Cosplay

Daedalia: Chapter 2

Daedalia is a serialized novel, with a new chapter released every Monday morning. The story is designed to unfold slowly, the days in between, a space for it to settle into your imagination. Each chapter is a 15–20 minute read/listen. Check out the Table of Contents if you want to jump to a specific chapter. Want something to binge while you wait? Three novels, complete with audio narration are ready for you to dive in.

Previously…

Five years earlier, Kelly and Lefty met for the first time when they were promptly thrown off a movie set. After the quiet ride back into town, she let him see her notebook of drawings. He didn’t say a word, but he was moved. She felt seen. He drove away, haunted by what he saw, and certain he’d never see her again.

Kelly spent much of the night before the first day of Comic-Con in a bathroom stall in the lobby of the Clarion Hotel. Even under normal conditions, she had a nervous stomach. There was nothing normal about anything that was happening in her life. The fact that she had even made it to San Diego was a miracle. Somewhere in the middle of Texas, her friend’s Dodge Caravan crapped out, and there was no money to get it fixed, so Kelly had struck out on her own, leaving her friend and the two useless dudes her friend had seen fit to let tag along.

Approaching strangers in a McDonald’s for a ride had made Kelly feel like she might throw up. But the thought of getting that far and having to give up and go back was not something she would entertain. She had put every penny she earned at The Whole Story bookshop for the previous year toward getting her zine printed. She had just enough cash left over for her trip, but only if she budgeted ruthlessly and kept to one meal a day. Five hundred copies of Cannibals Love Vegans and Other Delights by K. A. Mudd were neatly packed into a cardboard box she had lugged along with an old L.A. Fitness duffel she had stuffed haphazardly with clothes from her standard uniform of black on black with oversized flannel shirts. If any of this was to make sense, if her life was going to change at all, she believed it would happen at San Diego Comic-Con.

After a few uncomfortable encounters, she had scored a ride with a family that got her as far as Las Cruces, New Mexico. It was a surreal experience for her doing a ride-along with a normal American family, but she was grateful for the safety. Initially, they dropped her off at a gas station just off the interstate, but a few minutes later the station wagon returned, and the mother got out.

“Honey, I can’t leave you here. Frank and I talked. We’re gonna buy you a bus ticket to get you the rest of the way. Now, I won’t take no for an answer.”

When they parted ways at the tiny Greyhound station, Kelly cried out of both relief and embarrassment, but the mother just hugged her and tucked a twenty-dollar bill into her front pocket before letting go. Later that afternoon, in her own air-conditioned seat by the window, she ate the best burrito she’d ever tasted and watched the desert landscape roll by in a loop like an old Road Runner cartoon.

In San Diego, the hotel room at the convention center had been booked with her friend’s dad’s credit card, so Kelly had just found a corner in the lobby to hermit crab and sleep with her head on her duffel. A security guard nudged her in the wee hours of the morning and asked her to move along, so she made an excuse about getting in a fight with her boyfriend and then went up in the elevator to find another place to hide out until the convention started. She was awakened a couple of hours later by a battalion of Storm Troopers exiting their hotel rooms like their watches were synchronized. She got up from her place behind a planter by the window at the end of the hallway and hurried after them with her box and duffel in tow.

When the elevator dinged and the doors opened, she recognized the tall man with the rangy build right away, but he didn’t see her. The Storm Troopers piled in, pushing him into the back corner. When she hesitated to get on, five-foot-two Storm Trooper #4 wouldn’t have it. He pushed the others to make room for her and insisted on helping with the cardboard box, which slipped out of his gloved hands and hit the floor, spilling copies of her zine everywhere.

“Jeez, I’m sorry. Such a klutz,” he said.

Promptly, these chivalrous members of the Imperial Guard knocked helmets and bumped asses trying to bend over and retrieve the copies of her zine in the cramped space.

“Fellas, if I may make a small suggestion? Maybe some of you can step out of the car so we pick these up and make it to the lobby sometime before lunch.”

There were grunts of agreement, and all but Trooper #4 got off the elevator. The doors closed, and Lefty knelt to scoop up a handful of the slippery zines. He handed them to Kelly, who was also kneeling so she could try to stack her precious cargo neatly back into the box. She was trying hard to mask her anger and frustration. Many of the zine covers were bent, and a few were torn. After he handed her the last stack and Storm Trooper #4 had retreated to the far corner of the elevator, she looked up briefly, and Lefty caught her eye.

“Motherfuckers,” he said. “It’s you—the reluctant Indian, right?”

“Yeah, but most people don’t call me motherfuckers.”

“Sorry. I don’t think you ever told me your name that day.”

She couldn’t exactly say why she was glad to see him, but she was. His presence was a comfort, maybe. He seemed like an adult, and after the last few days, that’s what she needed.

“It’s Kelly.”

“I’m Charles,” he said, but after seeing her brow knit into a question mark, he followed with, “Lefty. I used to go by Lefty. Childhood nickname I can’t seem to outgrow.”

“Oh, right.”

“How weird is this? I assume you’re not with these guys. No offense,” he said, gesturing to Storm Trooper #4.

“No. I mean, yes. I’m not with them, but I am going to the Con.”

The elevator opened on the lobby, which now looked like the backlot of a movie set as cosplayers from every space-time dimension milled about looking for their tribe. Lefty reached for the box, and she allowed him to carry it as they exited. He followed her to a relatively quiet spot near the front doors of the lobby. He set the box at her feet and stood before her. She studied him for a beat. He didn’t look any different than he had that day on Wilson’s Creek. His hair was a little longer. His smile was still his best asset, and it distracted from the bags under his eyes.

“I’m assuming these are yours,” he said, kicking the box with the toe of his sneaker, and she nodded. “So you’re still making art then. That’s great.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

It would take him years to get used to her bluntness. But this was a fair question. He looked woefully out of place in his polo shirt, jeans, and Sperry boat shoes.

“You’ll laugh,” he said. She didn’t smile or give him any assurances that she wouldn’t laugh, but he continued anyway. “It’s funny, but I’m kind of here doing the same thing I was the first time we met.”

“You’re looking for a job.”

“I’m always looking for something. I think I’ll know it when I find it, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

“So you just showed up here. Bought a plane ticket and a hotel room to walk around Comic-Con looking for your next break?”

“Not exactly. It’s a long story. I was out here already. This seemed like a thing, and I was curious. I feel like I already got my money’s worth with those Troopers.”

She nodded but didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything. Her expression didn’t change. Lefty shifted on his feet and looked around, surveying the room.

“So, uh, you’ve got a booth or something set up where you’re gonna sell your comics?”

“They’re zines, and no, I don’t have a booth. I couldn’t afford one. I just figured once I got in, I could, you know, make a space.”

“Look at you. I like the confidence.”

This was a generous thing to say. The girl standing in front of him looked like she might throw up any minute.

“It’s a long way from North Carolina to be on your own. This place is kind of a zoo.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding and rolling his tongue around in his cheek. “So I guess I’ll go on inside then, see what this is all about. But before I do, how much for one of your zines?”

“Six twenty-five is what I’m selling them for.”

Lefty dug his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and extended it to her. She didn’t reach for it.

“I don’t have any change,” she said, shaking her head.

“Well, you’re going to need change. Especially when you charge six twenty-five. Here’s some free advice. Let’s say it’s worth ten bucks. You see somebody you really want to have it, somebody in the industry, you give it to them for five. Everybody else pays ten. It all comes out in the wash.”

She took the bill from him, then squatted down to the box to retrieve a copy of the zine, which she extended to him.

“I guess I’m not in the five-dollar club then.”

“I don’t blame you. Save the juice for when it counts. I was already a fan.”

He flipped through the pages of the slim volume, paused on a couple of pages, and then closed it.

“Well, thanks, man. I’m glad I ran into you.”

“Yeah. Break a leg. And hey, if you need me for anything, I’m staying in room 351.”

“Cool. Got it.”

When Lefty returned to his room later that afternoon with a woman cosplaying as Ripley from the Alien movies, the red dome light on the phone by the bed was pulsing like a tiny SOS, but he had missed it. At some point, when he was in the shower, Kelly came and knocked on the door and was surprised when a woman with a shaved head, wearing nothing but a tight tank top and underwear, answered. Kelly claims this Ripley opened the door fully in character, gripping her homemade blaster like Kelly might lunge at her with a telescoping mouth of serrated teeth.

“The child’s gone, Corporal,” Ripley said a few minutes later, leaning in the doorframe of the steamy bathroom.

“What?” Baffled, Lefty looked up and stopped toweling off.

“She’s scared, sir. I tried to engage, but she retreated…”

Lefty pushed past her and went out into the room, where he finally noticed the light blinking and picked up the phone to listen to his messages.

“Hi, Lefty. This is Kelly. I’ve, um… you know what, never mind. Sorry to bother you. I can figure it out.”

After pulling some pants on and dismissing Ripley, who never once broke character, it took Lefty an hour of picking his way through the crowd of post-show revelers in the crowded lobby to find Kelly. Most of the cosplayers were already two drinks in, by the looks of it. He passed a Dr. Spock with only one ear and a Chewbacca with his head in one hand and a piña colada in the other. Eventually, he spotted her hermit-crabbed in a nook under the main stairwell. He crouched a little, like he was approaching a wild animal that was cornered. He mouthed the words “come on” and motioned for her to come out. He was going to offer to carry the box, but then he realized it wasn’t there. Rather than ask, he picked up her duffel and put the strap over his shoulder.

“Are you hungry?”

“I just want to be away from this.”

When they got to his room, he set her duffel down on the smooth plane of the queen bed opposite the one that was a tangle of sweaty sheets. He made a half-hearted attempt to straighten them. His cheeks were flushed when he turned to look at Kelly slumped down beside her bag.

“Why don’t I go downstairs and grab us some food? I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”

In response, she pulled her knees up under her shirt.

“Okay, well, make yourself at home. There’s a shower, there’s a TV…”

“I don’t need to stay here.”

“Where else are you gonna go?”

“Why are you even helping me?” she asked without looking up.

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not gonna fuck you or anything if that’s what you’re thinking. No offense.”

This threw him, and he didn’t respond at first. Maybe he wasn’t sure why he was helping her. Maybe it was having to see himself through her eyes, someone who knew him from his hometown.

“Well, I’m already fucked, so you’ll have to get in line. Look, I’m just trying to be a friend here.”

“Sorry.”

“You wanna talk about what happened?”

She shook her head. When she looked around the room, she saw her zine sitting on the TV stand. She began to cry, silently at first, but then her shoulders started to shake, and she sobbed. Lefty winced and raised a hand to try to console her, but then pulled it away.

“Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. You’re gonna be okay. You’re tough and really fucking talented.”

“I tried, I really tried,” she said between shuddering breaths. “But no one even stopped. It’s like I wasn’t even fucking there.”

Lefty sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. “So what happened to your magazines?”

“They’re called zines. I threw ’em off the balcony.”

“You did what?”

“I spent all day trying to make people talk to me, to get them to check out my zine. Then I started just trying to give them away, you know, kind of like you said, only minus the five dollars. They wouldn’t even take it for free. Not one.”

She started sobbing all over again. He hesitated, but then put his arm around her shoulders. She flinched, started to recoil, and then leaned into him, burying her face in his chest.

After her tears subsided, he asked, “So then you just crop-dusted the motherfuckers?”

She laughed and snorted. “Yeah, I guess I did. It was dumb. The security guards chased me for a while, but I was able to hide in the bathroom for an hour.”

“You know these people are idiots, right? I mean, all fuckin’ people are idiots, but these people are next level. You’re an artist. These fucks wouldn’t know art if it sat on their face. Most of ’em still live in their parents’ basement.”

“Don’t you live with your parents?”

“Fair point. I used to, but not anymore.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. He rose and reached for his copy of Cannibals Love Vegans and Other Delights. He thumbed through a few of the pages.

“No offense,” he said, “but is this really you? I mean, the stuff I saw in your notebook five years ago… It was intense. This just feels…”

“Lame?”

“No, not lame. It’s not my thing, but it’s good. I mean, there’s no question you have skill, but this format just doesn’t feel worthy of you.”

She made a dismissive sigh. “Whatever. I’m just trying to find a way to make something people will pay for.”

He peered into one of the pages for a long time, his eyes squinting. “You’ve gotten so much better—I mean technically. How did you learn to draw like this, with this level of detail and… dimension?”

“Taught myself mostly, but I had one really great art teacher in high school.”

He nodded and flipped through another few pages. After a minute, he closed the zine and set it back down on the TV stand.

“Look, I think what you need is a hot shower and some dinner. This place—you’ve gotta get out and see it. It’s like no place you’ve ever been before. They have these trees that look like the ones in Dr. Seuss books. I bet you didn’t know he was from here. How’s that sound?”

She gave a tentative nod, and he rose to his feet.

“Alright, I’m gonna go downstairs and ask the concierge about restaurants. You get a shower, change your clothes, and meet me out front in thirty minutes. Cool?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Thirty minutes,” he said before gently closing the door behind him.

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