////CLOSED THREAD/////Opening Day

Always the showman, the Puppeteer was delighted to have such an audience, especially one so expressive and jubilant. Grinning to himself as his Doll clapped to celebrate his success with the game, he let loose each ball until the first six were done.

Afterwards, in between games, he handed her the tickets, “Hm, hold these please, my precious Doll.” If she didn’t take them, the corners of his lips would twitch, forming an annoyed scowl for just a moment before he stowed the strand of tickets into his front pants pocket. While displeased by her disobedience, he would quickly recover.

Regardless of who became the keeper of the tickets, he smiled to her as she picked out her prize. A chuckle escaped his lips when he saw the target of her desire. It struck an odd humor in him that his Doll should want, of all the toys and trinkets available, a doll. Glancing beneath the figurine, he noted the label ‘100 tickets’ and nodded. Acquiring the tickets would require that he sink all six balls into the ‘50’ hole. Already, the Puppeteer had plans in his head to tweak the trajectory of any wayward ball so that he would not fail in obtaining his toy the toy she sought.

“Of course, my Doll, but how about a kiss for good luck?” he asked as he leaned down a little so that she could reach him. He wondered just where she might kiss him to give him luck. On the cheek? Like a good, innocent young girl should. Or on the lips? Like a not-so-innocent young girl might.

Finishing the sweet treat, he chuckled and looked for a garbage. Only to continue licking the delicious sugar from the handle of the candy. "Others? Nah, I don't got many friends here. Though some of our classmates seem rather boring to me." It was a horrible attempt at small talk. His should nudging back to her. A kind smile flashed, before his eyes opened and locked on her's. "Hunni-Chan~..." Strung out, with a sweet melody. Halting mid-step, to watch her gain the lead. He then stepped behind her, and even if she saw him, began merely spin mid step. Like a child who was still so full of energy. A foolish snicker leaving a trail behind them.

"I don't get it..." He began to think about some stuff aloud. "If your Brother is a very great Shaman, and your sister a high priestess..." He stopped mid-breath and rethought about what he was about to say. "That's why you got to come to Caislin, right?" A much different approach to his questioning. "Do you write to them often? Or call?" Still he continued to make sure he was behind her at all times. His lips spread in a playful grin. Energetic, he continued his spinning. Arms still flat to his sides like they were glued.

The token tickets shoved towards her. Gathering the ribbon of paper into her small hands. Holding them like some delicate bouquet. Clutching them to her chest as her gaze followed his own back to the prize he promised to win for her. Admiring the porcelain doll dressed in victorian garb.

The focus brought back to the Puppeteer with his request. “Of course, my Doll, but how about a kiss for good luck?” That smile turned rather goofy and childlike once more as he leaned down towards her. Usually the males that asked for such things had an alternate plan designed. Wanting something more than just that innocent kiss. This time it seemed different it was for luck so he might grace her with yet another present. A glance towards the materialed rose on her lapel with the thought before eyes drew back to his face. Perhaps only time would tell what these gifts would cost her in the end. The rose, the blood and now the doll.

Rolling up onto the toes of those boots. Teetering towards the Puppeteer as blood stained lips puckered. The kiss alit at the corner of his mouth. Not on the cheek as an innocent girl would. Nor on the mouth as one not so innocent might. The placement of affection given on the angular part between the meeting line of his lips. A playful almost teasing caress with her mouth.

Whispered words bathing his flesh warmly. "Good luck my champion" Rocking back down to her normal height in those heeled boots. Soot hued eyes staying turned up to his face as the smile seemed to widen. A side glance between him and the game, bouncing lightly in anticipation of her prized doll.

The kiss was somewhere in between the two he had in mind, and beneath the gentle affection, the corner of his lips tugged to the side in a small smirk. As she sunk back down to her normal height, he straightened up to his own. Retrieving the coin where he had temporarily stowed it during the last game, he flipped it across his knuckles before slipping it into the slot in the machine to join its brothers.

Again, six balls clacked to a halt at the bottom of the track, waiting to be thrown. The Puppeteer obliged them all, one by one, tossing them up the ramp so that each skidded into the hole marked ‘50’. It wasn’t by sure skill that he managed the prefect game. After each throw, the fingers of his non-throwing hand danced, working thin, nearly invisible threads that hovered in the air to guide each wooden orb into the desired spot.

Once the last ball disappeared into its burrow and the lighted display flickered to ‘300’ over the game, a siren began to wail. Lights mounted atop the game whirled, flashing their crimson glow across the couple. The machine’s announcement ended after just five seconds though before it began spitting out tickets again. The score above the machine reset itself so that a trio of zeros burned on its display, erasing any sign of the Puppeteer’s success, save for the tickets that dangled from their slot.

“What say we go get your prize, my Doll?” he asked, grinning to her as he ripped the string of tickets from the machine.

Dark hues alit back to her companion as he juggled the token across his knuckles. Holding that bright smile as she became somewhat giddy about the whole situation again. Bouncing on her toes while still clinging to the string of tickets already won. Eyes followed the descent of the metal coin as it was inserted into the slot. Gaze tracing the trail of the wooden orbs as they were released for the game to begin.

The clapping of hands resounded once more as the first ball hit its mark. Noting the near invisible threads guiding the next. Scrutinizing the Puppeteer and glancing over her shoulder to the owner of the gaming booth to see if he had noticed. Alas the man was busy with other patrons. That smile grew mischevious and yet admiring at the same time. To think this man would go as far as to cheat just to assure she recieved the prize he promised.

Attention drawn back as the third ball skipped up the alley to bounce up and hit the numbered 50 hole. Again she cheered with squeals of delight as she applauded the success of each globe the Puppeteer sunk. The skeetball machine even celebrated with its flashing lights and loud siren that alerted anyone near of the win.

She calmed, if only somewhat as the numbers were reset and the tickets that were spit out were now in her escorts grasp as he made his query. "Oh yes...please!" She spoke in an excited tone. That southern drawl more profound and the voice high pitched and childish. Beaming towards the Puppeteer as she held out the first round of tickets to join with the others he gripped before her gaze darted back to the prize hanging overhead.

While the skeetball machine’s siren screamed his success, he heard his Doll almost echoing the sound. With a laugh, he retrieved the string of tickets from the first game from her. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, delighted by her excitement. The girl’s good cheer was infectious and he grinned broadly at her.

Holding out his free hand for her to take and hold, he walked to the man that ran the skeetball machines. “Good evening, my fine sir,” greeted the Puppeteer with a nod of his head in substitute for a bow. “I have one hundred tickets here that I would like to exchange for that doll over there,” he stated, brandishing the bundle of tickets towards the toy that his Doll had previously selected. The carnival worker gave a gruff grunt and held out his hand, into which the Puppeteer passed the two strands of tickets.

A minute and a half longer than it should have taken the man to count the tickets, he gave a nod. If he had taken any longer, the Puppeteer’s impatience would have gotten the better of him. Already, he had gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tightening, in annoyance as the man kept having to restart his count. After the counting though, he moseyed over to the prize and plucked it from its perch. “Here,” he said as he handed it to the Puppeteer. “Thank you,” forced the demon tailor through thin lips as he kept his sharp tongue sheathed.

With the doll in hand, the Puppeteer turned to his own Doll, already seeming to forget the man that had fetched it for him. “And here you go, my precious Doll, a doll of your own.” The Puppeteer handed Bruxa the doll she had so greatly desired, a smile stretching his lips.

He nodded at her answers. Listening to every word carefully. He then looked down at the ground. So she too was sent, and did not choose. A stubborn cheer stayed, and he lifted his gaze at the mention of his brother. A quirked brow. An annoyed chuckle. "They would only scold me for even sending word I'm alive..." His words trailed off, a still fresh wound. His right hand clenching into a fist. Angry, sad, and even confused all in one. "I'm the second son. Hidden, and hated. Instead of a seat of power, I was handed a sword. When my brother got everything, I was given a sword." He shrugged, as though this was so long ago that it could not effect him anymore.

Still he continued after her. Now his head hung low, and his steps were small but quick. His lower lip pulling into his mouth and his teeth latched on like a lock. Hiding every drop of hatred, anger and sorrow behind that lip. His spinning stopped and he stayed on the course. As though he really didn't know what to say after. His head lifted, watching her walk backwards. With a simple jolt, he rushed slightly closer and chuckled. "They wouldn't reply anyways." With a shrug, he turned her about face and nodded. "Glorified secrets? Tsk, I'm just a shameful ronin." He hooked their arms once more. Watching their surroundings. His mouth clasped shut like he was talking too much. Following her lead once more.

Bruxa shadowed the Puppeteers steps after handing over the first set of tickets won. Sliding her small hand into his offered one as they made their way to the man to claim the prize. Bouncing lightly beside her companion. Still giddy from the prospect of owning her very first doll. Silly and lighthearted as the child that still lived within her body seeped through the usual dark and forboding persona she normally portrayed.

The strings of paper tokens handed over and the counting began. Side glancing between her escort and the owner of the booth, noting how the frustration of impatience set into the Puppeteers face with clenching jaw and gritting teeth. Rolling up onto the tips of her toes to attempt to place a sweet peck of a kiss on his cheek as the man finally moved leisurely. Strolling towards the sought after reward and finally plucking it up and handing it over to the Puppeteer. “And here you go, my precious Doll, a doll of your own.” And the doll was placed into her hands which she took and clutched to her chest.

The smile that brightened those pixie like features was genuine as eyes turned up to her chaperone. "You will never know how much this means to me." She professed in that slow southeren drawl. Gaze flickering between the beautiful toy and the Puppeteer as fingers tightened around his hand in a fond caressing grip.

The gentle press of warm lips on his cheek surprised the Puppeteer and his jaw muscles relaxed and his lips split in a broad grin as he looked down at Bruxa settling on her heels again. Such a delight my dear Doll is, he mused to himself before the toy was given to him.

Once his Doll had her doll, the Puppeteer could not stop smiling at her from the sight of her glee. “Oh really?” he answered with a soft laugh, returning the squeeze. Giving her hand a gentle tug, he guided her away from the Skeetball booth if she allowed. “Come, let us go somewhere else, see other things. We’ve hardly enjoyed even a small part of what festivities this carnival seems to offer.” Leading her down the path between the booths and stands again, the Puppeteer waited for something else to catch his Doll’s eye so that she might choose their next activity.

While the flickering light cast by bulbs of a dozen different hues danced across their forms, he kept quiet and glanced at his Doll more than any of the other sights. She had his attention more than any of the venders hocking wares or carnies calling for passer-bys to play their games. So the Puppeteer, an ages old demon, walked in silence, holding the hand of the young vampiress that cradled her doll, as they made their way through the carnival.

With a soft smile on her face, his words were just a gentle reminder of how some cultures really were very hard on their children. This made her smile fall into a slight frown as he hooked his arm back in with hers, she pulled only gently on his arm laying her hand, covered with the jacket, on his arm. Giving it a gentle squeeze the prominent brown hues flashed as if lit by the suns light, and latched onto the gentle curve of her companion. A teasing test of time, to touch his face to give him the courtesy of companionship in the darkest heirs of their conversations. Still the jubilant woman took her good graces in for only the moment and let the electrified brown hues lavish the area around them once more.

"Ai-za-wa-San" She adored saying his name with every syllable slowed and pronounced all of it. As they walked through the shaded area, she'd lean only gently against him before lifting her head once more to look upon the his gentle curve. "You are no shameful secret...You are quite an equisite shocking soul, I've found so far..." That brilliant smile peirced against the caramel toned skin as she looked at him a last time before turning to the way before them.

Her mind grew blank with the many questions she had built up over the time they spent together, but alas she could not pull the will to actually ask them anymore. Still she gently leaned her form against his own as they , or at least she, enjoy the walk in the fading darkness of the night. "This may be too sudden...But Aizawa-San...Would you like to help me study for Math class?" Her smile was genuine yet still held a touch of childish life to it. With a soft sigh escaping her, her eyes lit up once more as she thought about the electric shock that became when he touched her, how strange it was. She would have to find out more about this, it was intriguing in a mysterious way.

"Your not just asking cause I'm Asian are you?" He teased, leaning in like he was going to over step all boundaries that they had come to understand. The only hint of playfulness being the chuckle in his laugh. This question was accompanied by stopping them both dead in their tracks. "Or is it those questions you have stumbled around all night?" He chuckled again and indeed, over step their decided limits. But only with a brush of his knuckles along her cheek. Though no anxiety or mental break occurred. He simply blushed and opened his eyes wide. Winking at her before stepping back some. She had been far to kind answering his questions, but asked little of her's. He merely teased her on it. His lips slipped into a rather taunting smirk.

"Besides, if you continue such a timid act, I may just become a tengu." Once more, references to ancient Japanese mythical beasts. "I may simply sprout wings and fly away." He shrugged like it was some simple act and leaned on a near by tree. "Or perhaps I'll morph into a goryo." A flirtatious chuckle escaping him. "So ask away, and yes. I'll help you with your studies, at a price." The brisk night air struck his finally. His mind had been so calm around her. And they had found a way to still stay close. It had kept his warm. His shoulders shuttered, and his hands sliding up to opposite elbows. His head lifted a bit, and his eyes opened once more. They locked on her. Waiting for those over-due questions.

His right hand lifted more and wiggled his index finger for her to come closer. "You had a constant blush almost all this time...." His eyes only closed half way. "Before that, you continued to travel with me, even with no idea who I was..." He made sure each comment held no hostility or insult. In fact, more a welcomed fact. "My phobia does not stop you from trying to stay close, and you say my name in a very adorable way." He finished, his smirk growing into a full blown grin. "You intrigue me more and more. Every moment we talk." He shrugged and laughed, as though she had the choice to deny the challenge. Deny him the questions she had. She could even walk away there.

She couldn't help but smile as that broad grin fashioned itself upon the Puppeteers face after the small affectionate kiss. A quick nod of her head as he proposed they continue touring the midway of the carnival. Hand in hand they strolled the paths of the amusement park. Ebon hues flitting from one booth to the next, not even noticing how her escort kept his gaze upon her petite form. The prize he had so gallantly won for her, even with the tidbit of trickery, now clutched to her chest.

Attention focused in as roaring cheer came from one stall just ahead. Tugging at the Puppeteers hand, trying to pull him forward towards the rowdy crowd. The booth was lined with an array of colorful guns with long black tubes attached to the grip. Across the bench each weapon lay upon and the expanse of the stand were clown heads with their mouths wide open. A clanging bell rang out overhead and each participant lifted their appointed firearm and pulled the triggers. A forceful stream of water shot out of each barrel. The shooters aiming for the gaping mouths of the clowns which began to fill a balloon over the plastic heads.

The cheering rose up around them as the crowd rooted for their particular champion. Finally the first ballon bursted and the applauds began and the prize was afforded to the winner. Bruxa leaned in towards the man who still held her hand. "A little contest perhaps? Maybe even a a bit of a wager on who can shoot the best?" A mischevious glint sparked within those coal black orbs as the impish smile returned, grinning up to the Puppeteer.

"What I did?" His brow perked, and he shrugged off the jacket, placing it on her shoulders once more. "Ya' know... I like the look of you in my jacket." With that said, he pulled her to a mere inch between them. His eyes now fully locked on her's. As though he had forgotten the question before. He was lost within their moment now. His fingers curled on the jacket opening, and toyed with the fabrics. His head dropped, like he avoided eye contact in a bashful manor. His cheeks seemed to be dyed a crimson.

"Do you refer to my childish flirts?" He admitted, before leaning in just over the shell of her ear, where he whispered. "It's much harder to explain that one." He then leaned back on the tree and settled in, still so close to her. His digits released the jacket opening, and nervously froze in place. As though contemplating far more dangerous things.

Still, their deal for his help was not complete. He jumped subjects one last time, trying to avoid any more questions about the shocks for a moment. "What shall I charge for helping with your studies?" Like he was merely dancing around the answer. His right index finger lifted and tapped his chin in thought. "Well, before such a question, I must ask what you have to trade for my help." Teasing, he looked back at her. How his companion had already helped him seemed far more than enough. He truly would have helped no matter what, but enjoyed the thrill of her reaction to how he acted.

Perhaps he was looking at the situation wrong. Maybe he should not ask what she could give, but what he would want. With a swift flash of a smile, his eyes returned to their closed state. Cupping her right cheek with the same hand, he smiled. "No, nothing is needed. I've come to enjoy your company, and can even touch you, if even just a moment." His thumb stroked her cheek for a moment. She opened up enough that he trusted she would not harm him. To him, if she was willing to try hard. He could also return the attempt. While his hand rested upon her cheek, the slight voltage seemed to spread from his touch. Dancing along her skin and nipping at her lips. "Tonight truly has been very lucky."

Once again, the Puppeteer’s delightfully deviant Doll had adopted the role of guide through the midway. As the man held her hand, he resumed marveling at the events that crowded the aisle. It wasn’t until she came to a stop though that he noticed the one that caught her eye. He watched the round as it finished up, and he understood the basic principle of the contraption and contest.

Always the thrill-seeker, the prospect of another game excited the Puppeteer almost as much as skee-ball had—it was hard to top the joy he’d had while partaking in such a simple activity. “Ooh, I so do love a challenge,” quipped the Puppeteer with a laugh. “And tell me, my Doll, what shall the wager be? I thought the doll I already one you was all that you could ever want,” he teased, thrusting a playfully accusing finger at the toy she carried. In silence, anticipation only broadening his grin, the Puppeteer waited for his Doll to explain the deal she was working.

She held that impish smile as ebon hues danced over her escorts face. Hugging the new doll in victorian clothing to her chest. "It's what I wanted you to win me at the time..." Came the reply with a devilish lilt entwined within that thick accent of the deep south. "A proper girl could never attain everything she wants..." A chitter of laughter followed as she curled her fingers around his hand, squeezing it fondly.

"But yes...what shall we wager my dear Puppeteer?" The teasing tone continued, evident she was enjoying the time she spent with him. The wariness she once felt all but gone. Eyes rolled up to the lights overhead as if in deep thought before leveling her gaze back upon her companion. "How about if I win, you weave me a beautiful new outfit of my choosing..." The smile grew playful and lopsided, knowing he thought her taste in clothing not up to his standards.

"And if you win..." A lone brow lofted as she spoke. "And mind you, none of your trickery..." She tugged at his hand so they would be next in line for the battle of the war of shooting water into a gaping clowns mouth. "Well, it would only be fair for you to name what you would want if you won I suppose..."

His palm still rested along her face, his left digits locked to hold to his jacket once more. When her lips taunted his flesh, he could only blush. As though he had been struck stiff, his eyes averting in a much more shy nature. Hiding behind the seals called eye lids. His lips parted, but no words escaped, lost within an eternal exhale. In his perspective, everything slowed, adrenaline rushed. His entire frame locked, but did not tense. Simple shock, but no outburst formed. He was shocked. This shaman had, in such a short time, gained his trust to the point of physical contact. The infinite exhale seemed to have come to an end. His voice finally returning. "Uhm... Hunni-chan..." The only words that were formed. His jaw slack in pure amazement.

When the world focused back in, he simply moved. Jerking the jacket so she would come closer. His arms wrapped around her in joy. "Hunni-chan! I can touch you!" He lifted her slightly. His lips seemed as though they did not stretch enough for his grin. His childish and foolish nature seemed so unaffected. As soon as he had hugged her, he set her back and let go. Blinking and examining his hands for a non-existent fabric. Just as a young child, he leaned in and looked at his own jacket for any spells, yet when he found none a chuckle escaped again. Spinning on his heel, he began to bounce from foot to foot. Cheering and throwing his arms up.

Still, this was a serious matter. Clearing his throat, all immature actions ceased and he became rather stolid for a moment. "Sorry, it's been a while since I've gotten close to any females... My mother was the only one. Well, before you." Shrugging he darted into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter. He bit the filter and began to try and speak as he lit the cigarette. "I'm sorry, but that was a very scary thing I just did.... Hunni-chan, if I had reacted differently, I might have hurt you. I don't wanna simply hurt people." The cigarette finally lit, he drew in a deep pull. Head tilting back, and holding the drag for a moment. As the smoke danced from his lips directly skyward, it was like a soul leaving the body. A simply play with smoke and light was a ghostly image. Still one of Kouichi's favorite for the simplicity of the image.

He then drew in a second drag. His left foot lifting, and he put the cigarette out on the bottom of his geta sandals. The wooden lift of them was darkened from burning. Most likely from the cigarettes. The second drag was not as long or dramatic. He exhaled through his nostrils, and shoved the partial smoked cigarette back into the pack. The pack going into his pants pocket. "I've been trying to quit for a while." Still he kept his distance, trying to avoid eye contact by staring up at the sky. Still he had a smile, and he continued to rejoice in his mind about being able to hug Hunni.

“Oh, really? I always thought a proper girl was to be happy with what she had. And you certainly don’t seem a proper girl to me from what I’ve seen, my dear Doll,” he teased, his impish smile staining his lips. When she announced her requested reward, the Puppeteer loosed a laugh. He had already planned to provide her with the most extraordinary wardrobe, so her desired prize was nothing she wasn’t already guaranteed—but he wasn’t going to tell her that. She had picked her possible prize after all, why let her know she would have had it anyway? It meant less for him to give.

“Well, let me see…” he breathed as she tugged him towards the booth. The proposition was a puzzle to the Puppeteer. What kind of prize could he ask for when he always took whatever he wanted anyway by one means or another? A horribly cruel idea popped into his head: ask her for the doll he had just won for her not even half an hour before. A moment of reflecting upon the way she had smiled, delighted by the toy, he decided that he could not deprive her. “If I win, how about you wear whatever outfits I want you to, when I want?” asked the Puppeteer. It was a simple offer, one he had planned on gently coercing her to oblige in other ways—but why not take advantage of the wager she’d suggested to further his own ends?

"And you certainly don’t seem a proper girl to me from what I’ve seen, my dear Doll” His words seeped from his lips in that teasing tone. Followed by that devilish smile. "Why...my dear Puppeteer...I dunn know what you mean..." That southern accent was laid on thick with a flutter of those long dark lashes. "What in this world do you not find proper about me?" She questioned his statement with a provocative lilt to her voice.

Standing in line, side by side, so they would be next up to shoot against approximately eight other patrons of the game. Eyes danced over her escorts face as he gave the answer to what he would want if he won. A brow perked at his request and of course she didn't wish limits on her prize if she won and so thought it better not to stiffle his winnings. Though she wondered exactly what he might outfit her in and percisely where he might want her to wear such attire. And come to think of it...would a proper girls mind even have wondered of such things?

That smile twitched up at one corner of her mouth at the stray thought. Giving her companion a nod of agreement. "Deal" She sealed the settlement with the verbal consent. The buzzer sounded in front of them and the crowd around them began loudly cheering. The shooters in front of them squeezing triggers to release the powerful spray of water. Soot hued orbs turned from the Puppeteer to the game at hand. Bruxa balanced on the toes of those boots as if in ballerina shoes to see over the head of the marksman she stood behind, watching the festivites.

As if they were equal, the Master stood beside his Doll as they waited in line for their turn at the carnival game. Despite their discussion of the terms of their deal, the Puppeteer’s gaze kept flitting to the event ahead of him so that he could learn its tricks since she’d forbid him from using his own. There was still the temptation to cheat, but when the price of losing was giving her what he had already planned, he saw little point in the effort. If he did cheat, it would only be an added challenge to do so without getting caught by his Doll.

When she agreed, the Puppeteer’s lips split in a broad grin. “Well, all right then,” answered the Puppeteer as he extended a hand to her so that they could ‘shake on it’ as seemed to be the costume after both parties agreed on the terms of a bargain. While he waited for her dainty hand to catch his, he admired her petite frame again, from the toes of her boots on which she balanced so precariously to the dark tresses that trailed from her scalp. She was a Doll as exquisite as the toy he had one for her, and he delighted in her as much as she did the prize.

Tucking the doll beneath her arm. Freeing up a hand in order to slide long slender fingers across his palm. Lightly brushing the cool flesh against his own before those delicate digits curled around his hand and a firm shake of agreement was given. Unknowing of the thoughts that filtered through his head. Her own mind working as his hand was released and the doll once more clutched to her chest. Thoughts drifted on how she was planning on winning this challenge. The clothes she could design for him to magically spin into reality for her.

The sound of the balloon bursting and the loud siren resounding, announcing a winner refocused her attention. The crowd around them cheered, the successor claiming his prize and the losers wandering away. Even a few patrons keeping their places and holding up tokens or money to ready for the next event. Luckily the two in front of her and the Puppeteer moved away, giving them free reign to step up and take the gamble on who would fair better in the wager.

Settling back onto those heeled boots and moving forward. The poppet laid carefully upon the counter. Picking up the plastic gun with the rubber hose attached to its grip. Testing the weight, holding it up to check the site...and boy was it off on that toy like gun. Side glancing towards her companion to see if he followed suit.

Once he stood beside her she would flash one of those syrupy smiles. "Good luck my dear Puppeteer..." That smile turned into a childish sneer. "...Not really." Turning her gaze back to the clown head across from her. Sizing up the situation as a tot of a child ran behind the scenes, snapping fresh balloons on each molded dome.

The Puppeteer pumped the delicate hand in his grasp, a smirk that would make the devil suspicious on his lips. When pop of a balloon that had swelled beyond its limit, the Puppeteers fingers tightened around her hand, as if wringing the neck of a pigeon. Before the Siren had even sounded, he released her grip and smiled at her. As the victor and a few of his opponents backed away, the Puppeteer stepped forward to join those that remained and his doll and whoever else stepped up to play the game.

Reaching forward with a casual hand, the Puppeteer curled his fingers around the handle of the toy gun. It was nothing like the primitive firearms he was familiar with during two centuries back. Even the shape seemed somewhat different. It was of little consequence though, the man was confident in his pending victory. Hearing his Doll pipe a playful Taunt, the Puppeteer smiled to her. “Just remember, there are others here you have to beat, too. Not just me, my Doll. If we both lose, it’s a draw and neither of us can collect our prize,” laughed the Puppeteer.

With his index finger laced between the loop, drawing back on the trigger, the Puppeteer waited for the buzzer to start the match. In his day, guns shot bullets and were used to kill, whether it be a man or fowl. The novelty of removing the lethality of the weapon hardly amused the Puppeteer. He was a man who dealt in making the mundane dangerous, not the other way around.