We all knew this was coming. I'm a bloody acting student, this was bound to happen. Okay, so this is kinda loosely based on La La Land (I say loosely cause I haven't watched the film...oops) Thanks to Lauren and Alyssa for shifting through this and correcting all my stupid typos- there was a lot.
He sits patiently, heart in his throat and fingers drumming against his leg as he watches the publisher silently flick through the manuscript, eyes focusing and frowning when he reads an interesting part or just mindlessly scanning through the words.
Robin resists the urge to bite his lip. Instead, he focuses on keeping his breathing even, keeping his stomach from twisting and turning with nerves and the fear of rejection.
Rejection had been his best friend lately. Seven different publishers he'd already visited, seven times he'd been turned down, seven times he'd re-edited and re-wrote his play, all in the hope that someone would like it.
The publisher- what was his name again?- closes the handmade book, flipping it over to the front page, the title; Our Dreams Have Finally Come Truestare up at them.
"There's something there,'' the publisher says. He's an old man. Glasses and bald- the stereotypical publisher in Robin's eyes. "It just lacks edge. The story is very simple, the characters bland- even the title is a give-away to the ending, it's just...not what people would want to read."
It's not an exaggeration to say his world has fell apart. It fell apart years ago. There's just a resignation within Robin, a dull ache deep inside him. The ache of disappointment and failure. He really hoped this would be the one.
The words aren't anything new. The last publisher had said the same thing. And no matter how many drafts Robin may write, the story is always simple, and characters are always bland. It's not somethinganyonewould want to read.
Robin thanks the publisher for his time, stuffs the manuscript in his bag- lest he throw it in the bin on the way out- and makes his way out the door.
The weather seems to have reflected his mood, Robin muses as he walks down the surprisingly quiet street. It's still sunny out but less so, less than before. Even that or the excitement Robin was feeling this morning made the weather seem much nicer than it actually was.
He'd moved to Los Angeles five years ago in a hope that his life would be better than the one he was living, that all his dreams of becoming a successful playwright (and possibly director) would come true. He'd left everything behind him- family, friends, memories, all in the sake for this one dream he'd had since he was nine years old.
He wouldn't say his time here at been a waste. There had been some good times- he'd met Marian a year later, and a year after that they had a son and he had a stable job. But after that, things began to go rocky. Endless fights over petty things. He'd lost his job at the bar he'd been working at over the pretences that 'he was late every day' (lies. His manager hated him). Since Marian owned the house Robin was left to move out and live somewhere else. Somewhere less nice but more affordable, or just about. He saw his son on the weekends. It used to include Wednesday too, but Marian enrolled him in preschool, taking up the Wednesdays so now Robin was just left with the weekends not that he was complaining, though some days he wished he had more time with his son.
Though Robin had to refuse this week, all in the name of visiting this publisher, all in the name of getting published. Thathad been a waste of time, it turns out. Robin should have just took Roland to the swings, instead. More worthwhile.
He enters his apartment, after five minutes of searching for a key, and kicks the door open, throwing his bag to the side. He sighs, shutting the door with his back and rubbing a hand over his face. Today had been a shit day. A disappointing shit day.
But then he frowns. There's a noise coming from somewhere and instantly he's all on alarm. Has someone broke into his house? He knocks down the notion before he can think more on it. Of course nobody's broke into his house. What would they take, his spare paper? It's not like he has a 54' TV hanging on the wall. At least not anymore.
Still, there's some reserve when he pushes away from the door, walking towards the noise that's coming from the little kitchen. He wishes he had something- a bat or something, anything that could protect him. Then he does. A broken umbrella left in the corner by the living room door. He grips it, trying not to poke himself in the eye with the metal rod sticking out, and wonders just how useful this thing is going to be. (Well, it can poke people's eyes out if you get close enough) Then he pushes back the door to the kitchen.
And...he shouldn't be surprised by who's there; Will fucking Scarlet. Eating a bag of crisps (chips, he mentally corrects) and trying to get the radio to work.
Robin sighs, brings the umbrella down and chucks it back into its corner and silently curses when that metal rod grazes the wallpaper and takes some of it with it.
He'll fix it later maybe, he thinks and brings his attention back to the main one: how to get this shithead out of his flat.
"Why are you here?"
Will jumps, over exaggerated mind you and it passes Robin's mind that perhaps the man should be an actor but he'll suggest that another day, a day when he isn't getting his food robbed.
"Bloody hell, Robin. I didn't hear you come in."
"Clearly." Robin says, not amused. "What are you doing?"
Will places the bag on the side, wipes his hands on his jeans, swallowing the last of his food and says, "Well you see. I was just passing by and thought I'd pay you a visit. So, up I come and knock on the door a few times. No answer, so then I think 'idiot's probably asleep' so I do some tumbling about and magically, the door opens, don't it? So I come in, notice you're nowhere about and begin looking around. Open a cupboard, and high ho, free food! Thatis what I was doing."
Robin just stares at him, unsure of what to say. Finally, he sighs again, brushing Will out of the way and picking up the packet of crisps (which is empty) and throws it into the bin before walking back over to the front door and opening itt.
"And now you're going to leave," Robin says finally, ignoring the puppy eyes Will tries to give him. "Because as that food might be free for you, it isn't for me, and I don't have a lot so I'd appreciate it if you just left my home."
Will scoffs, not moving. "Home? You haven't even unpacked your boxes?" he points a thumb towards the living room where there is in fact a ton of boxes just laying about- some filled with books, some filled with clothes, some filled with pointless shit, all the things Robin told himself he was gonna sort out but just never did.
"Well," Robin says, feeling a little awkward. "That's because I'm not planning to stay here."
Will laughs. "Mate, you've been here three years. You ain't moving anywhere. Now, why don't you be a good host and shut that door and tell me why you're in a pissy mood."
He shouldn't. He should just grab Will by his collar and throw him out but then he'd be alone, left to just wallow in his pity again, mope over broken dreams and what it's like to be a failure, least with Will he'll have company. So he kicks the door shut, let's out a resigned fineand begins walking to the old leather couch, shifting some things out of the way, and sitting down, not missing Will's, something tells me this needs some drinks,and spills his shitty ass day to his only friend.