/Notes/ So I love the idea of puppets in fiction, recently discovered Tsubasa and of course Fai and Kurogane, thus this was born. Expect lots of angst. By the way the chapters are small because originally this was a one shot, but I felt that to create a better pace sections were best seperated. Enjoy! ^_^

I am a puppet…

See my fine golden hair?

My sculptured face?

My porcelain skin so fair?

I am a puppet…

I never hurt or cry

I'm whatever you wish me

But my painted smile is a lie

Crafted and carved, polished and shaped. Every curve was smooth, every angle sharp, every stroke of paint was bold and elegant. He was the very definition of perfection, with a soft easy smile and merry, forget-me-not eyes. Yes, he was the perfect doll.

The perfect puppet.

Crowds flocked like moths to flame in order to watch him, to see him perform. He never disappointed, his show was spectacular! Oh how he danced, how he sang and moved! How he could draw you in, looking in the afternoon sun like an angel crowned with a golden halo. He was impossible to resist, so cheeky and teasing, so chipper and good humoured!

What a charming fellow! The crowds would cry.

Oh my, how handsome! The ladies would coo.

Mummy he's amazing! Children would shout.

Indeed they loved him, a love that he seemed to return with glee. He would shower them with smiles, with waves and bows. But the crowds were misled spectacularly, for never once did they glimpse the puppet's true face behind his ever permanent mask.

They never once… glimpsed his strings. Only he felt them.

Only he felt the tugs, the pulling, the orders. Only he knew his will was not his own, that somewhere close behind there was always a puppeteer lurking, manipulating his every move. A puppeteer he knew well, all too well.

So he continued on in this way, acting and smiling, laughing and dancing. He repressed all emotion and thought, leaving nothing but an empty shell with a ghost of a smile tipping his lips. But what else was he to do? What else could he do? His puppeteer was his creator, the only solid thing he could latch onto in this large, frightening world. And, though he was loathed to admit it, he was bound to his puppeteer by more than just strings. Other, more binding things kept him obedient and quiet, and it was those bindings that scared him more than anything else.

Hope long since abandoned to crumble into ash, the puppet resigned himself to a world of pretend. And surely that was what he would have experienced forevermore, had it not been for that day.

That day, when the puppet met him.

Oo0oO

The village was alive with life.

Merry voices of men and women with tummies full to the brim with rum filled the warm, summer air. Deep within the village a tavern was having a busy night, alcohol overflowing and piping hot food sizzling, creating tantalizing aromas of sweet beef, tender ham, creamy potatoes and crispy roast vegetables. It was a night filled with loud laughter and rosy cheeks, it was a night for rejoicing and celebration.

It was a night the puppet was to be left on his own.

The small caravan he and his puppeteer called home stood on the edge of town. Its wooden front was painted cheerful colours of leaf greens, baby blues and petal pinks, and its windows were drawn with lace curtains to give it a homely, quaint feel. It was all apart of the show, for the inside was not nearly as bright as the outside portrayed. In fact, it wasn't bright at all.

The puppet was sitting on the window ledge, long legs swaying and hair fluttering in the soft breeze. He could hear snippets of merriment and music travelling from the town, boisterous and mismatched against the peaceful silence settled over the forest behind the caravan. Still the puppet didn't mind, he found it strangely comforting.

The door swung open suddenly, revealing his puppeteer dressed in his usual attire of a dramatic, sweeping cloak. It was a sheet of shadow clinging to his form, trimmed with ribbons of silver. His hair was long and dark as a brush of ink, pulled at the moment into a loose ponytail. It swished like a whisper as he drew a pouch from his cloak. He began to leaf through the content, coins jingling like bells.

"I'm going out for a bit." he announced, petting Karma's soft nose.

Karma was his mare, which at the moment was munching happily away on the hay hanging in the rope basket attached to the side of the caravan. The puppet was offered no such affection.

"Protect the caravan." the puppeteer ordered, snapping his fingers with a burst of magic to tie the puppet's strings to the caravan door. Then the puppeteer strolled away, his long boots crunching as leather met gravel. He walked until his shoes met cobbles, and kept going and going until he was nothing but a faint figure in the distance.

Soon, the puppet was left alone.

He wasn't sure how to pass the time, it wasn't often he left his puppeteer's side. It wasn't often he was aloud to be left alone. Yet here he was, staring at the darkening sky, fiery oranges and reds mingling with pastel pinks like strokes of paint. So he decided to do one of the only things he was capable, he began to sing. It was soft and even, light as a feather and soaring just as high as a bird. The puppet wasn't sure it was his voice, he sang as it suited his puppeteer, but it was something to do.

Eventually the song dipped into silence, and it was then he became aware of the rustling coming from his left. He turned around sharply, his puppeteer's order forcing his legs to spring into action. Protect the caravan. His stiff joints clicked and clacked as he sped towards the disturbance, towards the figure crouched in the bushes. The strings binding him stretched painfully. He slid to a stop just before his feet hit the undergrowth, causing the crouched figure to jump back into the shadows in surprise.

"Who goes there?" the puppet called, stepping forward to get a better look at the offender. What he found… was not what he expected.

A young boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, sat in the undergrowth. Scrapes and cuts marred his slightly tanned skin, and his clothing was torn in several places. His hair was midnight black, cropped in such a way that dark spikes stuck up at all angles. Strands of it fell in front of his wide eyes which, upon closer inspection, were a startling blood red. The puppet felt his usual smile click into place, hiding all true emotion. If the intruder was just a child, then that meant he may bring custom in the form of parents. The puppeteer would not be happy to discover the puppet had scared such custom off.

"Did you want to hear me sing little boy?" the puppet asked.

The boy recovered quickly, standing up to glare at the puppet with a face like thunder. "Hell no!" he snarled. "Who would want to listen to that soppy crap!" he cried indignantly, though he cheeks were stained a light pink.

The puppet felt his eyebrows rise slightly in surprise at the course language escaping such a young boy's lips. "Oh? Then what were you doing?" he asked, an edge of amusement creeping into his voice.

The boy blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again. His cheeks flared a little brighter.

The puppet felt real amusement curl his lips. "So you were listening?"

Anger boiled the boy's blood, turning his eyes demonic. "No I wasn't you idiot! Listen to what people tell you!" he raged.

The puppet didn't realise it, but he was enjoying himself. He was enjoying the reactions he was provoking, he was enjoying the faces this child was making. The true, honest faces. But, though enjoying himself, the puppet found that a slight shiver of irritation ran up his spine at the same time. This boy, this boy was everything he was not, every thing he could never be. He was open about his emotions, about his displeasure. And though the boy had only uttered two sentences, the puppet was sure the boy was just as open about all of his emotions around the clock.

It was that thought that caused irritation.

"What's your name?" the puppet asked.

The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously, turning into two slits of shimmering crimson. "Kurogane." He grunted.

"Kurogane, hm? If you weren't listening to my singing, then what are you doing in the forest all on your own at such a late hour?" the puppet asked.

Kurogane averted his gaze away from the puppet's perfect face, instead fixing it on Karma. She neighed softly, pawing at the ground.

"None of your damn business." Kurogane muttered.

The puppet had a sudden idea, a sudden longing to tease and torment. Anything to gain another reaction, to provoke anger. "Aw come on tell me! Don't be a grump Kuro-pin!" he cried in a childish voice. Usually the women went gaga for that voice.

Kurogane spluttered, shades of red running up his neck from rage and embarrassment. "W-what did you just call me!" he shouted.

The puppet spun on his heel, chanting, "Kuro-pin, Kuro-chan, Kuro-pon, Kuro-sama! All hail Kuro-sama!"

"Don't call me weird names you psycho!" Kurogane yelled.

The puppet crumpled his face in disappointment, acting as flawlessly as ever. "But it's cute, just like Kuro-chi!" he cried.

There was a distinct snap as Kurogane's patience reached its limits. His shoulders shuddered with repressed rage. "Call. Me. That. One. More. Time. And I'll kill you." He promised, each syllable dripping with menace.

A pleased, knowing smile appeared on the puppet's face. "Call you what Kuro-tan?" he asked, innocently.

With a shout of rage Kurogane sprung forward, arms whipping out to grab the blonde imbecile, preferably around the neck. But the blonde imbecile was surprisingly fast, very fast. He dogged the younger boy's grasp and took off running, laughing all the way. Kurogane followed him, a battle cry escaping his lips.

"Get back here!" he shouted.

"Uh oh Kuro-chan's mad, help me Karma!" the puppet chuckled.

Karma merely shook her mane with a disapproving shudder, before returning quietly to her meal as Kurogane chased the puppet wildly around the caravan, shouting obscurities all the while.

The puppet laughed properly for the first time in a very long time.

Oo0oO

Kurogane collapsed to the floor, wheezing and panting. Sweat shone as a sticky sheen over his skin, slick and glossy in the gathering darkness. He was exhausted, but he still managed to muster the best possible scowl he could to direct at a certain someone hiding up a tree.

"What's the matter Kuro-myuu, are you tired already?" the puppet called down.

A growl bubbled up Kurogane's throat. "Chi, go to hell moron! And it's Kurogane! You hear? Ku-ro-ga-ne!" he spat.

The puppet jumped elegantly down from his perch, landing as nimbly as a cat. His joints jangled a bit. He plopped down next to Kurogane, wrapping an arm around his leg and leaning his chin upon his knee. He smiled broadly.

"You're fast for someone so young," he commented.

Be as friendly as possible, wheel the customers in to the best of your ability. The puppeteer's voice raced through his head, reminding him of his obligation, of his duty.

Smile.

Be friendly.

Never show your true face.

"You know Kuro-chi if you want to hear me sing, just come to my show! We'd have lots of fun together I'm sure!" he said with delight.

There was a long beat of silence.

Kurogane's eyes slid to the left, landing on the puppet's face. They travelled slowly down the puppet's arm to his wrist, and then to both of his ankles. The puppet didn't move a muscle, smiling that idiotic smile. After about five minutes Kurogane stood, and began walking unceremoniously back towards the woods. He didn't even glance over his shoulder as he spoke,

"Impossible. I'd never come to your show. I hate grownups like you."

The puppet froze. "Eh?" was the only noise his throat seemed to produce.

Kurogane paused, scarlet eyes fixing momentarily on the puppet's confused, but still smiling face. "Guys like you are better off dead." He said.

Then he left, leaving unknowingly in his wake a small seed. A small seed in the puppet's heart that would eventually bloom. But for now, both the puppet and the boy parted completely unaware that such an event had taken place.

Fin~ Like, hate? Review! :3