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

The Puppeteer brushed aside her muffled mumbling when she seemed uncertain of his statement, the not-so-veiled threat that it was. “Well, it all depends upon how you go about trying to discover my secrets,” he answered, a mirthful, mischievous grin alit on his lips. It was just as dangerous as a flickering candle flame, offering warmth and light that masked potential danger: if touched it, it would burn; if left it unattended, it might blossom into an all-consuming blaze.

Lifting a hand, the shadow released his cane from where it had been tucked beneath his arm and took a firm grasp upon the silver bulb mounted at its top. The silver capped bottom danced through the air like a lost falling star, glimmering with the multi-chromatic light of the Ferris wheel. Suddenly, he stabbed forward with it, dipping it into her duster. The metal pressed against her hip, hooking the jacket and then he moved it aside, revealing her a little more to him. “Why do you hide yourself in this ratty coat?” he asked, ignoring her questions and comments as he found a new focus for his attention. A second later and the shaft of his cane slid down her side, caressing along the curve of her hip and thigh.

"This coat is made of the finest italian leather thank you very much..." She assured him, taking offense that he called her clothing ratty. It wasn't that long ago she had seen him in the ultimate rags and yet she had not been so unkind to say anything. Then again..he had weaved the beautiful rose that he had bequeathed unto her out of the threads of those rags

Gaze fell to where his cane poked against her hip, pushing the coat open to expose the petite frame hidden beneath. The stick like object trailing the curve of that slender hip and thigh as eyes swept back to his face. Remembering the last time anyone showed any interest in her as she narrowed her eyes. Knowing the last time had ended up in a fight. Yet she stood there perfectly still. "Do you plan on weaving me another coat from your own threads since you find my own so unbecoming?"

A brow was perked as she placed her hands over the railing that lay between them. Curling her fingers over the fencing, fighting the fear that was already wailing up within. Trying not to flee this mans touch. It was as if he held some magical spell over her. Forcing her to ignore that gnawing feeling within her head to just run as fast as she could. No..this time she would be strong..This time she would stand her ground and not let another take advantage of her...At least not unless she wanted them to think they could.

''Kouichi.....Very interesting name...'' She slowed her pace only slightly so that she was walking with him, watching from the corner of her eye as he searched the carnival surrounding them. Then her own brown hues would search around the carnival, searching for a Haunted House or perhaps....Her eyes looked up to the Ferris Wheel, and she took a deep breath as she sized up the height of it. Her head shook and for a moment she smiled from ear to ear. The fear of heights was surprising to her but she understood that if you hadn't experienced something it would scare you. Then the touch him made her snap out of her own day dreaming.

With a gentle smile on her face, those brown hues would find his face and then she'd snap back into what she was supposed to answer. With a soft voice she'd turn her head to look upon him, ''May name, is Terrance Hunni Genova, please feel free to call me what is comfortable for you.'' She gave him a bow of her head. The thought of his last words, 'spirit of the woods' that made her smile, as in her own mind she had her own interpretation of it, but perhaps his was that much more intriguing. With that she folded her arms under her chest, fingers tapped gently against her elbows as her eyes wandered once more over the carnival and all it's small wonders.

“Finest?” he scoffed, catching the wayward flap of leather on the end of his cane to stretch it out like the extended wing of a bat trailing from her waist. “Hardly.” He withdrew the probing cane from the confines of her jacket and shook his head. “See here?” he jabbed at the flap at it settled along her thigh again. “There was a flaw in the leather originally. It was buffed out before processing. Barely noticeable, but no real master craftsman worth his salt would have used it to make one of his best pieces,” explained the Puppeteer as he indicated a portion of the leather that was a shade lighter though it was hardly noticeable, especially in the myriad of colorful lights washing over the leather. It was as if the Puppeteer’s discerning eye was picking out shadows in a lightless room, so minute was the difference.

With a shake of his head, he retracted his cane to his side of the fence, returning it to its home tucked beneath his arm. “An exquisite Doll such as you deserves only the best clothes in which to dress up,” stated the shade. He glanced behind him, eyeing the line of carnival patrons and the tattooed worker that operated the Ferris Wheel. “Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private, my Doll?” he suggested as he turned his eyes to her again, the orbs glinting in the flickering rainbow lighting. “Perhaps somewhere else, I might provide you with a coat that actually matches your beauty, though that will surely be difficult,” he teased, a playful mirth in his voice. “Not to mention, I should examine the rest of what you wear, to see if they’re fit for you to wear them.” He ended his comment with a suggestive lofting of his eyebrows that almost hid them in the shadow beneath the brim of his top hat.

Before waiting for an answer, the Puppeteer planted his empty hand on the railing again, grasping it firmly, and vaulted over it with ease like any teenage delinquent might do when confronted by a similar barrier. As he landed, still upright and without the need to dip into a crouch, the black fabric of his suit whispered softly as it settled across his flesh again, like a quiet complaint from the unusual and unexpected movement. With a crescent grin spreading his lips, he offered her his free arm to escort her.

A side glance down to the coat as he shoved it back further. Still berating the clothing she wore. Ebon hues lifted back to his face as he layered his words with fleeting compliments. Eyes followed his to the ferris wheel and back as he proposed a better place to continue the conversation of her wardrobe.

Still he continued with the tokens of esteem that left a perfect smile perched upon those velvet lips as she stepped back from the railing. Watching in amazement at how agile the once weakened man now was. Alitting over the fencing with little effort. Jutting out his arm for her to take. Standing with hands upon the soft curve of her hips, the coat open and billowing behind her. Looking him up and down with a lofted brow.

"And are your intentions, my dear Master Puppeteer to become my personal tailor?" She mused even as she stepped forward and hooked her own arm into his. Taking the offered arm willingly. His suggestion along with his endearing words kept her intrigued. "Where exactly do you recommend that we relocate so that this examination of my attire can be resumed?"

A smirk danced across his lips when she mentioned him being her ‘personal tailor’. It was such a humorous and yet potentially correct suggestion. “Maybe, if you play your cards right, my dear Doll,” he answered, his strong but lithe arm curled with hers. Despite the wrinkles at the elbow of his suit sleeve, the black cloth would feel as soft and smooth as a shadow, almost as if she wasn’t touching anything at all. If her fingertips brushed his hand, she would find that his skin was almost faultlessly supple. Obviously, the Puppeteer took care of himself as well as he did his clothes.

As they strolled through the fair grounds, passing other couples and parties, the Puppeteer kept an eye out for a suitable spot to provide them with the privacy he sought. With the crowd enjoying every activity at the carnival, he was beginning to grow frustrated, fearful that he might not find a decent place to hide with his soon-to-be doll. A soft grumble split his lips as he quickened their pace, his longer stride probably forcing her to make up for her shorter legs with extra steps. Minutes passed as he maintained his quick gait until he came to a halt, his sudden stop making him rock on his heels. “Ah, yes, this will do quite well!” he laughed, lifting his cane to indicate a tiny booth with a curtain draped across its entrance. Resuming the speedy pace, he brought her to the booth. Printed across the top of the booth was a term he was familiar with ‘PHOTOGRAPH’. The Puppeteer wasn’t quite sure how the photographer with his camera and equipment managed to fit inside the tiny cubical along with whatever client he was photographing, but the Puppeteer was always open to learning about the new technologies of the current times.

The dark curtain brightened and a flash of light glinting around its ruffled edges, making the Puppeteer pause. A soft whir caught his attention, and when he looked to the source, he noticed a tiny inset in the side of the booth, from which a length of paper was sprouting from a slot. He lofted an eyebrow in curiosity and snatched the strip of paper. What was on it startled him: they were photographs, a series of ten of them. It didn’t bother him in the slightest that the objects of the portraits were in fact a couple of young teenagers making out—that was normal even in his time—but the fact that the images were of such quality, so small, and apparently made by the booth itself. And then he received another shock when he heard a giggle from behind the curtain. Prodding the cloth with his cane, he pushed it aside to reveal the same couple that were in the photographs. How fast this new method of photography was! he reeled, eyes wide as the two kids scampered out, faces red with embarrassment for being discovered. They were in such a hurry that they didn’t even bother asking the Puppeteer for the strip of pictures in his hand. “Truly remarkable,” he murmured, inspecting the photograph booth. He leaned forward and peered inside the booth. “Where is the photographer?” he demanded, his voice seeded with mild annoyance from his own ignorance.

Side glancing to her escort as he made his comment. “Maybe, if you play your cards right, my dear Doll,” That faint smile still painted across those lips as she gave her response. "Play my cards right? I must remind you my dear Puppeteer, I did not ask for your advice, instead it is you who seems engrossed with my attire" The mood seemed to lighten as she gave a playful wink. Unwilling to give in so easily as she had done with the monster Riley.

The stroll took them from behind the scenes of the carnival and out into the mainstream. Walking arm in arm, portraying a quaint couple. The once leisurely saunter soon quickened into a frustrated excursion. Dark hues alit back to the chaperone that led her around the fair grounds. It was easy to see he grew agitated. "Are we in a hurry suddenly?" The query tumbled from her lips as the increased gait had her prancing on the toes of those ankle boots. The heels not making contact with the ground as she scurried beside him.

Bruxa was ready to let go of his arm to keep him from utterly dragging her behind him when he finally terminated the strut. The stalled movement left them standing in front of the photo booth. The near frantic demeanor briskly subsided into one of wonderment and curiosity. The Puppeteers sudden inquisitive interest brought that smile back to her face.

The look of pure amusement conveyed on the young childlike visage watching as he plucked up the strip of paper. Black orbs slid to the startled couple who fled the contraption, enticing a girlish giggle to erupt from those velvet lips. "Perhaps the photographer is some wicked imp, hidden within the walls. Or possibly an evil spirit that captures the very souls with the click of his camera?" The teasing words mingled with that light laughter as he continued engaging the booth with interest.

When he heard her answer, a knowing smile spread his lips, his teeth sparkling like stars despite taking the shape of a crescent moon. “Yes, well, you seem to be in desperate need of my help,” he teased as he guided her through the fair grounds. When he sped up and she asked her question, he glanced over to her. It was then that he noticed how lightly she danced upon the toes of her boots. Her gait reminded him of a ballerina and he smiled, pleased with her grace and poise. Given how well she performed, he decided to not slow to accommodate her smaller stride.

“Oh hush,” he scolded her in a playful tone, a grin on his lips, when she made her mocking suggestions to explain the photobooth. “Even when I was last about, these mortal had long since severed their ties with demonology and spirits,” he answered in a mocking, matter-of-fact tone to play along with her. Slipping his arm free of hers, he attempted to give the petite girl a shove with his hand on the small of her back to force her into the booth. “After you.” The Puppeteers lips pulled back from his teeth in a broad grin as he waited for her to comply, if she hadn’t stumbled into the tiny chamber beyond the curtained entrance.

A brow shot up with his teasing statement. She wanted to laugh but at the same time took offense to the way he boldly put down the way she dressed. The smile still held true upon that bowlike mouth. Taking note of his words. “Even when I was last about, these mortal had long since severed their ties with demonology and spirits,” Hmm...'last about'...she wondered idlely just how old this once ragged man was. Eyes glided over his form...Some sort of rebirth had happened within the short time span since last she had seen him.

"Well good thing for you and I, my dear Master Puppeteer, that those silly mortals no longer believe in such things.." Her words were cut short as his arm pulled free from her own and his hand pushed at the small of her back. Something she had not expected so she did stumble forward, arms flailing to balance herself. Small frame tumbling through the door of the photo booth. The curtain of the entrance fluttered as she caught the opposite side of the inner wall with a dull thud.

A short gasp left her lips as she turned on the toes of those stiletto boots. Laying her back to the wall she had collided with. Looking back to the entrance with a wry smile. "My my Puppeteer, didn't realize how rough you could be.." She taunted in that girlish tone as she awaited his entrance. "And are we to take pictures of my outfit to point out its flaws?" Bruxa continued with the playful banter as eyes combed over the doorway into the booth.

For a few seconds, the Puppeteer lingered outside of the photograph booth, admiring his future doll as she turned and offered a few playful comments. “Maybe we should,” he murmured, a grin still on his lips as he passed through the draped entrance. Once he had crossed the threshold, he wriggled his fingers and the curtain drew itself shut behind him. There was more though, far more subtle, that his powers did. The curtain stretched taut, edges binding into the cracks of the doorway until it was secure and no one could peal it open as he had done on the young couple occupying it before them. The Puppeteer’s fingers danced again, as if toying with an invisible marionette, and he summoned new threads to weave into the curtain, strengthening it so that it couldn’t be torn and even cutting it might prove difficult. His grin widened, his expression laced with mirth. He doubted that she knew how trapped she was now, his precious Doll of a vampiress.

“As for my being rough, you have no idea…” he chuckled, a dark tone seeping into the sound of his voice and laugh. With a flick of his cane, he tried to brush the silver cap on the bottom of the shaft along the inner side of one of her shins, from the top of her ankle boots to her knee. The stockings she wore would do nothing to shield her flesh from the chill of the metal if it touched her leg. “Regardless of the quality of your clothing… I do enjoy your style,” he offered, the compliment spoken with a soft smile.

Inside the tiny compartment, the gentle glow of the overhead light did little to light their forms. Both bodies were swathed in shadows as smooth as satin. Lifting a hand, he reached up and plucked his top hat from its perch on the nest of brown hair atop his head. As he brought it down, the top bumped the ceiling of the booth and he let out a quiet, annoyed grunt. “Such a bother, this ceiling is far too low,” he griped before giving a flick of his wrist. In an instant, the hat exploded into a cloud of swirling black thread that dissipated and vanished like smoke. Despite the crampedness of the compartment, leaving only a foot and half of space separated the pair, he seemed fine with the arrangement. As the predator, the Puppeteer breathed easily while his prey was so near that he could smell her scent faintly in the still air, and the longer they were there, the stronger the scent became. He was savoring it with a smile.

“So, tell me, when was the last time you fed, my Doll?” His eyes settled on her, instead of investigating the curious absence of a camera.

Back pinned against the wall. Booted feet planted to the floor of the booth. Hands buried into the deep pockets of the leather coat as he entered finally. The curtain drawn though she had not noticed the change in the fabric nor how taunt it suddenly fit across that entrance. Her focus on the magical form of a man in front of her.

A slow graze of her teeth dragged across that plump lower tier as he continued with his playful words. Pleasantly teasing with a flirtation of his cane as it traced that slender leg from boot to knee. Ebon orbs followed its trek along the black and red stockings. Lifting back to his face as he deemed her worthy of a compliment. Keeping her lightly confused. His statements flowing from biting insults to endearing remarks. "I thank you for noticing there are different styles to be displayed then my dear Puppeteer." She quipped at his vocal observation. Not making a move to turn away from him or even to try and make him stop.

His attention drawn from her to his tophat. Encouraging her eyes to be drawn to the tall-crowned head covering. Once again her face filled with that childlike awe. The rapt attention on the extraordinary display as the hat scattered into a convulsion of threads. The features of her face changed yet again with his next question. Eyes narrowed in on his own visage with a light tilt of her head. "Why? Do you plan to provide me with the necessary substance that I might thirst for?" A mischevious smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as she licked across her upper lip slowly with a whimsical chuckle.

“You’re welcome, my dear Doll.” With a smile on his lips, he finally turned his gaze from her to the tiny compartment in which they stood. It contained them comfortably enough while they stood, and with a glance to the side, he noted the bench inset in the side of the wall to the left of the entrance. To the right, there was a rectangular panel of glass and then a small circular glass lens that he assumed was part of the hidden camera. The other section of glass, he was not sure about, especially as it flashed with various icons and words. It reminded him of the screens of other devices he had seen a few times at the school called a computer and another called a television. Both were such odd contraptions to him, that held images similar to those of a photograph, but they could move and even in the case of the computer, be interacted with—such unusual things.

For a moment, his gaze settled on the screen and then he reached out and tapped one of the gaudy symbols labeled ‘Backgrounds’. Several pictures flashed across the screen, and the Puppeteer widened his eyes in surprise. There was a beach that reminded him of the Caribbean, a mountain range that reminded him of the Himalayas, a castle that reminded him most recently of the Hallows, and so many more. After he noticed an arrow on the right, pointing to the edge of the screen, he pressed it. The images scrolled by, revealing even more locales. “Ah, yes, this will do quite well,” chuckled the Puppeteer when he saw the photograph of a spooky church complete with graveyard, the full moon suspended in an eerie, cloudy sky. “Reminds me of when we first met—it seems so long ago.” He tapped the picture and waited, his gaze flitting around the interior of the booth. Nothing happened. “Well, that’s a shame,” he pouted, lips puckering with disappointment when their actual surroundings didn’t shift to those of the image on the screen.

With a sigh, the Puppeteer turned and took a seat upon the tiny bench in its alcove. “Yes, I do,” he answered, returning to the topic from before his discovering the screen. “You wouldn’t be the kind of girl to turn away a free meal, would you?” he teased, a playful smirk on his lips.

The smile only grew as his focus turned from her back to the innards of the booth. Inspecting the screen like a child playing with a new toy. Gaze strayed over his form as he became engaged with the screen until he found the right background. “Reminds me of when we first met—it seems so long ago.” Eyes turned to his face as he took a seat on the wooden bench opposite the screen.

"Aww, you remembered.." She seemed to coo at him playfully. Watching as his eyes darted around the booth as she shook her head with that girlish giggle. "It will be the background of the picture Master Puppeteer.." She tried to explain as those dark orbs studied his face with his next question.

Another lick around her mouth, tracing the fullness of her lips as those fangs enlongated with the apparent offer. It had been days since she had last fed. With the blood source stolen, if only a vial she had felt depleted. "Don't tease a hungry girl with hopes of replinshment Master Puppeteer.." She took a step away from that wall so she stood between him and that screen. Facing him as she smiled wickedly, letting the points of her teeth become evident. Drawing her hands from her pockets to rest upon the soft curve of those narrow hips as she looked down to him.

"Hunni... What a kind hearted name." His smile stayed like a painting as he reached out. Grabbing her wrist gently. His touch a blend of silk like flesh and firm muscle. A tug pulled her along towards the ferris wheel. "C'mon." He moved backwards towards the ride as he stared at her. As though trying to say it was safe with just a look. A chuckle leaving his lips and he spun on his heel to lead the way. "What better way to find something then to look from above." He encouraged. His free hand diving deep into his front left pocket to find some money to pay for their ride.

When he came to a stop, he once more returned his gaze to her. His face seemed bright, like a child who just made a new friend. "I'm sorry, if you don't wanna we don't have to. I am just excited. Where I come from we have festivals, but they are only temperary." He waited, not too far from the ride, but far enough to let her decide. The money rustled in his pocket. Causing metalic clicking to erupt from his pocket softly. The bright carnival lights cast a silhouette that held neutral alignment.

The sound of her coo called him from the brief reverie as he reminisced about their meeting, and he grinned at her. “Of course I remember where I met the first Doll I would have after my release from that dreaded tomb,” he chortled, an impish mirth sparkling in his brown eyes that were no longer swathed in the shadows from his hat that he had removed. He was quickly distracted from her though by her next comment. With a quirked eyebrow, his gaze affixed to the wall across from him in which the screen and lens were embedded, he wondered how the camera could photograph something that wasn’t there. What an age to live in, he chuckled inwardly before returning his gaze to his soon-to-be Doll, her voice drawing his attention again.

As she spoke, he noted the elongation of her fangs, how the points pressed against her bottom lip ever so slightly, depressing the supple, pouty flesh like velvet about to yield to the tailor’s needle. The click of her heels emphasized her approach, the single step she took away from the wall bringing her that much closer to him, the man who sought to pull her strings while at the same time offering himself to her as willing prey. “If you are so hungry, then come, feed from me.” He paused before adding, in a playful tone with a wink, “I have the blood to spare now.” The Puppeteer sunk backwards into the alcove, his shoulders reclining against the green wall. The dim glow of the overhead light barely shone upon his pale skin, leaving him in shadows that only a flashbulb could banish. He watched her with studious brown eyes, waiting to see how the Doll might position herself for a willing donor.

"The first doll?" The words mimicked his own with a curious tone. She wondered how many others he enthralled with his gallant ways. His offering made her pause. Standing in front of him as he leaned back against the wall. Reclining on the simplistic seat of the booth. Not many were so forthcoming with the life source. Eager to become fodder for a creature of the night. How many others had succumb to his wily ways with his artful wordings?

Would feeding from him bind her into some sort of contract? With a side glance to the entrance, only then did she note how taunt the once billowing curtain lay across the opening. Sealing them both into the small compartment. Eyes narrowed and alit back to the man. "And what pray tell my dear Puppeteer, will be asked of me in return for your generous sacrifice?"

Even as she spoke the hunger welled within. Rising like a flood at the thought of his blood staining her lips with the crimson treasure. Fulfilling the craving that was a constant hunger, eager to be satisfied. The urgent desire had her licking around her lips. Tracing that bow like mouth with the tip of her tongue. Lashing seductively over those projecting prong like, long sharp bony appendages that protruded from her maw. Cautiously watching the man for any sign that this was some sort of trick. Wary of his kindness, after all, anothers kindness had ended up with the loss of her precious blood. Silently she cursed the monster Riley as she stared into the face of the Puppeteer.

Her first question, the curious echo of a few syllables he had spoken, was ignored. He could tell that her thirst was starting to get to her, showing in the slightest signs of agitation that only a trained eye could notice. How familiar he was with that thirst, as if he himself had once succumb to it. Have I? he wondered with mild amusement, his gaze drifting from her as he perused his own memory. Have I ever inhabited vampiric flesh? With a light shake of his head, he snapped back to reality, settling on the conclusion that in his long, long life, chances were that at one time, he had been a nightstalker.

As the seated Puppeteer listened to her second question, his thin lips tugged to the side in a small smirk. “Well, it is hardly a sacrifice if I get what I want—which I deem to be more valuable than a little bit of my blood,” he answered. “All I ask of you, in exchange for regular feedings, is that you become one of my Dolls—something akin to a.... servant.” It was obvious that he was picking his words carefully as he slowed while he spoke. He paused, looking her over as he let the first little tidbit sink in before continuing. “You will fulfill my desires, do as I ask, and it isn’t much that I often ask for. Sometimes, it will be nothing more than your company. In return, I will allow you to drink from me when you wish—pending of course that I don’t have a greater need of my blood than you.” Even though the suggestion was rather grim, implying that he might suffer some great wound, he loosed a warm chuckle and proceeded to speak again. “If you perform well and I am pleased, I will even be your personal tailor, providing you with gifts that you can scarcely imagine, my dear.” He arched an eyebrow to her and then asked, “Does that sound reasonable to you, my Doll?” With his offer made, he pat his knee, indicating for her to sit upon his lap if she accepted the terms of the bargain. His other hand traced the column of his neck, inviting her to feed.

His focus grew distant for a moment. As if their situation took him to a flashback of another time. Or perhaps a thought of the contract his next words would bring. Attentions drew back to her with a shake of his head. Ebon hues scanned his face as he spoke. "A servant?!" the words tumbled from her lips in disbelief.

She knew there had to be some kind of catch. Was she not already a servant to her own hunger? And yet he offered to sustain that eternal craving. Eyes narrowed upon his slow and careful wording. The warmth of his gaze washed over her petite frame as he finished with his proposal. Arms folded as they crossed over her small chest. A light perk of a lone brow as she returned his smirk with awry smile.

"So let me get this straight.." she began. "With a promise to be your...servant.." The last word was spit from her mouth like a foul taste. "To do as you ask, what ever your desire may be..." The arms unfolded as he patted his knee. A step to the side and a simple lowering of her form. Legs bending which left that rounded bottom perched upon his thigh. The flaps of her coat overhanging his lap. One leg crossed delicately over the other so she balanced on one toe of that stiletto boot.

Those black orbs fell from his face to his throat as his hand drifted along the length of his neck. "In return you shall keep me nourished..." Closely studying the way the vein in his neck pulsed with each beat of his heart. "If you deem I need the blood more than you do?" She drew her tongue over her upper lip. Flickering the tip lightly over the velvet flesh of her mouth. Gaze settling back to his face with the smile becoming askewed so to leave her with a lop-sided grin.

"Why does this bargin seem lightly one sided...hmmm?" She wanted to feed from him. The offer had left her almost drooling with the longing that he alone had enticed. Still there was an uneasy irritation that something just wasn't right.

It seemed that it was his turn to play the parrot: “One sided?” he repeated, arching an eyebrow as he looked at his potential Doll. Again, he uttered, “One sided?” his voice growing a little louder in mild annoyance as he cocked his head slightly to one side. “I offer you my blood, my life, so to say, and you think that simply being my servant is not a reasonable bargain?” The Puppeteer gave a soft scoff, narrowing his eyes on the girl perched atop his lap. Despite his obvious irritation with her protesting the agreement, he did not seem to mind the gentle weight of her body. One of his nimble-fingered hands snaked forward and reached around her waist, attempting to clutch at her hip farthest from him after it had curled around the small of her back.

“You can refuse my offer and then have to go seek sustenance elsewhere. You’d have to lure some simpleton into your embrace so that you could drink his lifeblood. And in days, maybe a week, you’d have to do it all over again.” He paused, glancing to the doorway a moment before turning to her again. “Why do that when instead, you could cuddle up to me and sink your fangs into my neck. I’d let you drink your fill each time, so long as it doesn’t weaken me too much.” With a smile, the previous frustration faded from his face. The mirthful, impish light sparkled in his eyes again as he looked to meet her gaze. “Come now, end this nonsense and give into your desires, my Doll,” he suggested, staring into her dark eyes. His own brown orbs seemed almost warm in contrast, the gentle gleam of the overhead light dancing in his irises.

“This one time, feel free to even… restraint me while you feed, if you don’t trust me,” he offered. He wondered if she would recall his easy manipulation of thread while her thirst gnawed at her consciousness. In truth, as far as he could tell, there was nothing at hand that she could bind him with that he couldn’t unravel at will in an instant. As for a pin, her petite form holding him in place, he wondered who was stronger. Not that it truly matter, he was certain that if the need arose, he could overpower her by other means than brute force garnered by muscles.

Dark eyes seemed to brighten if only slightly as her face contorted to convey her amusement. His annoyance at her statement evidently delighting her. Biting down on her lower lip to keep any chitter of laughter at bay as he continued with his rant. Lowering her hands to curl over the knee of the leg propped over the other as his arm moved around her back. The grasp at her hip almost comforting as he seemed to aid with the balance of her newly seated position.

"Why..my dear Puppeteer, You act as if I am not skilled after all these years at finding my own source of nourishment" The smile was warm as he might feel her lean back slightly into his bracing arm. "But you do have a point, I must admit, to know I could have one source to rely on when the hunger arises.." Gaze ran over his face as he gave a one time offering. "Really? You would do that for little ole me?!" She coo'd in that child like voice tinged with the southern drawl of her home.

Weight shifting upon his legs as she turned towards him slightly with a mischevious smile forming on those bowlike lips. One hand lifted, fingers curling to form the shape of a gun with her pointer finger jutting towards his chest. "Hands up Puppeteer.." She playfully demanded. If he complied then she would lift her own arms, long delicate fingers curling around his wrists. Pinning his arms above his head as she leaned in.

Nose nuzzling towards his neck as she breathed in his scent. Eyes closing as her grip would tighten around the joint below his hands. Holding the breath as she listened to the flow of his blood rushing through that pulsing vein. A slow lick around her lips, moistening the supple flesh of her mouth. Jaws opening wider, fangs enlongating into fine razor sharp erectile points. Leaning in further, chest ready to collide with his chest to strive and pin his back to the wall. Attempting to aim those pearly ivories toward the throbbing vein that protruded in the side of his neck. Ready to tear into the vessel that carried the circulating blood she craved.

When he heard her coo, a genuine smile spread across his lips. A few seconds later though, an inquisitive expression had crossed his face to replace grin. While handguns had been developed before his entombment, they had not been widely used as their efficiency and reliability were poor. As a result, the idea of a stickup as she made reference to was unfamiliar to the ancient entity. Quirking an eyebrow to her, his brow knitting together in mild confusion and even annoyance for his own ignorance, he did as she said while eyeing the peculiar positioning of her fingers—not recognizing her pantomime. In an instant, he felt her fingers curling around his wrists, pressing stiff cloth against his flesh.

Despite the situation, the Puppeteer forced his body to remain calm. Even his level of control couldn’t completely quell the innate fear the closeness of the vampiress inspired in his human flesh. Like a leashed pup in a thunderstorm, the Puppeteer’s body trembled as her breath spilled across his skin. The hairs upon his nape lifted on end, tingling with warning. As her fangs grew longer and sharper, sinking the source of her sustenance, he drew in a deep breath and braced his mortal flesh. With an inward, silent sigh, he contemplated, Whomever I claimed this corpse from must have been so greatly terrified of vampires that their horror still lingers in this flesh. How annoying. The Puppeteer winced, arms fidgeting in her grasp, as he felt two pinpricks of pain that quickly dissolved into an almost pleasant sensation. A soft smile spread across his lips, satisfied as he felt the small trickle of warmth from the wounds.

With the incisions made by, he wondered how long it would be before he felt the vampiress’s lips close around them to feed. The Puppeteer shut his eyes, forcing his terror-tense body to relax, and waited. For the moment, there was nothing else that he could do if he was to live up to his end of the bargain. But he wondered that if he wasn’t careful, if he’d be doing any living by the time she finished feeding.

Bruxa had noted the perplexed look on his face but she was still focused on the throat he so eloquently displayed. Not comprehending just how old the Puppeteer was and might not understand her playful display. Feeling his body tense as she neared that pulsing vein. Sensing the light fear exuding from his very being.

Quickly she sank her fangs into the soft flesh of his neck. Easily piercing his throat like a hot knife cutting through butter. Nothing more than the tinge of a pin prick as she stealthily found the vein. Lips closed around the bite as he would feel the suction of her mouth. One hand faltered from the grip of his wrist. Falling to cup the opposite side of his face as she fed from the man who so gallantly made the offering.

Her own petite frame relaxing against his form. The facade of a lovers embrace as she drank deeply. Replenishing the blood that had been so rudely and forcefully taken from her earlier. Lashes fluttered as lids fell to close over ebon orbs. Excessively consuming to sate the lust for his life source. Her body seemed to grow warm against his with the sustenance. The once pale flesh took on a rosy hue. A healthy looking complexion with a pinkish tint developed as she fed from the Puppeteer.

After the initial wince when her fangs pierced his flesh, the Puppeteer’s body tensed and then finally relaxed a few seconds later. The stress ebbed from his muscles as they stilled, reigned in by the body-snatcher. It took effort to subdue the innate terror for vampire-kind that still lingered in his flesh, but he was the Master of Puppets and he was loathe to let his body be anything but completely in his control—after all, it was his most necessary of puppets. While the girl fed, his body gave small signs of protest: the occasional muscle twitch, the rising of small patches of goosebumps across his skin that quickly subsided, and the most stirring was the rare shiver that trickled down his spine.

With each droplet of his blood that dribbled passed the parasite’s lips to quench her thirst, the Puppeteer felt a growing weakness creeping into his limbs. At first, it was nothing. He told himself that it was nothing more than a dizzy-spell, a fit of light-headedness that would surely pass in a few seconds. The Puppeteer’s eyes fluttered open when he felt the brush up her warming fingertips across his chin, cupping it to hold him steady as she drank. The feeding lasted for a few minutes as she drank down mouthfuls of his blood, before he gave a quiet groan. “That’s enough, my Doll,” he stated, his voice stern as he lowered his freed hand. He attempted to cup her shoulder, caging it in his fingers that quivered for a moment before stilling. The touch was intended to only be a firmer order to stop, but if she persisted, he would go so far as to try to pry her from his body and cast her to the floor in disapproval.

She could feel the light turmoil within the Puppeteer. The struggle to keep calm as she fed from him...even though it had first been his idea. Perhaps a way of gaining her confindence or a way to gain control. At this point none of that mattered. The hunger being sated was foremost at the moment. The fleeting thought of tearing his throat out had subsided as she settled into savoring the warm crimson liquid. No longer worried about the fight or coniving ways she usually used to extinquish the cravings. This was more..civilized? If you could call it that.

It was like gluttony the way she greedily indulged with the excessive feeding until she heard his voice. “That’s enough, my Doll” His hand landing upon her shoulder gave way to the fact he had weakened. A shove to pressure her to release the grip she had on his throat. Lips tightened on the flesh of his neck, one last suck that filled her mouth. The fangs withdrew as she swallowed slowly, letting the warmth of his living life force drizzle down her throat. Perhaps just before he would grow impatient and may have tossed her into the floor.

Licking the puncture wounds tenderly before lifting her head to look towards him. Lips now ruby hued, stained with his blood. Lashing her tongue over her teeth as each projecting sharp tooth retracted. The hand that had cupped his face now lightly traced the contour of his jawline. A faint smile slowly formed on that rosy mouth as eyes darted over his face. "I hope ..my dear Puppeteer..I have not depleted you too much.." She seemed genuinely concerned as that childlike quality seemed to return. Still remembering the state of his being upon their first meeting. Not wishing him to return to that decrepit creature...well..not at least by her actions...well...at least not yet.

His touch. Her eyes went wide as Aizawa took hold of her and they started back towards where they had come from. With a smile on the soft curved lips, the widened eyes of soft shades watched this blonde haired exuberant with interest as they stopped before the Ferris Wheel itself. Hands at her sides as her head tilted up, those hands would push back in a soft angle, as to say she could catch herself is she fell. Her jaw fell open with a soft parting of lips, a gentle sigh would escape through those petal shaped flurries of pink. ’’No better way than from the top…’’ Those dark hues touched back onto the blonde man once again, and with a gentle smile her hand would extend out to him.

With a gentle tone of voice, like that of a woods nymph she would speak to him. ‘’I trust your decision. I do wonder how beautiful the carnival would be from such a height…’’ The tone would trail off into a drift of wind. ’’My..Only temporary? That would be..So terrible…Where I used to live…We had a river shore festival..Not as extravagant as this, but it was enjoyable as a child…’’ Her mind would become flustered with the memories of her childhood came flowing back into her mind. The lights of the carnival brought her back to reality as she fell through the brisk fog of her mind.

With a gentle smile, Hunni took forwards towards Aizawa and the over-sized fun wheel that laid before them. Arms would reach out and grasp onto his forearm in a gentle squeeze she’d pull him towards the wheel and her head would tilt slightly. ’’Now you have me excited dear boy! Let us see the wonders of the dark sky, from a birds eye view, shall we?’’