Work Text:
As a puppeteer, it was Ryan’s job to make, well, puppets. He used to do all the puppet shows around town, well renowned for his skills, but over time it just… faded, the novelty wore off, people made puppets for cheaper, his space in the market quickly filled by someone “better” and by better it means cheaper. He now did commissions mainly, wooden toys for birthdays and christmas, puppets for showmen and kids entertainers.
Between it all he had his own project, he only worked on it sparingly, inbetween his necessary work. It was a large carving, it started off as a face, a detailed wooden sculpture of anyone he supposed, it just kind of came to him as he carved, adding the strong nose felt right, the full lips just appeared even on the face to him, he painted the eyes a deep chocolate brown that he just couldn’t explain why looked just right in his eyes.
Over time it became a much bigger project, he started to carve a body, just a simple mannequin so he could clothe this lost head, but then it became more elaborate, articulated, he found himself adding details, freckles, on wood for goodness’ sake. He supposed he found it calming to have a passion project aside his real work, at the end of the day when he was sick of carving spinning tops and weird dolls, he could sit and wittle a hand for his nameless creation.
He made him articulated, he prided himself on detail in his sculptures, he loved how he could make every joint move in a way that mimicked a real person but still had that loose puppetlike charm. Of course, it would still need a puppeteer to move, so he hung him up by strings in his workshop, it gave him pride to look at, he made that, he created it.
The face evaded him, he loved it, but it needed more, the eyes could now open and shut in a way that was dolllike, he made the jaw articulated. He was never much good at jaws, they always seemed rough and you could see the conjoining lines that connected the face to the moving mouth, but oh well, it wasn’t going to be perfect. Over weeks, he poured hours into painting him, especially the face, the final touch was his long eyelashes, Ryan stepped back to look at this creation, this puppet, this person.
As he sewed a simple shirt for him, Ryan spent the duration thinking about a name, no matter what he just couldn’t think of one, no name seemed quite right.
Whenever Ryan’s hands grew sore from carving and sanding, he would often read, too many of his creations received names stolen straight out of books, he’d borrowed a couple from the library as of late, since he’d finished the others.
Brendon
One of the characters in this book, was named Brendon, he was kind, loyal, bit of a troublemaker, in the best way. The way he was described, Ryan had taken a liking to this character.
Hm. Brendon. He looked over at his creation, the paint of his eyelids and lashes still tacky and drying. Brendon. Rolled off the tongue didn’t it? For him at least.
“Brendon.” He said out loud, testing out the name, how it felt in his mouth.
It appeared that Brendon’s head looked up slightly, but it was just the wind, causing his head to tip, then go back to his resting position. Ryan smiled, he liked Brendon, he was proud of all the time and work that went into building him, and even prouder of the final product. Maybe one day he’d be able to show him off at an art exhibition, but for now, he was decoration, something to keep Ryan company whilst he spent hours making another doll for some child who would probably get bored of it after a week and keep it in the bottom of a toy chest.
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Ryan allowed himself an early night that night, he could rest easy knowing one of his greatest projects was now done, he locked up his workshop, like the final piece of the puzzle telling him Brendon was finally finished. Though simultaneously there was this emptiness, like he now lacked a purpose now that Brendon was complete, perhaps he could perfect some of the paint job or add a few extra details, he could figure that out in the morning, but for now it was lights out.
The wind was rough that night, howling and whistling through the house, like the walls were speaking to him, he tried his best to ignore it and just drift off, and he did, sleep taking him in gentle waves, crashing against the shore. Behind this sea were his dreams, gentle and peaceful tonight, his mind at ease despite the impending workload of the next day.
The door rattled, the wind obviously shaking it, in his half conscious state Ryan tried to ignore it, but it just continued, he’d have to go and check the lock. Eventually the noise was bothering him too much so he dragged himself out of bed and down to his workshop. The rattling stopped. He was about to turn back when he could’ve sworn he heard footsteps. Was someone in his workshop? Everything valuable he owned was in there.
Ryan slowly backed off, retrieving a knife from his kitchen, he listened outside the door, definitely footsteps, they made a weird sound against the floor, but definitely footsteps.
His heart pounded in his chest, he pushed the door open, for a second he saw nothing, just the stillness of his workshop at night. Then he saw string on the floor, snapped, as if pulled too tight and having broken. Then he saw a sillohuette.
“Who are you?!” he demanded, pointing the knife towards whoever had dared to break into his workshop. The figure jumped back, its legs wobbly, it fell to the floor with a wooden clatter. Ryan frowned in confusion.
Brendon was sat on the floor, having fallen back. Ryan had to be dreaming.
“Hello?”
“I am definitely dreaming…” Ryan said more to himself than anyone else.
“Helloooo? Hello sir?”
Ryan was dumfounded, Brendon’s voice was smooth, like honey, rich somehow, he supposed like the wood he used to carve him.
“Hello?” he finally replied.
“Hello.” Brendon looked up at him with wide eyes, like a curious dog or innocent child. “Sorry I scared you, I was just looking around”
“This is my workshop”
“Oh… did you make me then?”
“Well, yeah”
“Wow…”
Ryan gulped uncomfortably, he just wanted to wake up, or go back to bed, he placed the knife down on his desk, deciding that this dream Brendon seemed relatively harmless.
“Look, I’m gonna go back to bed-”
“Why?”
“I need to sleep?”
“But what about me?”
“What about you?”
“I’m awful lonely down here” he looked up at him pleadingly.
Ryan sighed “Look- you’re a puppet, there’s no way this is real”
Brendon looked hurt, it was almost fascinating the way the wood seemed to bend to fit his expressions.
“But I’m so cold, I was trying to get out to look for a fireplace”
“A fire? Brendon, you’re made of wood you can’t go near fire”
“But I’m cold, the shirt you made me isn’t very warm you know.” Brendon folded his arms.
Ryan sighed, picking his coat off the hook. “Here, will this do?”
“Yours?”
“Yes?”
“It’s perfect”
Brendon slid on the coat, wrapping himself up in it. He smiled with a kind of warmth that should have lit up the whole workshop, Ryan felt his heart do something funny, it was strange seeing his creation come to life.
“Look I really have to be back to bed”
“But-”
“I’ll uh… be back in the morning” he said, despite not entirely believing it himself, he was prepared to wake up any second.
Brendon huffed “Okay… by the way, what’s your name sir?”
“Please stop calling me sir. I’m Ryan” he sighed.
“Hello Ryan, I’m Brendon” he smiled.
“I know… I named you”
“I like the name”
“I’m glad, now… goodnight, Brendon” Ryan turned away.
“Fine… goodnight” he pouted, Ryan exited the workshop and returned to bed.