I am not a demon. Not immortal.
I am not THAT ancient.
I was once human, but now I seem to be something in between. For me, that is an advantage. For you, well... not so much.
I did not have a terrible life. My family was wealthy, I dressed appropriate to my social class, and studied hard.
If I lacked anything, it was a true friend, inside and out.
Regardless of who you are, if you upset me, well, I am afraid I will have to bring out the strings... but fear not.
I really do favor all my puppets.
[[Independent OC blog, may be NSFW, may contain disturbing pictures/footage.
All fandoms welcome.]]
“Oh, this is so?” The woman spoke lightly, this man comforted her, though for what reason she did not know. She felt a sense of kinship from ‘Le Marionnettiste’, as he referred to himself as, and it was not only his manner of speech and of clothes. His very soul seemed to be of the same birthplace as hers, and it brought the madame great delight. “I have heard many a man boast for means of increasing his self-importance, with naught the strength in character to enforce it.” She tilted her head slightly, as though to entice the man to keep his focus on her, “What does it say about your character then, monsieur, when you are in the presence of another and give not your name?”
“It says I do not wish to reveal myself, mademoiselle,” his expression darkened, “Have you no knowledge of the power within a name? A name says who a man is and is not. A name holds a past— now why would I want a stranger to know of such secrets? My name is Le Marionnettiste, and I will ask you not to question it.” His face remained as cold as stone for the remaining silence, then he smiled once again, “You have been touched by an angel, I see. A lonely one, in fact.”
Everything, but nothing, all at the same time.
That made no sense what so ever.
Neither does your existence, Meg Jones.
You question my title. Shall I question your father’s?
You are existing, are you not, monsieur?
All existing beings are my puppets.I am afraid that you and I will not come to an agreement on this, for I remain no man’s puppet.
*The corner of his mouth drooped, bringing his arrogant smile to a frown*
I am truly sorry you think so, monsieur.
*He locked eyes with Casanova’s. His hand twitched, and like a mirror, the other man’s hand did so involuntary. But of course, that wasn’t enough— the Puppeteer bent his arm, raised it in front of his chest, and began to side-step slowly, the muscles in Giacomo’s body forcing him to move precisely with the Puppeteer’ motion*
One that suits, mademoiselle.
If you say so. So, what’s there to tell about The Puppeteer other than the title?
Everything, but nothing, all at the same time.
My puppets call me the Puppeteer.
And if it were not for you stunning appearance, mademoiselle, I would be offended by being referred to as ‘another French person’.Sorry…I wasn’t trying to offend you. I just…not used to seeing French people around. It wasn’t a bad thing, I’m just not used to it, that’s all…I’m rambling again, aren’t I? Dad’s trait I suppose. But the Puppeteer? What sort of title is that?
One that suits, mademoiselle.
As the woman straightened, a smile played over her face, it was such a delight to encounter another soul who knew proper manners. “I take offence to your title of me, monsieur,” her smile telling otherwise, “For I have known no person who has the audacity to speak to me as if I were a child’s plaything. And as to my current destination,” she looked teasingly at the man, “I believe that is in my best interest to keep a secret. I would not wish for any undesirable individuals to know where I am residing.”
The truth was she hadn’t the faintest idea. She had been thrown about so many worlds as of late, a lesser woman would have fainted of shock. The Madame smiled, her face belying the confusion in her mind. Perhaps she could gain an idea of her current location from this gentleman.
The Puppeteer stood upright, his smile never fading, “Fear not, mademoiselle. You are in no danger in the presence of your fellow Marionnettiste! No man, creature, or beast residing in this area would ever step out of line to displease me,” he stated firmly, brushing off his tweed coat— unfortunately, his appearance would give no hint of location for the other, nor would his diction. He already knew the woman was out of her original time, for her clothing spoke loudly of the past, just as his did.
Bonjour, monsieur.
Oh, bonjour. *Smiles* Je m’appelle Nick…that’s about all the French I remember, apologies.
No need to apologize, monsieur! I understand perfectly!
But… Nick as in.. Nicholas?
You certainly are one-of-a-kind…
How very intriguing— the most interesting puppet of mine yet.-Well, that was a bit unnerving, wasn’t it?-
I do hate to burst your bubble, Signor, but I am no puppet.
You are existing, are you not, monsieur?
All existing beings are my puppets.
Bonjour, monsieur.
