Bleid
Legacy Name: Bleid

Story

She had always preferred the company of plushies to that of people. They were quiet and agreeable, offering no unwelcome judgment whatsoever. They were never rowdy, never rude, never disrespectful. They wouldn’t tease her or yell at her or hurt her, not like people would.

And maybe that’s why she was afraid. She had tried getting on with other people before and had failed miserably. She was not physically capable, she felt, of creating or maintaining friendships with others. She felt bad for people; she detested how horrible, how absolutely awful and mischievous and downright mean they could be.

People reciprocated her behavior. They always seemed to think she was a little off. Maybe it was her eyes; she was afflicted with the uncommon trait of being born with two different colored eyes. People would stare at her eyes as if they were some kind of curse, as if they somehow made her a menace to society.

In reality, though, she was a sweet girl. Rarely did she let people get close enough but if they did, they would discover how warm and affectionate she could be. She told herself that of course she would jump at the opportunity to have a true friend that she could spend all of her energy and emotion on, if only the opportunity would present itself. But it never seemed to.

So she continued to enjoy her plushies. They left her in peace, giving her their quiet, absolute approval, while she worked in her shop and made more of them, cranking them out like an unlimited supply of do-it-yourself best buds. She was completely happy, unequivocally content in their midst. They really were the perfect companions. She wondered how people ever grew out of them.

While she worked, she also wondered why people didn’t get tired or exhausted from being around each other. She came to the conclusion that something inside her must be broken. Maybe she was maladapted socially. Maybe she wouldn’t let people get close to her because she was afraid that they would find something buried under all of her sweetness and shyness and sincerity that would scare them away. And that’s why she was comfortable around the plushies: they accepted her with glassy smiles no matter what she did. Outwardly, they were all unique, but inside they were all exactly the same, eager to love her and accept her just as she was.

So when the man and the boy walked in her shop she didn’t know what to say. She was older, now, so that she didn’t need the company of plushies to lull her to sleep at night, but when he walked in she wanted to curl up behind one and hide all the same.

So when the man holding the little boy walked into her shop she didn’t know what to say. They entered nondescriptly, the shop completely quiet save for the sound of the sewing machine and the bell at the top of the door tinkling. She was older now, old enough that she didn’t need the company of plushies to lull her to sleep at night, but when they walked in the shop she felt the urge to curl up behind the rows of plushies and hide all the same.

He was beautiful, she thought, in the kind of way only sophisticated, sensitive men could be, with a mop of messy brown hair hanging over his glasses. His bright eyes complemented his wide, genuine smile. The child clutching a plushie to his chest with one hand and clinging to the man with the other had same features, albeit shrouded in a cloud of childhood sadness. She thought that this might’ve been the first time she’d experienced true apprehension. Her heart was beating quickly, jumping against her ribcage as if it were a caged animal trying to break free.

And when he opened his mouth and began to speak, she only heard the soothing sound of his voice, not the words it formed. She snapped herself out of the daze and looked down, scared to make eye contact, and asked him to repeat himself.

When he opened his mouth and began to speak, she only heard the sound of his voice. She paid no attention to the words it formed, letting syllables flow fluidly past her ears, processing absolutely none of it. She became aware of her inattentiveness and snapped herself out of the daze. She looked down, scared to make eye contact, and asked him to repeat himself.

He looked at her quizzically. He seemed to make eye contact with people when he talked, a habit she found unfamiliar and intensely disquieting. She tried her best to return his direct gaze as he said gently, “We’re here to buy a new plushie for my son.”

She looked from father to son, taking in first the father’s kind smile and hopeful eyes, then the son’s defeated expression.

She reached down and took the boy’s hand, surprised at her own actions. He couldn’t have been more than five, she thought, and already broken down by the world. “Here,” she said, voice nearly a whisper, and led them to the back of the shop.

When they got to the shelf that she had never showed to anyone before, she let go of the little boy’s soft hand and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt that, by showing others this shelf and its contents, she was at the same time exposing herself. She was immediately uncomfortable and almost regretted the idea. She took a deep breath and knelt to face the boy who was still clutching the tattered plushie to his chest, eyes red-rimmed.

“Look at these,” she said quietly. “I handmade them, not using the machine. They’re special, so much softer.” She looked at the plushies, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Sometimes you just have to put a little love into things.” She grabbed a plushie off the shelf gingerly, handing it to the boy.

He ran his finger over its fur. “It is soft,” he squeaked. She smiled, lips quivering. “Why don’t you take it?” she asked. He handed it back to her suddenly and shook his head vigorously. “No,” he said firmly. “No. I can’t give Mr. Bear up. He’s the only thing I have left from Mom.”

She realized that against all better judgment she had already opened her heart up to the boy. He was, she thought, the first person that she had let in and comforted since, well, ever.
She set her hand on his and smiled sadly. “You don’t have to let him go if you don’t want to. Trust me.”

Beside him, his father’s hands shook.

She stood and wiped her hands on her worn jeans. “Come on,” she said.

She led them to another room at the back of the shop. She walked through the threshold but the boy and his father paused outside of it, hesitant to step inside. She opened her hand, beckoning the boy, and he walked towards her trustingly, leaving his father standing at the door.

“I’m like the plushie doctor,” she said gently. She patted his back, surprised at the lack of awkwardness between them. It was as if he was her son. “He’ll be alright in no time.” She laid the plushie near the sewing machine and in a matter of five minutes she had sewn up the holes leaking stuffing. “See?” she said “All better. I told you you wouldn’t have to give him up.”

She knelt down to hand the plushie to the boy and was knocked off balance when he jumped on her, clutching her in a kind of vice that she assumed was the kind of hug customary for children. She hugged him back, to her surprise, and began to untangle herself. His father had seen the ruckus and walked into the room, and as he bent down to assist in the detangling, he was also knocked off balance as she went crashing to the ground.

The three of them ended up on the floor in a messy pile of limbs sticking every which way. She couldn’t tell if the arm by her face belonged to her or one of the boys, and someone coughed. She looked at the boy’s father with wide eyes and they both began to laugh. His mouth was open wide, eyes crinkled at the corners behind the glare of his glasses. He got the boy started, too, a hysterical giggle that set her off again. She felt the laughter deep in her chest, a warm, bubbling sensation that she had never experienced before. She liked it.

The boy’s father smiled warmly at her and wrestled his hand out of the human knot, offering her a handshake. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said jokingly.
The three of them stayed in that messy but pleasant pile of limbs for quite a while, none willing to leave the others to face the broken world outside.

Reference

Quad Version
Humanoid Version

Art

(ordered by newest-oldest)

Humanoid:
click - click
Quad:
click - click - click

By others:
Humanoid:
X by Gearpunk
X by User not found: simbekah
Quad:
X by Gearpunk
X by Lantern
X by Syiena

Credit

Primary coding by SubetaLodge
Profile, graphics and overlay by Naerina
Character (excluding Bleid) and story by User not found: khan