And of course, people love the twists. Usually the twists are something like an absurd budget restriction or a strange material everyone has to incorporate. This year’s twist? Quals has a theme, Double Creature Feature, which explains the paired-up monsters all around us. There’s no twist for Primes yet, but we’re all expecting something to shift. It’s just the way Irma runs her shows.
No matter the twists, Trip-C requires its teams to produce four separate cosplays. It’s a lot, even for two people. And May, while awesome, isn’t much for crafting, so it’s been mostly on me. I don’t mind the work, though. In the months after Luca broke up with me, work was all I had, all I wanted to do. In a way, it was the work that pulled me up, put me back together, and got me here.
Still, now that I’m here, I can’t help feeling like something is missing. May is great, but my monster was supposed to be Luca.
Madeline finishes her explanations. The clubbers pass around tablets with even more paperwork. After we sign, we’re told to wait until our names are called. I still don’t understand why they’ve kept us all together until May says, “Look, Raff. Cameras.”
Sure enough, there are camera crews sweeping into the room, setting up. For a moment, staring into the dilated black cyclops eyes of the camera lenses, I’m reminded of my setup back at home. I feel the excitement of looking into that lens, that digital oblivion, knowing that someone is watching me back. Someone is noticing me.
I don’t know who’s on the other side of this lens, and I don’t really care; tons of people are going to be photographing us. Still, the quality of this crew piques my curiosity.
“Are they allowed to film us like this?”
“Raff, there’s a photo release in the application. Our parents had to sign it.”
“Oh, I forged that.”
“And we just signed another thing on those tablets. Did you even read it?”
I’m too scattered to read just now. I just punched through the pages and signed, passing the tablet off to May.
Then the judges enter. I don’t recognize them like I expect to. They have a small meeting with the clubbers before calling out the first couple’s team name. I barely pay attention, because I’ve just now pinpointed where Luca is. He’s at the back of the room, and he’s watching me.
Luca used to play this game with me. We’d be watching a movie or working, and he’d just look at me. And he wouldn’t look away until I finally looked back. I used to be so enamored by this; I loved looking up and seeing him smiling at me.
But he’d do it all the time. At shows. While I was driving. While I was talking to someone else. And I realized after we broke up that it wasn’t about me. It was about him. He wasn’t admiring me; he was giving me a chance to admire him admiring me.
I feel his stare now. As the judges call May and me, I let my robes billow, and I make Luca look upon what he’s lost.
“Which one of you is Raffy?” one of the clubbers asks. I raise my hand.
“I follow you on Ion. I’ve been looking forward to seeing this in person. And it’s—”
Another clubber hushes the first. The judges whisper to one another at their table, then indicate that we should begin. I start talking right away.
“For the Double Creature Feature, it was important that we pick a pair that was symbolically similar but not redundant in technique. We wanted to create a companion build that showcased needlework, and so we came up with the Spring Keeper and the Pinehorn from—”
“From Deep Autumn? Holy shit,” one of the judges says, recognition hitting the panel. They sit back, awed as they mentally compare our grotesque appearance with its cutesy origin.
I begin my rehearsed breakdown of the materials I used, the techniques I incorporated, and the time I spent. You have to be quick—most prejudging only lasts about five minutes so the judges can get through everyone and still have time to eat bad con food. To help them, competitors also bring build books, printed-out guides to their work with reference photos, progress pictures, and detailed notes.
The judges get to ask questions, too.
Where do you get your supplies?
Did you drape the robe, pattern it, or a mix?
How did you build the Pinehorn’s stilts?
Did you design the embroidery pattern on the robe?
Who did what?
I’m prepared for all of this, especially that last bit.
“We worked together. May is a talented illustrator. I’m good with sewing. It was a team effort.”
“Well,” says one of the judges, “for a team, you certainly do a lot of the talking.”
This shakes me, but I just give her a bow. “I’m the Spring Keeper. The forces of the deep forest are mine to command and care for, corrupted or not.”
The judges are visibly impressed, both with the costumes and my in-character retort. They thank us, and we thank them. A hush falls over the other competitors as we walk back into the crowd of costumes. Everyone is staring now, and I let them, reveling in the weight of their attention.
I finally glance at Luca. He is the only one looking elsewhere.
Four
Then
Thirteen months ago
I, Raphael Odom, a.k.a. Raffy, a.k.a. Crafty Rafty, have died and ascended to heaven.
And by heaven, I mean Craft Club on a Sunday morning, when the rest of Somerville is still asleep and I have the whole place to myself. I practically hear the harp music sweeping over me as the doors rush open, pulling me into the bright, funky-colored universe—my favorite place, forever and ever.
The store in Somerville is Craft Club’s unofficial headquarters. It wasn’t the first store, but it is the largest, at least for now. Craft Clubs are popping up all over Massachusetts, bringing an astounding variety of crafting supplies to a craft desert near you. They have it all: paints, papers, pens, fabrics, flowers, frames, scissors, sheers, cardboard, glue guns, heat guns, staple guns, and increasingly, cosplay supplies like thermoplastics and wig wefts.
I’m here to grab more rhinestones, and since I came all this way, I might as well pick up a few other supplies, too, right? I could get a lot of my supplies online, but there’s something so inspiring about being surrounded by such abundance. So much material! So many projects in so many parts, just waiting for the right hands to assemble them.
I like being here. And besides, I hate ordering stuff to the house. Evie has a camera on the stoop, and she’s nosy. It’s better if I just get what I need here and smuggle it in. For the same reason, I use cash. Untraceable, dirty cash. When it comes to Evie, the fewer questions, the better.
Evie is…a lot of things. Just a lot in general. But most of all, she is a Very Serious Art Person. She despises anything crafty, and she especially hates Craft Club. In fact, it’s a hobby of hers to sit at Jurassic Perk, the coffee shop next to Craft Club, and bemoan the state of art as shoppers walk by, loaded down with bags. It’s because she hates accessible art. And the people who partake in casual creation? They disgust her. Hobbyists, she calls them, pronouncing it like it’s a four-letter word. Like if she sees one more DIY tutorial on Facebook, she’ll fall into a self-imposed coma. To a woman who is defined by her taste and curation, the very idea that people dabble in art without lofty intent is, by default, sacrilege.