The Plushie Place

I was smiling before I stepped into the shop.

Look, I love Ren faires. I love the dressing up, the acting, the talent they put on the stages, the scripts, the people who gravitate to faires, the costumes.

And the merchants.

Quirky, unusual, creative. One can find some really cool stuff, and their makers, if you’re willing to wander and chat.

Marie and I go way back.

So far back, that I’m one of the few that knows her dead name. And it dies with me, as it should.

(Except that her transphobic parents already have a tombstone with her dead name at their family plot. Dates already filled out and everything. How freaking creepy is that? And they think she’s the horrible person!? I’ve met her parents – trust me, you’re not missing a thing.)

I remember when she was selling leather roses. She looked cute in boy’s garb back them, and she looks even cuter today in her merchant-appropriate skirts and corsets. Heck, she looks better than I do, much to my eternal grumpy jealousy.

And she can afford the full Elizabethan treatment now, real jewels and all. I earn my green eyes, I really do. But dang, she’s done well for herself!

Right. Back to smiling. Smiling as I enter the shop.

Look, you can’t help it. Even if your inner child has been wounded, or is sleeping, or is playing a video game instead of looking around, you really can’t help it.

Plushies. Stuffed animals of every shape and size, and for any gender you can imagine.

Colors. Fabrics. Glitter, jewels. Feathers, fur, even bits of horn. Real gems, real fossils. Here, if you rummage long enough, you’ll find one with vintage or antique bits and bobs, treasures from hundreds of thrift shops and even auction shops, snatching up the boxes of broken costume jewelry that no one wants.

Ethically sourced, so please don’t make that face when I mention things like leather and feathers. I happen to have a friend who donates all her pet parrot’s feathers to Marie, and I know there’s a fan of hers that raises pigeons, and does the same. And a few local farms donate wool, and chicken feathers, and even things like claws and hides when butcher time rolls around. That’s how she gets the bone bits, too, and there are carvers that she’s made connections with over the faire years to split the bounty.

Of course I drag in everyone that I bring to faire.

The look on my friends’ and family’s faces, when they step into the shop! Walls, ceiling, even the faux “bear rug” on the floor is made by her hands, and hers alone. Countless hours of planning, design, matching materials, and sewing. Adding the bits – a fascinator hat on the phoenix with a real parrot feather. A plaque belt on the spotted bear, and those are real agates in their centers. I helped her source the garnet cabochons in the tiara on the flying wolf, and made the glass beads that twinkle in sashes and adorn necklaces.

You step into a panorama of color, completely surrounded by wonderful companions that can be yours – for the right price, of course.

All price points are represented, because Marie’s no fool. The Baby Palmfuls are under a hundred, and the rainbow unicorn with gold crown at the base of its horn (and real livery collar, smuggled in from Europe) in the upper tens of thousands.

And each one has a Knowing Look on its face, like the Velveteen Rabbit spread its blessing through the store.

Like Marie, I live for the look on the kids’ faces when they come in.

Yes, I do believe in magic, because each child stops, gazes around in delighted wonder, and arrows right for one in the whole stack. Doesn’t matter how hidden, they burrow in between cobalt velvets and patterned silks to pull out The One like they heard it calling. And when they triumphantly return to their parents with their prize, there’s always hems and haws and well let’s see what’s cheaper or what about all the others you barely looked. Invariably, what they pick is what goes home with them, because it’s the one that’s Just Right – and amazingly, the plushie fits their budget. Sometimes by squeaks, but it always does.

It never ceases to amaze me.

Marie doesn’t know how she does it either. So we don’t ask too many questions, and let the magic do its thing.

Marie’s inventory is on her tablet, and she duly notes its name when the receipt is handed over. They always have names, before they leave the shop. The child will solemnly tell Marie as the financial transaction takes place, as if their new friend is whispering their True Name in the child’s ear.

Maybe they are. Unusually Perceptive adults, as the book says, do the exact same thing. And I can’t tell you how my own small collection got their names, from Star Sapphira to Twirlamine to Jiggidy Jaggedy Agate.

This time around, I’ve brought my aunt’s family to faire, with my cousin’s seven year old daughter. She’s one of my cousins – I have too many to figure out how many times removed each one is. Don’t care, cute kidlet, you’re fam, you’re one of my cousins. She’s at just the right age, and sure enough -

Yep. We get a gasp-squeal of delight as she stops a few steps in, with the adults right behind her. She darts to the far side, and leaps head-first into a bit of a bulging pile of plushies. And I shake my head, grinning, when she wriggles out while clutching a huge purple velvet unicorn. Stitching in gold glitter thread forms stars and planets, and a real gold chain winds around the muzzle and withers, dripping in dangling beads. Front and center is a bead I recognize very well, since it took me so dang long on the torch to get it right that I almost screwed it up terribly. A blue-violet core, covered in clear, then covered in twirled goldstone aventurine, then more clear, then hobnails in light blue.

“His name is Night Mare, but he keeps them away! That’s what the horn is for!”

I knew they’d blanch at the price, but I waved to catch their attention. “Aunt, split it between you and Cousin Megan. I’ll contribute too, use my discount.” They protested, a little, till they saw how steep a discount was actually applied.

Aunt Becky kept looking around, and finally artlessly asked the question we all hoped she’d avoid. I should know by now. Becky’s curious as a whole sack of cats, and can’t read the room for the life of her, but will arrow in on the elephant in the room without a second’s thought. “You know, this reminds me so much of those plushies that are all the rage right now. You know, thousands of dollars each, if Mom has a Gucci bag then the kid’s gotta have the stuffed animal? What’s their name? Plushapalooza or something?”

I sighed. “Becky, Marie was making these long before that company ripped off her ideas here and went high-end couture. These are hand made, and crafted from scratch with love and care and attention to detail. Those may be of the highest quality leather, but they’re… ostentatious.”

Marie’s smile was brittle. “A family member thought they could get away with ignoring my copyright. The lawsuit’s in progress, and the evidence against them is blatant. I’ll eventually win, but in the meantime, my awesome one-of-a-kinds are compared to their cookie cutters. Here.” She took a plainer unicorn off the shelf behind her, with a clear Not For Sale tag hanging like an ugly rag from the tail. “One of my early pieces, when I made a whole set of plushies that had physical handicaps. I think this is what started it off. Three gold hooves, yes that’s real gold over leather, like their Gilded Unicorn line, but the fourth is silver. Let’s just say my darling family got their knickers in a twist at a holiday, and the fight started.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I decided to jump in. “It’s almost funny. We don’t know who the spy is, but we place bets which of Marie’s new plushies this year will be the design they steal for next year’s Plushiepalooza line. The pattern of copyright infringement is clear, but they still do it. Like it won’t catch up to them, but it’s annoying, and takes time away from Marie’s making more of her individual plushies.”

Marie nodded at my kidlet cousin. “Wait till it happens, you’ll see. When one of your classmates gets one – and someone will – look at its eyes. Then look at Night Mare’s eyes. You’ll see the difference.”

As one who’d seen many of both designs, I knew what she meant. The others had no life in them, at all. It was scary, but the mothers who craved those designer handbags would spend money like water to give their kids those leather monstrosities. And the kids loved them. People like that would never come to Ren faire, and certainly not set foot inside an “inferior knockoff” shop like this one.

And it was better that way. Marie might have to chase them off with a giant wooden spoon or something if they’d pull their snooty attitude with her.

But I couldn’t help but laugh, because Aunt Becky had one of the Baby Palmfuls in her hand, and I found a leaf dragon wrapped around my neck like the collar it was. Fringes of beaded silk brushed against my collarbone.

Marie was gracious enough to apply my discount to both, and we got out of there before our credit cards decided to strike in protest.

Luckily, flavored lemonades from another favorite merchant dispelled any lingering feelings of discomfort.

I circled back to Marie when faire closed, after I’d said my goodbyes to my fam in the parking lot.

She looked fabulous in the wood sprite costume she’d made for herself, and I told her so.

She grinned, and pulled out a bottle of strong tipple to share for another successful day. “Let me guess, Kiddo never let go of her new friend?”

“Aunt Becky says she’s been having high anxiety and real nightmares, so I expect that there will be a reduction of both, starting tonight.”

“The magic of what I make. I almost wish I knew how.”

“Better just to do what you do, and let the magic take its own course.”

“True.” Marie stared at the amber liquid in her glass. “Are people still buying it? I feel so guilty.”

I knew what she meant. “Don’t you ever! Your family screwed around and found out when you came out, their name deserves some nasty mud slinging. And they deserve not one iota of your success now. That you-” I very quickly lowered my voice to a bare whisper – “Own both this and Plushiepalooza, so you can rake in the bucks. That ain’t nobody’s business but yours! It’s your money, your ideas, your materials. You pay the handful of people who make the other line handsomely, with all sorts of perks and bonuses. And if people find out? Then you say you won the lawsuit. No one’s the wiser, you get to concentrate on what drives your passion here, and oh my gawd whose idea was it to make accessories for the other line? The hats are almost adorable, but those mini purses are atrocious!”

“And some of the best sellers, to my eternal shame. You got the stuff?”

I grinned, pulling out a well-padded bag of quartz crystals. Marie’s idea to make a wire fan for her harpy plushie, with crystals tipping the fan’s ribs, sounded amazing.

“I’m glad Aspen decided to go home with you. I put a lot of love into that one.”

I stroked one leaf-covered wing; the other was curled snugly around my shoulder blade. “You’ll be seeing a lot of this one at faire, because I’ll be wearing it constantly.”

“I’ll set aside the autumn version that I’m working on, in case it also wants to go home with you.”

“And a winter themed one? And a spring one, with sakura cherry blossoms?”

Marie’s eyes lit up, which warms me inside faster than the tipple, when I can do that. “Yes! That will be awesome! But I have to finish the harpy first.”

“Take your time. That’s me, instigatrix, at your service.”

She saluted me with her glass. “That’s why you get the big discounts. I should give you stock in the company.”

“Only if you want to. Too many people have used you and abused your generosity over the years, and I never want to be one of them. I’ve seen you blossom into a beautiful woman, with your passion intact, and don’t you ever let anyone take that from you.”

She smiled, but it was sad. “If you weren’t married...”

The drink was smooth, and warmed my belly, and I hadn’t had dinner. I wasn’t thinking when I mused, “Well, maybe sew all that loneliness and longing for a real partner into a plushie, and see who comes in and wraps themselves around it, and-”

I was slammed hard into my chair by two hundred lovely pounds of friend, who smelled faintly of wood smoke and sandalwood. I hugged her fiercely and she whispered, “Do- do you think-”

“It doesn’t hurt to try. If there’s magic here, it may work. But the harpy first, that one’s waited a long time.”

“A deer, with pattern-pressed forest green velvet, and clear crystal tears, and moon vine patterns..”

I grabbed her tablet, tapped on it with the ease of long practice. “All right, my dear. I’m ordering takeout, because I know they deliver here, and you’re now too occupied with details to think about something so prosaic as nutrition. And you didn’t put in an order with everyone else who’s staying on site like you usually do. I’ll stay with you and eat, then go home after, because some time between now and later you will forget I exist, you will be upstairs surrounded with the stuffs and things of your new creation.”

She’d already grabbed her sketch book, and was muttering “And I’ll finally have a use for that dark brown leather, just enough to make the cloven hooves…”

I smiled, leaned back, and stroked my neck dragon. Aspen glanced up at me – did it just wink?

I’ll likely have to feed her by hand, too, or she’ll completely forget.

Wouldn’t be the first time.