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The fitting is over. Trenderman took a step back, gave Rico a cursory glance, and nodded briefly in satisfaction, though without a trace of warmth. A simple white nightgown below her knees sat on her baggily, but it was temporary.
— It will do, for the first time. – He said dryly.
He reached for her neck. A short movement and the collar with the bell came undone.
"I'll take the collar," he said without a hint of intonation. "You're not a beast anymore. You don't have to ring around the house like a lost cat.
Trenderman had already turned back to the table, making it clear that the audience was over.
—Atticus,– he called, without raising his voice. "Show her the room."
Atticus was standing by the door. Still motionless. Riko wanted to say something. To ask. Thank you. But instead, she just nodded, like a fox, although it looked almost funny in a human body.
...
They went out into the corridor. Atticus led the way, and Riko trotted behind, barefoot on the cold floor, tangling in her nightgown. The stairs to the third floor turned out to be narrow and creaky – it was obviously rarely visited.
Atticus stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. The wood has darkened with age, and the brass handle is covered with a patina. He pushed the door and it opened with a long creak.
The room was much larger than she had expected. But the entire space was littered with boxes, cardboard and wooden, stacked along the walls. Old mannequins with no arms or heads stuck out of the darkness. An upside-down tailor's mannequin stood forlornly in the corner. The floor was strewn with dust, scraps of fabric, buttons, and scattered pins, which glittered dully in the light from the hallway. Dust hung in the air. Cobwebs gleamed silver under the ceiling beams.
Atticus stopped in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No one has lived here for a long time," he said in a neutral tone. — Trenderman has given you permission to set up this place however you want.
Riko turned to him. Her gaze was both confused and delighted.
"Is this all... mine?"
"Everything that's here,– Atticus nodded. If something is missing, tell me. I'll pass it on.
Riko took a step forward. Then another one, leaving footprints on the floor. Atticus watched her for a few seconds.
"The bedding will be delivered in the morning,– he said quietly. — You can use the old cases for now.
Riko turned around. She had already found a roll of soft flannel and was trying on how to make a nest out of it.
"And the spiders?" She asked with curiosity, not fear. "Are they going to live with me?"
Atticus paused.
"If you don't mind."
"I don't mind,– Riko nodded seriously.
"Trenderman needs you in the workshop at six tomorrow morning,– Atticus reminded him. "Don't be late.
"I won't be late,– Rico promised.
He went out, leaving the door slightly ajar.
...
Rico was left alone. She looked around the room again. Boxes were stacked along the walls. Cardboard, with the sides inscribed: "Spring-58", "Buttons. Rare", "Do not disassemble". She ran to the nearest box and looked inside. It was filled with patches of skin: dark, smooth, with an unfamiliar, slightly sweet smell.
She walked around the room in a circle. She walked over to the mannequins. She ran her finger along the wooden stand, leaving a clear mark. Then she scooped up the rags from the corner, pulled off a piece of old velvet from one of the mannequins and made herself a kind of nest. She lay on her side, tucking her knees to her stomach.
The door closed behind Atticus with a soft click. Trenderman took his time. —Measurements, - he said.
He walked over to the table, picking up a measuring tape. Then a gray–bound notebook. He tucked it under his arm. I thought for a second. He returned to the table for a pencil.
— Come here,– Trenderman said, returning.
Riko stepped forward. Then another one. The bell on his collar tinkled briefly.Trenderman got down on one knee.
— Don't move,– he said evenly.
The ribbon slid down her neck: gently, professionally, without unnecessary touches. The tentacle with the pencil immediately wrote in the book: Neck circumference is 29 cm. The handwriting is calligraphic, with a slant.
—Arms out to the sides, - he ordered. — Don't slouch.
Rico obediently spread her arms
— 73 centimeters... Few. Very little. –he muttered.
The ribbon went lower. Waist. Hips. The length of the arm from shoulder to wrist. Wrist circumference. The length of the leg is the inner seam and the outer seam. The tentacle with the book was working non-stop, the pencil was tapping on the paper with a rapid fraction.
— Turn around, –he ordered.
She turned around. The ribbon fell on his back. From the neck to the coccyx. From shoulder blade to shoulder blade. Cold, businesslike, completely dispassionate. The tentacle with the pencil scribbled a few more lines.
He finished the measurements. He rolled up the tape. The tentacle with the pencil made the last entry and also went under his jacket. A tentacle, the one that was rummaging in the hanger, took off her ankle-length white nightgown: simple cut, thin cotton, lace trim on the collar and cuffs.
— Put it on,– he handed it to Rico. — A lady can't walk around the house naked.
Riko took the item. She turned it over in her hands. The fabric flowed through her fingers, unfamiliar, slippery, and beautiful. She tried to put it on. She stuck her head in the armhole, got her horns tangled in the straps, and almost tore the lace. Trenderman sighed, soundlessly, long-suffering. He easily grabbed the chemise from her hands and unfolded the dress in front of her. Slowly, as they teach you to tie your shoelaces, he showed you where the neck is, where the armholes are, and where the hem is. He pulled the chemise over Riko's head, adjusted the straps on her shoulders, and pulled down the hem so that the lace lay flat.
—Tomorrow at six in the morning,– Trenderman said. — You will come here.
Let's start choosing your wardrobe.He looked at her. She was wearing a huge white nightgown that was sliding off her shoulder. On bare feet. To watchful eyes.
— Go upstairs now. Atticus will show you to your room.
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Type: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 37 years old
Height: 185 cm
Role: Senior proxy, personal assistant and Trenderman's "right hand man."
Appearance
Style: Continuation and reflection of Trenderman's style, but in the role of a "quiet shadow". His costumes are designed in the impeccable fashion of the 50s and 60s, but in a more restrained palette: deep gray, jet black, dark blue, sometimes bordeaux.
All the clothes fit perfectly on the figure.
He is a living proof of the correctness of Trenderman's aesthetic principles.
Personality
It is absolute and unconditional. Atticus does not just serve Trenderman; he is a guide to his will and shares his philosophy on a deep level. He believes in their common cause.
It works lightning fast, quietly and with maximum efficiency. For him, words are often an unnecessary waste of energy when a matter can be solved by action. His presence is often felt before he is noticed.
He speaks quietly, calmly, and only to the point. His phrases are weighty and deliberate. There is no weakness in his silence, but tremendous strength and control.
He is the only person whose style decisions Trenderman accepts without criticism. This speaks not just about trust, but about the recognition of Atticus as an equal in matters of taste. He is the living embodiment of their shared aesthetic.
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Trenderman adheres to fairly traditional methods of expressing affection, including gifts. His favorite is giving flowers. He always finds a new excuse, leaving a luxurious bouquet, usually white, by Riko's bed. When Riko wakes up, he discovers the gift and asks why today, to which Trender dismisses it, saying it's a tribute to some ancient and forgotten holiday, or inventing something simpler, like that it's Corn Day and they should celebrate.
° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .˚⊱🪴🤎⊰˚. ° .ᡣ𐭩 °
They often spend their free time doing simple household chores, like cooking. Trenderman is always reserved in this regard, preferring to follow instructions, while Riko adds "his own ingredients." Trenderman sighs wearily and anticipates a ruined dish, but in reality, it turns out that with Riko's small tweaks, any food becomes infinitely more delicious. He doesn't yet know that Rico also adds love.
° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .˚⊱🪴🤎⊰˚. ° .ᡣ𐭩 °
At first, when Trender first became Riko's mentor, he offered praise and approval very drily. He could only say "good job" or "good job" once a day, which would make her eyes light up and motivate her. Noticing that this was working well, he began to come up with new, warmer phrases. Then he added approving pats on her hair and modest gifts of jewelry or treats. Rico responded to any such expression of praise with a sharp, tight hug. Trenderman was flustered at such moments, but didn't mind if it led to her progress.
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Riko has been living with Trenderman in his house (in my universe, all of Slenderman's brothers live separately) since she was five years old, and during this time they have developed a certain attraction.
Trenderman is a tailor and couturier, and his house is divided into two parts: the first is the studio/boutique where he spends most of the day, and the second is the living area (a small kitchen, bedrooms for each resident, a bathroom, etc.).
° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .˚⊱🪴🤎⊰˚. ° .ᡣ𐭩 °
Their roles:
Riko has been studying dressmaking since she was 10, meaning Trenderman taught her how to sew.
She also works as a maid…
This is a headcanon story about a character. I do NOT own the character.
This information is based on the article https://creepypastafiles.fandom.com/wiki/Trenderman, but it does contain headcanon.
Faceless (Slender Creature). His only facial features are eyebrows.
Height: 2.8 m (9.19 ft)
Age: Over 4,300 years old
Wears glasses (he says they add style).
° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .˚⊱🪴🤎⊰˚. ° .ᡣ𐭩 °
Occupation:
Couturier and designer. Owns his own boutique studio.
Creates mannequins from the skin of people he considers "out of fashion."
° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .˚⊱🪴🤎⊰˚. ° .ᡣ𐭩 °
Style preferences:
Exclusively handmade suits (made by himself).
A Trenderman is a fashion connoisseur who prefers exclusively 1950s and 1960s styles. This is reflected in his wearing exquisitely tailored suits, often in muted or classic colors such as stripes, checks, or houndstooth, paired with crisp shirts and perfectly knotted ties.
His clothes are always impeccable, meticulously pressed, and reflect the clean lines and refined silhouettes of mid-20th-century haute couture. He has an utter disdain for modern casual wear.
Hates Crocs
° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .˚⊱🪴🤎⊰˚. ° .ᡣ𐭩 °
Personality Traits:
Obsession with fashion and aesthetics: This is Trenderman's defining trait. He lives and breathes style, considering it the ultimate measure of value.
Arrogant: His attention to his own style and his critical attitude toward the fashion choices of others betray a deep-seated vanity and an almost pathological sense of superiority. He considers himself the unquestionable authority on matters of good taste.
Pedantic and Perfectionist: As a tailor, he is incredibly precise and attentive to detail. This applies to both his appearance and the execution of his macabre "art."
Ruthless and Cruel: His practice of crafting mannequins from the skin of those he deems "unfashionable" demonstrates an extreme and chilling disregard for human life and a disturbing sense of justice based solely on aesthetics. Judgmental: He is quick to find fault with anyone's clothing that lacks elegance, and often expresses his disapproval through subtle gestures or an icy stare.
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