Harlan Deity | Capitol | FIN

Normal people relish in the free hours after work, putting up their feet and relaxing but that’s not Harlan. Work never ends; he just moves his labour from his shop to his home. A brain needs to be kept moving, with something…anything - physical or mental tasks, anything to exercise his brain. Solving mathematical equations seems the most challenging way to keep one’s brain fit but Harlan would rather not deteriorate his. To him, he is fortunate to have nobody in his life to distract him from his puzzles and meddling but there is a conflict in his mind that is against that fact, loneliness is becoming an infestation and his pursuit for a cure continuously fails.

Everyday people come through his shop door, fashionistas looking for the perfect mannequin to drape their new clothing line onto. He learns their names, he remembers their needs but they’re not friends, just customers.

Customers just come and go…

His latest product of meddling; an electronic handless moustache comb, highly unpractical but hilariously comical to watch in action. There is a fine art in maintaining his very little facial hair, with the high expectations of Capitol appearances to compete with; his moustache has very much become his symbol. Although scattered across his short frame, various tattoos of random designs; a bizarre phase that took over not that long ago. He now has two flowers, a bird, a cat and a small hotdog printed on his skin, thankfully hidden beneath cloth.

There are only a few faces that greet him every day, his mannequins; a surprising market with a high demand, a modest source of income for Harlan. Commissioning his sculptures was never going to be a way to make a living, so bringing life to life sized wax figures to place in shop windows became his thing. There’s a variety of models, multiples sharing the same face, originals for demanding customers. They all have names, Carlton and Carrie, the “twins,” his most popular models. He could say they’re all his children, his creations but he could never describe them as family. Friends, silent figures who keep him company, acquaintances to fill an empty room. There is one though, hidden away is a store cupboard with name of Madeline, not for buyer’s eyes.

There are occasions where he breaks free from the meddling and mannequin selling, masquerade balls have become his signature pastime. Hidden beneath masks, crafted by his own hand, while linking arms with a stranger; a comforting way to get his levels of human contact to keep his engine going. Every month he tries to get on the guest lists of the various parties across the Capitol and with great struggles, his wavering brings him success. It’s surprising how many of his customers have a friend of a friend of a friend…

It is hard for Harlan to stay idle for long, his mind racing for anything…something to do. A work day never ends for him, even in his sleep, the lucid dreams entertain him. Another hobby, robotics meddling, he sees himself as an inventor but the majority of his project don’t last five minutes. A frying pan that flips his pancakes for him, its flaw was that it did not just flip them but tossed them across the room…out of the window…onto his neighbour’s balcony below. But he just carries on with another plan, as long as his mind is tingling, all is well for him.

Days used to be different not that long ago. There was always a date at his arm when attending the masquerades, a face to wake up to next him in bed, company at the other side of the breakfast table. Nineteen years old and he fell in love with a girl called Madeline, so different yet something connected them together. A fashionista girl, the typical Capitolite archetype and yet, his heart raced whenever he was in her company. Life was spontaneous then, he focused on his art, Madeline’s income put food on the table. They even married, Harlan’s twenty-third birthday and they tied the knot, but knots don’t stay tight for long…

Twenty-five, with no career or income; his sculptures began to fill the house as buyers disappeared. That’s when his attention was brought to the mannequin making market, one bid on an empty shop and it was his. Deity’s Bespoke Mannequins, a simple name but it sells. This was his new passion, a new life and Madeline hated every minute of it. His work days began to grow longer and the hours spent with his wife began to dwindle.

”You could have told me, I didn’t know…”

”It’s too late Harlan, I have a stranger for a husband, I spend more of time with the cat than with you. “

”I can change, Madeline, I will cut my hours for you.”

”I can’t believe you can’t remember that we have had this argument numerous times before, it’s been like this for six years. You chose your work, good-bye Harlan.”

It was a quick divorce but its effects were everlasting for Harlan, floors began to collapse beneath him, friendships broke and now he lives in an empty house. He rarely switches on the big lights, always working with a candle or a table lamp; it is only him now, the light goes where he goes.

Seven years of loneliness and he sees it every morning when he looks in the mirror. Wrinkles descend from his eyes, his chin has doubled and any muscle gained from his youth has ceased to exist. Grey hairs now march across his temple, any sane Capitolite would dye it but it shows his real self. He is a lonely man, it is a fact, there is no point hiding it.

His yearning for company is advertised on his appearance, yet nobody has taken any interest with his ad. For seven years he has tried and failed to find the one, even a close friend would suffice but whenever he gets close, something beats them away.

His mannequins, silent yet company. One raging day, he spent eighteen hours making Madeline but the mannequin only spent 10 minutes in the shop before being buried away. He was adding pain to his agony by having it in there with him; he doesn’t know where the key is for that cupboard anymore.

A man who loves to converse and party, yet he is forever alone, huddled up in his workshop stringing together useless things. It has gone on for seven years; he doesn’t know how long it can go on for…