The Beauty of Crimson 》 Daltrick [Discontinued]

Chapter One

The photographer looks through the photos in the thin folder. They were impressive, the background only adding more focus to the models themselves. The models were of course always the center of the pieces, as they always were. He smiles as he recalls the memories of the past shoots, then handed the folder over gingerly to his boss.

He watches as his boss scans through them, his eyes narrowing. Though he seems very critical, the brief nodding of his head indicated his approval. His head lifted and his eyes met Dallon's hopeful blue's.

"Amazing as always," he says. Dallon smiled, but then his boss continued speaking. "It's just missing something..."

Dallon's eyebrows furrow in confusion. He was sure that his recent work was impressive, but if there's really room for improvement, he's all ears. "Can you elaborate, sir?"

The man sighs, tapping his fingers on his desk as he thought about his answer. It was a quirk of Urie's that Dallon had noticed over time, but it's not like it was hard to pick up. Mr. Urie is always antsy like that, and as a photographer, Dallon's more inclined to notice things like that. "It's lacking inspiration," Mr. Urie says.

Dallon bites his lip, because he can actually see that. He understands what he means, but to hear his boss call him out on his weakness was almost like a wakeup call. He doesn't say anything, and focuses on the tapping of Mr. Urie's fingers.

"It's lovely work, but it's missing a flair," Mr. Urie says. "Your old photo's just look so different than now, because you had a muse."

"What do you expect me to do about that?" Dallon asks, lowering his eyes to the floor. He felt ashamed.

"Weekes, I'm going to put you on a short break," Mr. Urie states, after a moment of silence falls between them. He looks back up and sees a determined look in his boss's eyes. "I'll be damned if I let your talent be wasted. Go find a muse, and don't come back until you do."

Dallon wishes he had his camera with him. His boss is practically glowing with determination, making his features so distinguished and amazing. But he's right. He needs an actual muse, actual inspiration. He's been taking photo's just to fill the void, because it's what is required of him. "Alright," he says, standing up. "I'll try to hurry."

"Take as much time as you need," Mr. Urie smiles. "Well, not too much time. I know you're a tortured artist, but I'm not going to wait years."

Dallon chuckles. "Understandable." For a moment, he wonders if he should ask for the photos back. It's not like he needs them, but it would be nice to have them. But his boss is already putting them away in a cabinet, so Dallon just walks out of his office.

Dallon doesn't know how long it'll take him to find his spark, but he hopes it happens soon.

---

Dallon knows the easiest way to find a muse is through a person, and that's totally his excuse to go stalk people downtown. Well, not an excuse. He knows that he's still being a creep, but it's in the name of art.

He goes with his friend, Ryan. Ryan's not really in the photography scene, but he kind of has a cool tumblr blog, so at least Dallon can trust him to point something out if they were to stumble across someone interesting. Halfway through the trip, Dallon realizes he's only pointing out people with dyed hair.

"Stop promoting your agenda," Dallon whines. "I'll never dye mine red, or whatever."

"Why not?" Ryan pouts. "Don't you want to look cool with me?"

Cool isn't how he would describe Ryan's look. His blue dyed hair is just the centerpiece to his hipster look. It's not bad, but it's definitely not his taste. "Uh, no," Dallon says. "That doesn't fit my aesthetic, as you would call it."

Ryan mumbles something under his breath, probably a complaint because that was a borderline insult. Whatever. They continue strolling downtown, before stopping a donut place.

Ryan goes in line to get a blueberry donut, because everything has to be blue to him, and Dallon goes to sit down at one of the tables. Dallon hasn't found anyone interesting looking at all. He sighs bitterly.

Ryan comes back with his donut, passing him a coffee, made just the way he likes it. "Thanks," Dallon says, drinking a sip. It's extremely hot, but again, whatever. He's in that kind of mood.

Ryan also passes him a magazine. "They give them out to every customer, apparently," Ryan explains. "Different ones, obviously, but they're all like, unknown hipster ones."

Dallon can tell that much himself, based on the name of the magazine: Clandestine. Dallon snorts, passing it back over to his friend. "Seems more like your taste, dude."

Ryan rolls his eyes, but starts skimming through the magazine. Dallon goes back to drinking coffee and reflecting on his life bitterly. It's peaceful, despite the loud noise of the other customers around them.

And then there's the sharp noise of Ryan sliding the magazine across the table, so it's directly in front of Dallon. Dallon's about to interject, but before he can, Ryan says, ever so charmingly, "Holy shit."

Dallon scoffs, but then his eyes gaze at the page Ryan's pointing to enthusiastically. He wants to say something condescending, like a remark about how hipster this magazine is, but the model takes his breath away. The model is a short, younger man, probably just past eighteen. There's something there behind the ugly clothing, something about his expression that catches his interest. There's a glimpse of innocence in his wide-eyed stare. And fuck, Dallon can't believe he's this lucky, because if there's anyone to be inspired by, it's him.

Both men's gaze moves over to the credit near the top of the page, listing the model's name along with the photographer. The model is named Patrick Stump, and Dallon forces himself to memorize it. Could this model be the answer to his problem?

"Well, I guess Clandestine is more interesting than it seemed," Ryan jokes, leaning back in his chair. He's smiling smugly, and Dallon knows that without even looking.

"It doesn't change my opinion on it," Dallon concludes. He can't help but wonder why that model is working for a small company like that. With his looks, he could go anywhere, but yet he's working some weird hipster magazine.

Ryan chuckles, before finishing off his donut. He pulls Dallon up, smirking at him mischeviously. "We're done in town, aren't we?"

"I suppose so," Dallon says, thinking about that model. He supposes he should contact him. Maybe after a shoot with him, he'd get his spark back.

"Let's go back to my place and watch Deadpool," Ryan replies, and then they leave the donut shop. Dallon still has the magazine in his hands, a plan formulating in his mind.