Chaz stared at the mess of construction lines he'd spent the last hour putting down on paper.  He took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the dirt beside him.  The scene before him just had too much going on, far more than he was really used to.  On top of that, the semi-medieval construction of everyday buildings didn't conform to the rules that monumental architecture did.  Everything was kind of willy-nilly.  He almost prefered the dark and abandoned streets of Knockturn Alley compared to the bustling Diagon Alley. 

But his professors had always told him that his drawings needed more life, in both design and people.  With a heavy sigh he closed his sketchbook and sat up straight on the rickety stool he'd conjured for sketching.  He looked around and waited for something to inspire him.  The buildings just weren't speaking to him and he berated himself for even thinking that they would.  He'd never particularly enjoyed this type of architecture.  Germany was filled with it, especially his hometown of Rothenburg.  So why did he bother coming here at all?

Because, he thought, answering his own question, here is where I'll have the greatest chance of picking up on whether people need work done.  And the Alley was within walking distance of his muggle flat.  And the coffee was decent.  He reached down and took another sip but the caffiene did nothing to help him concentrate.

His eyes roved over the pitched rooftops, the bright awnings, and the overflowing shelves of magical wares pushed out onto the street because the stores themselves were too crowded as it was.  The witches and wizards bustling by were an odd assortment of young and old, hip and traditional, all of them moving about their lives with no notice of the artist trying desperately to capture something of note.

That's when something caught and held his eye.  A fashionable man, near enough Chaz's own age, was lounging at an outside table.  He was handsome and attractively dressed.  He was eyecatching, that's for sure, and one of the most interesting things he'd seen so far, with his flashy jewelry and quiet, intense gaze.  He was outside alone, people watching in the sunsshine.  Chaz's hand began moving on the paper before he even realized what he was doing.  He began with the rough gesture of the man's form and then sketched in the construction lines of the table, chair, and cup of tea.  He began laying out all the elements of the entire scene before moving on to the particulars of the man's expensive clothing and handsome face.

Darian gazed over his kingdom like a drowsy jungle cat,  gaze flicking here and there in intelligent interest under low-slung red-lashed lids. His hands caressed a coffee cup. His legs wound together. In this perfect place he even caught a little of the watery October sunshine that made it past the slanted buildings, and that was nice, it was very nice indeed. Like all sane people Darian liked fall's cooler weather but the trade-off of constantly grey days could get to a chap.

How he liked being his own employer! Poor hard-working Misa was utterly at his caprice, and today his caprice had led him outside. Libertine - cool, sassy, stream-lined shop of his heart - was full of annoying customers he'd much rather she handle. It was all oh Darian, please make Mr. Poopkins a designer sweater! and baby, name your fall line after me?, not to mention the usual mix of stiff-lipped socialites with spiderweb crotches dragging aging style-needed greying husbands behind. Mmm, yes, his talents were wasted on them.

Darian's eyes lingered on the bustling shoppers with their bagfuls of goods. He swept the alley to all sides of him thoroughly and repeatedly, though slowly, a complete and thorough scan. His fifth in the hour. Unfortunately, all the good storylines he spotted eventually moved on to play out down the street away from his sight.

But on this sweep he noticed someone else watching him - a scruff-lipped young thing, a young man, bent over his pad of paper. Darian drew too often himself (the elongated lines of anonymous models, sketchy-quick, merely hangers for his clothing) not to recognize an artist at work. Using him for a model, too. Darian's eyes lit with interest. He didn't do anything so gauche as to move, but he did let a smirk play over his lips. His gaze was intent but also amused, and he mouthed the words when next the lad looked up - caught you. Darian winked.

Uh oh... he'd been caught. When he next looked up the man at the café was looking right at him, grinning.  A slight blush rose to his cheeks unbidden.  His cheekbones tingled with his embarrassment. However, the man despite having discovered that he was an unwitting model, did not move beyond the mouthing of the words caught you.  He must not mind being drawn.  That was the only conclusion he could draw, especially when the other man's attitude truly blossomed under the realized scrutiny.

He was truly breathtaking.  That thought lingered in his mind as he continued to work. The sketch wasn't so much about the cafe's patio, although it had charm as a space. Now it was about trying to capture the essence of this animalistic lord of his domain.  That was the quality of the space l. The man made it entirely.

Relatively speaking, he finished the drawing quickly.  He stopped and tried to regard it as an outsider would.  His grasp of the human form was rudimentary at best but he'd done a fantastic job capturing the intensity of his posture, exaggerating the sunlight to create an island of calm serenity and forbidding.

He tucked his pencil into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and stood up. A quick wave of his wand and his stool was banished.  With a conciliatory grin, he meandered over to the cafe's outdoor tables and his impromptu model.  He took the edge of the drawing between two fingers and carefully tore it from the binding.  He held it out with a broad smile and twinkling eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There are a lot of people who don't like being drawn and I certainly appreciate your willingness to sit for a little longer. I'd like you to have this."

Darian held his artful pose, as relaxed as he'd been before he'd known he was someone's model but now less given to idle fidgeting or spontaneous movement. He did not turn his head, he did not pick up his cup. He couldn't do it forever, but the man might as well get his sketch out. Why not be gracious in the face of such flattery? The least he could do was help.

And he was occupied, too; he watched with interest the way Chaz drew, noting how quickly his pencil flew over the paper. The quick up-and-down flick of his eyes was familiar to Darian, that hard impersonal stare shared by artists, designers, and photographers. They looked at their models not as people but as a collection of lines, planes, and shadows. He had been its subject before, and he had subjected it on others. Chaz' blush, so charming while it lasted, slowly faded away - indicating that his full attention was now currently on task. He meant to take advantage of Darian's consent while it lasted and had eyes for nothing else. Handy. Darian took the opportunity to look his fill, his leisurely study the complete opposite of impersonal.

The man finished swiftly and headed over - hard to slink away once you knew you'd been seen. Still, he was so awfully friendly. It practically came off him in waves. Darian looked up in open curiosity at Chaz' face before his eyes were caught by the drawing.

"That's remarkable," he said, eyebrows crawling up his face in surprise. The sketch was hurried but very good, and he studied it with interest and visible admiration. This was going on the back wall in the shop. "And so quick - what nimble fingers you have!" He directed a blinding smile up at Chaz - almost literally blinding, given that Darian subscribed to the Lockheart school of dental hygine and used it frequently to dazzle and disarm. His booted foot nudged the extra chair into a more inviting position. "Please, sit. A gift such as this is worth at least a cup of coffee, perhaps even a scone."

Chaz glanced back and down at the chair that the man had artfully pushed out without rising.  Chaz settled into it and grinned.  "Coffee and the pleasure of your company?  I think you might be overpaying, but who am I to argue?  At least I'm coming out on top."

He sank back into the chair peacefully and took a long, lasting sip of his coffee, draining the cup completely.  He grimaced now that it had gone stone cold and put the cup down on the ground beside him once more, this time to forget about it completely as he focused on the man in front of him, still lounging regally.  Striking from a distance and possessing a complete and unique presence, he was completely different up close, more dazzling and distracting.  There was the sheen of his hair, broken up by the rich texture of the curls, that revealed the rich red coloring.  The clean white of his even teeth when he smiled practically outshone the thin October sunlight.   And there was a ring on every finger, glittering every time he moved.

All of it seemed designed to draw attention but, to Chaz, it was unclear whether it was meant to draw attention from afar like when Chaz had been called to draw him, or if it was designed to draw attention now that he was up close.  It was almost impossible to find any kind of a real person beneath all that flash.  Perhaps, in the end, the person was the flash.  He'd met plenty of people like that in his life.  They were bright and fun to be around, no doubt about that.  And they were his secret weakness because Malcolm had been just the same: bright enough to make the sun seem pale.

Chaz smiled lightly, using his eyes more than his mouth.  "I'm glad you like it though, seriously," he finally said.  "But what's remarkable is your performance.  Once you saw me drawing you, you stopped moving almost completely.  Seems like you've done your fair bit of modeling."

He nodded at the other man's cup of coffee, which was no long steaming gently in the cool air.  "Although, now your coffee's probably gone cold."

"Sorry about that," he said, although he really wasn't.

Darian spread his hands beatifically. "I'm a generous man."

"I'm glad you like it though, seriously."

"I very much do." He laughed, a pleasant sound, melodious and light - exactly the kind of laugh to expect from this kind of man, and exactly the kind that was so rare in nature. Practiced, possibly. "I have, but not often the kind you're thinking. Fashion editorials, mostly, which involve more moving but requires one to be in equally excellent shape. Every once and a while I run into a traditional artist who finds my muscle control..." He rolled his wrist in a je ne sais quoi sort of movement, open palm dismissive. But he smirked, too, lingering over the word like a lover: "Useful."

"But there's little talent in holding still, only training and long practice. I wouldn't sell yourself so short, Mister Klein." His gaze dropped to Chaz' lapels pointedly - approvingly. He had become too resigned to the Tapendras of the wizarding world. It was refreshing to meet a man who could dress himself.

He shrugged, it's not a problem, and indeed, it was not. Darian drew his wand and tapped the cup; an instant later, it started to steam. "Small price to pay,' he said, and grinned at Chaz. He tucked the wand away, then swept his hand out to the side and dipped his head in a remarkably effective seated bow. "The name's Darian Morgan. Pray tell, what's yours?"

A hot flush creeped up from under Chaz's collar, turning his collarbones a slightly pinker shade.  For a second he linger weakly over the thought of this slender man's useful muscle control.  Images arose, unbidden, in his mind displaying a great number of things that were no more appropriate for the time of day than they were for the venue.  His heart fluttered pleasantly with the presence of new attraction and it felt good to succumb to it again, after over a year.  Even with Malcolm he hadn't felt this loose and pressure-free since they first met.  With a wave of his hand he brought the server over and ordered a latte.

"I don't think I could sit still for more than five minutes," Chaz admitted with a wry smile.  "I have to be talking, or writing, drawing, drinking coffee, anything really.  Helps me think.  So, in the end, staying still is something of a marvel to me."  It was true.  His thoughts were like a rolodex being spun around and around with old and new information blurring together in a whirl.  It was quiet but almost unceasing.  However, this enabled him to relate to people quickly and understand the things they said and didn't say.  It also had a way of revealing hidden or unthought of connections.  These days it was just his ability to turn those thoughts into reasonable and compelling designs that fell way short of the mark.

He was a model, which admittedly wasn't much of a leap for Chaz to comprehend.  He was leggy, gorgeous, confident, and extremely well dressed.  And somehow, he managed to pull of a sprawling, seated bow that looked elegant on him but would have looked ridiculous on anyone else.  Chaz, however, could not pull off such a contorted version of a bow and his mother would have scolded him harshly for even attempting.  He hated traditional ettiquette but was extremely well versed in it thanks to his mother and his professors in France.  So he pushed back from the table, stood, and executed a bow that would have made them drop their jaws in shock, it was so good.  Unable to take it completely seriously, and giving in to a desperate need for self-expression, Chaz maintained a stupid and somewhat mocking grin.

"I'm Chaz Lawrence," he said informally in stark contrast to his bow, not even bothering to convey the formal name his parents had given him.  Chester, the name made him shiver in distaste.  He sat back down, lounging a bit and regarding the other man with a calm body, glittering eyes, and fingers that danced along the edge of his napkin.

For a moment Chaz looked both intrigued and strained.  Darian - who knew what to look for at times like this, dangling his bait purposefully to see men grow hot around the collar - only smiled.

He nodded sympathetically at the other man's confession, saying, "It's much the same for me in a creative mood. But everyone has to relax sometime, no?" For him the act of creation was always manic, paired with a lack of sleep and a lack of food, his mind buzzing, fingers flying, wand whipping off spells. Darian couldn't sustain that energy for more than a few days. But he didn't need to fidget the rest of the time, unlike his active new friend.

Chaz leapt up to perform a real bow, which made Darian sit up quickly with a surprised, delighted laugh. "Show-off!" he accused; it was a beautiful bow. "That was very nice, though. Pleased to meet you, Chaz. Do turn around. I want to see you from all sides." He smirked. "Call it a professional interest in your suit."

Well, this really was a lovely diversion for the afternoon. Well-dressed, fit, flirtatious - the artistic angle was a nice bit of intrigue - yes, this would do very nicely. Darian did not manage to find such pleasant company every day, but it was certainly how he preferred to take his tea. And for a man wearing Calvin Klein, Chaz did not appear to recognize Darian by name. That was all right, though, that was actually preferable. Flirting with his fashion fans could be very tiresome. They were far too accommodating, too much sugar, not enough spice. Really, Darian had more fun with the activists. Or the strangers. Case in point.

There was that sunshine smile Chaz knew was there!  His own smile began to twinkle with self-satisfaction at having brought it out so quickly, with such a simple, if over-the-top gesture. 

"Do turn around. I want to see you from all sides." He smirked. "Call it a professional interest in your suit."

Taking hold of each side of his suit jacket, Chaz held them open to reveal his crisp white shirt with the first three buttons undone, as though he'd almost forgotten what he'd put on this morning.  He hadn't of course.  He usually paid close enough attention to his wardrobe to ensure that he looked good every single day he stepped out of his apartment. 

Despite showing off his nice shirt and the way it fit neatly against his hips, he didn't turn around like some kind of model.  Instead, he sat down and lounged back against the chair/  He took a sip of the latte that had been delivered by a polite but vacuous waitress.

"I don't think so," Chaz shot back with a grin.  "It's my policy to give away too much too soon.  Maybe later, if you ask nicely."

 His eyes crinkled at the edges as he leaned forward and placed his forearms on the edge of the table.  He regarded Darian keenly.  "Is your professional interest a result of your modeling?  Is that what you do now, or do you do other work?"

"Nice balance," he said admiringly, though admittedly that wasn't much of a compliment to Chaz (more to his taste, or his tailor if he'd had it altered).

But the man did no more than open his blazer. "Ah," Darian sighed. "You're a tease." Good to know that if Chaz had his way, there would be a later.

"My professional interest is owning a designer tailoring business down the road," he said, smiling. "The modeling's a holdover from the days I couldn't afford anyone to model my clothes but myself. I don't do it so much anymore." It was not common for a designer to model their own clothing in ads but, with magic and careful timing, Darian could be designer, photographer, and model all in one. It wasn't as though he hadn't the looks, and it'd saved him a bundle in years past. "Libertine Ltd. now has other famous faces."

Chaz appreciated the comment about the balance of his blazer.  He'd felt the extra money to have it adjusted for him had been worth it at the time, going out and looking for jobs as he'd been, but it was always good to have someone approve.  The approval of a professional, moreover, had a great deal more weight to it.  The attention paid to his person was just a pleasant bonus.  It hadn't happened in a very long while and it made Chaz feel pleasantly warm inside.

He brought his coffee mug up to his lips and mumbled around the rim, "I'm only a tease if I don't plan on following through."  He couldn't meet the other man's gaze and there was a pink tinge to his cheeks again as he said it, so he took the intended sip of his coffee and put it down.

"Did you not enjoy modeling?" Chaz wondered aloud.  Darian had a model's face, that was for sure, and probably could have made a pretty good go of it, as far as he was concerned, uneducated and uninitiated though he was.

 "Do you design clothing too, or do you make adjustments?"  He smiled sheepishly and looked down at the silverware on the table in front of him.  He didn't want to insult him by assuming the wrong thing about his profession.  Plenty of people had done it to him in the past so he knew how it felt.   It was just that, the experience Chaz had with a tailor was in the adjustments made to his already purchased clothing.  Darian didn't fit the image Chaz had of tailors in his mind, quiet, plump, and studious.  He genuinely wanted to know more.

Wasn't Chaz just precious. Darian made certain his expression showed nothing but subtle encouragement as he took a sip from his own cup. "Too true," he murmured, not wanting to dash the poor bloke's hopes by staying silent. He was doing so well, and if that was what he wanted had such good chances of making it into the libertine's bed.

Insomuch as he could in the sexual free-for-all that was his life, Darian preferred women. Without exception he liked their soft skin, their curves, their tight wet heat. His standards were higher for men, a necessity given his role in the public spotlight. Sleep with a half dozen women a night, and society labeled him scandalous, called him a cad, gave him good publicity and admiring looks on the street. Sleep with one man, and any paper have pictures... and the next day, his shop took a sharp decline in sales. Conservatives. Such pests.

Darian still did as he liked but with savvy business sense. Though he flirted outrageously with anything that moved he really only went home with the most interesting men, the ones worth the trouble, who caught his eye and kept it over the blond bimbos in the corner. Chaz, he supposed, was interesting enough. At least, he was making it very easy. There was a certain charm to the line he walked between bold and bashful, as if every once and a while he used up all his suavest lines and could do nothing but blush 'til he remembered more. He must have been an awkward-looking adolescent, Darian mused, one who could not quite believe he'd grown into something handsome.

"Did you not enjoy modeling? [...] Do you design clothing too, or do you make adjustments?"

"Modeling was never what I wanted to do, only a last resort. The pay is terrible, the conditions bleak... and you can imagine when one is self-employed it is even more dismal." He smiled to make a joke of it. He hadn't really suffered, not like other first-time business owners. His store had been backed by his daddy's precious money, as the only thing more disgraceful than a degenerate Morgan son was one who showed poorly in business. If he'd gone under it would have been gracefully, after the proper number of years to imply it was preference rather than poverty. Possibly that was what his family had expected of their heir. His father had lent him the money to open Libertine, but Darian had not simply wanted to stay afloat. He'd wanted to succeed. At any rate, the loan had not covered models or cameras or ad space. Those had been his expenses only. "I prefer being on the other side of the camera. I am so very bad at being told what to do!"  Fortunately when he wanted to save money on models he had so many cousins and friends he could kidnap recruit.

"I do both. The backbone of my business is bespoke tailoring, not unlike the services offered on Savile Row. But I have had much luck as a designer, and my clothing line is sold in the store." He had been cradling his cup in his hands; now, he laid it down and laced his hands together, looking attentively at Chaz. "You must tell me of your own career. I take it you are not a starving artist." His clothing was far too fine for that.

Chaz pulled a face. "I know all about the trials of self-employment," he commented darkly, but like his companion he made it clear he was partly joking by exaggerating his expression and then shaking his head ruefully.  He'd been on his own for quite a while now and his savings were beginning to dwindle.  Housing and food weren't cheap.  Pretty soon he was going to have to start buying new clothing, as well, as his  current wardrobe began to wear out.   Finding work, selling his design skills and essentially himself was far more exhausting than it had ever been in school.

Chaz's attitude relaxed immediately he mentally switched from flirting to talking architecture.  It had been such a long time since he'd had the urge to flirt like this, and longer since he'd flirted with someone who could not only keep up, but beat him at his own game.  In many ways, since Malcolm had left so abruptly, architecture had taken up the space in his heart that men in general had vacated.  He talked about them with as much passion, anyway.

"I'm not starving," Chaz replied, "not yet anyway.  Nor am I an artist.  I'm an architect, unemployed currently.  It's difficult finding work on your own.  I'm young and a lot of people don't want to trust a design project to me so fresh out of school."  He shrugged as though he wasn't really bothered by it when, in truth, he was.  He'd tried internships both in Paris and in London but after Malcolm he'd been so short tempered that when he boss asked him to do something he'd felt very strongly against, he'd quit immediately and hadn't been all that interested in finding one since. 

"I enjoy drawing and such but it was never really something I'd wanted spend the rest of my life doing.  The best part about architecture is the ability to see something in my head and then make real and let other people experience it too, the way I did in my imagination."  He didn't really get to do that much anymore, being unemployed.  He missed it terribly.  Realizing that he might be getting a bit morose, he flashed a charming and reassuring smile at Darian, although it was a bit strained around the eyes. 

"I should come by your shop sometime and see your work.   I imagine it isn't all that different an experience for you to design clothing."  The twinkle returned to his eyes as he took a sip of coffee and surveyed the man across the table.  He was suddenly quite fortunate in his dealings with strangers.  Two different and attractive artists had come into his life in as many months.

It was rather nice to meet another independent - entrepreneurs of sorts, even, one could call them both, canny, cunning, and capable. Chaz' demeanor, though Darian hardly thought it strained to begin with, nevertheless seemed to relax as he got into what was clearly his life if not also his passion. He did not look particularly intent or emboldened, but his voice took on an easier cadence and he spoke with the unconscious confidence of one who knew what he was talking about and talked about it so much that it came to him without effort. Of course, it was a shame that he could not find quick employment, but that was the curse of the freelancers. Wizarding society was stuck in its ways; a new architecture student with new and fresh ideas might not be so welcome here as amongst Muggles. They were in many ways far more progressive, though the Old World also had its appeal.

He nodded, to show that he understood. "Far easier to get experience in group projects and make your work stand out that way," he suggested. "Unfortunately, it doesn't seem too many witches and wizards trust anything built after the 19th century. Nor do they trust young people!" He gave a brief laugh and a shake of his head. Now that he was nearing 30 - and was incredibly successful to boot - it was not difficult for Darian to get people to take him seriously. But setting up Libertine had meant getting trade agreements with other artisans, those who made boots and scarves and the bolts of cloth he needed for his own creations, and that had been difficult at first. When one was young, few were willing to keep for you a tab.

Chaz was a fascinating person, Darian was pleased to see - little bits here and there, peeking out from his more quiet demeanor. The way he talked about creating his visions through architecture was perfectly lovely. Darian rested his chin on his clasped hands and smiled at the thought, softly, sweetly, almost to himself.

"It's true, it does sound similar. I design clothing, and some of it is art - and some of it just makes people pay attention only to what I decide, to emphasize this part of the body and downplay that, which makes me my money. But the difference is that you create an entire environment. You control people's perceptions in their entirety, make them see what you see and nothing else. Architecture can be powerful, transcendental... or understated and sublime. It must be so satisfying, to know that your designs will last and last and last. I do want you to come by my shop though, yes, sorry, please don't think for a moment otherwise." He'd gotten wrapped up for a moment in the sheer poetic grandeur of architecture, the whole beautiful idea of this man before him deep in the act of creation. Darian waxed wistful, waned absentminded, and it wouldn't do for Chaz to think he was unwelcome.

Chaz grimaced when Darian offered advice about getting experience by working on group projects.  "Unfortunately, I don't work all that well in groups.  I've tried it before but..."  He trailed off and shook his head with a rueful smile.  He took a sip of his coffee and then spread his hands out as he tried to explain.  He didn't want Darian to think he was just a jerk, after all.  "All of the architects I've tried to work with in the past have either played it all too safe or catered to the whims of the client.  The client is important, don't get me wrong, but they don't know anything about architecture which is why they hired an architect."

Chaz took another sip of his coffee. His eyes were trained on a nearby table over the rim.  He could feel Darian regarding him intently.  Those eyes were practically a physical presence on his skin at this point.  He had to take this moment to regain himself a little.  He had a tendency to get a bit carried away when he talked about the reasons he wanted to move forward with his career as a self-employed architect.

"I'm sure you're selling yourself short," Chaz murmured, finally switching his gaze back to Darian with soft admonition.  The irony of the statement being, of course, that humility was probably one thing that should be taken with a grain of salt and a good deal of caution when it came from Darian Morgan's mouth.  The man was good at a number of things and new it all perfectly well.  But Chaz continued, blissfully unaware that he was most likely doing exactly as he'd been manipulated to do, lavish praise.  "Architecture is all about creating an environment but for the most part people will just adapt to their surroundings no matter how awful it is.  On top of that, the people who use it don't really have all that much choice in the matter.  They just do it and it's a part of life they can eventually stop noticing.  Clothing, however, must be an extremely difficult thing to design.  People get up in the morning and they make a choice about what to wear and it's your job to make them choose you by virtue of showing off the human body.  And every body is so different.  I don't know how you do it."  Chaz shook his head as he took another sip of coffee, his eyes a little wide over the rim. 

"Perhaps you could explain your process to me a bit when I stop by your shop?" Chaz asked as non-threateningly as he could manage.  "I'd love to see how you go about your design work."  A lot of designers were touchy and secretive about their work but Chaz wasn't out to steal any clothing designs.  Often times he found that designers in different fields had ways of thinking about things that he'd never thought of before, things he could later incorporate into his own process.