffee shops between Colin's apartment and this particular cafe, but he figured the question meant more than this man was letting on. He'd instantly assumed that Colin was writing about him, even though he could have been writing about anything. Even though his assumption was spot on, the jump that he took to arrive at that conclusion was highly illogical. He wanted to know why Colin had chosen this specific cafe, perhaps because he didn't quite believe him. And why should he? They were nothing but strangers in a coffee shop.

"You're right, I pass by at least three on my way to this cafe every day," Colin replied honestly, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small nostalgic smile. "I'll never choose any other coffee shop, this one holds sentiment for me. My mother used to take me here when I was a little kid, before she left. Always said that the other coffee shops could never compete with this one. The best around."

He wasn't sure why he was opening up so much to this man that he'd just met ten minutes ago. Colin had never been the type to open up freely in this way. Everything about him was on a need to know basis and, according to Colin, nobody needed to know. Maybe he wanted this man to believe him, to trust him, but that also brought up the question of why. When this man walked out of the coffee shop, Colin would never see him again. There was no reason to be giving all of this information to him. Nevertheless, he saw something in this man that he couldn't quite decipher and maybe that's why he found himself hoping that he actually might see him again. But he shook that thought away as he added, "In any case, now I come here less for the coffee and more for the...inspiration. I'm an author and these," he held up his notebook and waved it in the air slightly, "are my ideas."

 

[neptune]

There was a very loud, very stupid part of Dalton that wanted to reach out and snatch that book out of the man's hand. Selfishly, he found that he didn't care much for the flowery details of this stranger's life and a very paranoid voice in the back of his mind still said that it was all a trick. It wasn't unheard of for people in the city to go out of their way in order to patronize their favorite coffee house, but after such a long night, it was hard for Dalton not to take everything so personally. He wanted the truth, and his already frayed patience was beginning to wear that much more thin the longer they continued to dance around this weird subject.

"I like the coffee here too," he finally said, eyes slipping away from the notebook and back to a rather sweet face that he hadn't noticed before. "But I live a lot closer—it's convenient for me." If this guy wasn't working for some lawyer and his parents, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to get a little more personal.

Letting his fingers drum against the table, more rhythmic than antsy this time, Dalton moved his other hand to prop up his chin. "You're published then?" he asked, aware that his questions may start to err on the side of needling and intrusive within the next few minutes. "I could look you up and find your books?" In his circle, there were a few authors, but most were struggling actors, people with pipe-dreams who would never make it anywhere. However hard it was to hear, that was the truth, but it was a little different for people born in Los Angeles.

Seemingly unable to sit still, Dalton straightened up again. "Was I your inspiration?" He couldn't deny that the other man was looking at him, or had been staring, but it hadn't helped that Dalton was so nervous about every little thing either. He didn't want to make a scene, but he was going to wonder about this incident all day if it wasn't cleared up before he left the cafe.

 

[xXBRITTANNICAXx]

Colin's smile faltered slightly when the man continued with the point of convenience in regard to why he chose this coffee shop. He didn't understand why somebody would ask the reason behind something if they weren't even going to pay attention to the answer. He let a small sigh escape his lips before he responded, "That's the problem with people today. They let convenience run their lives." Colin uttered the word "convenient" with a wave of his hand as if it were an annoying fly that he wished would go away. "No one searches for better things because what they have now is so convenient. What if you might like the coffee that's farther down the street better than what's here? You wouldn't know because this shop is more convenient for you. People settle for jobs and certain lifestyles because it's convenient, forgetting all about what they dreamed of doing when they were younger. It's a shame, really."

Picking up his forgotten coffee cup that sat on the table in front of him, Colin brought it to his lips to take a sip only to grimace slightly at the now cold temperature. At the stranger's first question, he set down the cup and nodded his answer. "I'm nowhere near well known by the general public yet, but you can find my works by my pen name, yes." He couldn't tell if this man was still looking for holes in his truth or if he was just curious. Whichever it was, Colin wasn't going to reveal his name just yet, pseudonym or otherwise.

At the last question, Colin couldn't hide the faint blush that reddened his cheeks as he cleared his throat. He couldn't keep denying that he hadn't been keeping his eyes on this stranger since he'd walked in. Colin wasn't prone to hiding the truth for such a long period of time, especially when the subject of interest had caught on so quickly. "Well, I suppose I can't get away with it this time," he confessed with a nervous half-smile. "Take a look." Setting his notebook on the table, he slid it toward the other male with two fingers as he added, "I didn't put down anything bad, nothing insulting, although I suppose that could be a matter of opinion. I simply observe and write what I see. There's more than just you, you'll notice." Of course, Colin realized that his little hobby could come off as rather imposing and, for lack of a better word, creepy, which was why he tried to be as surreptitious as possible. However, this man had caught him in the act and he didn't seem offended; he just wanted the truth. That's why Colin had given in and decided to just show him what he'd written. He deserved at least that much.