Shaman King Fan Fiction ❯ Puppetry Musings ❯ Puppetry Musings ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Shaman king

 

Over and over again, it occurred to her that she should feel… more considering she was being and going and doing on with something nearly all would never experience. She should be saying daily that she felt alive.

But, that would be a lie, wouldn't it? The only time she really felt alive was in sex… but people always feel so alive during sex that saying you feel alive doesn't add up to anything anymore.

She should be grateful, she supposed… To Johann, to fate, to the evil which made his life hell, to Anna and so on and so forth that she would need to be on her knees just saying thanks for a year or more just to get through it.

But what do you do if you… say… not that she did…

Just didn't feel like it?

Not like, once again not pertaining to her, you just didn't want to do it right then. What if you just never wanted to do it?

What if you wished you'd just been left with his family on that nice little hill over looking the city?

What if you had finally figured out it was okay to be dead, and you wanted to be left alone to do that?

What if inside you were revolted at the monster you're sweet, quiet lover had become and the fact that you were now tied to the person you loved dearly but only were allowed hints of?

What the hell were you supposed to do then?

 

At the moment, she was hovering over her true body and Frankensteiny was somewhere leaving his true body in pieces on the floor. Johann never put the extra amount of furyoko into Franky that he did into her so that she would always stay together even when he was in the deepest of sleep.

For when he was completely paralyzed they might still be at least together.

But even for a dog, Franky had been incredibly laid back so he never minded or at least never communicated to her that he minded. He'd always liked to go out and roam around the house at night when he took a break from sleeping.

Without the body or the walls of the house or the need to sleep containing him, he was probably having the best time he ever could have. She often thought he liked being dead a lot more than being alive.

But now she read off feelings instead of just looking off expressions and behaviors. So that was probably biased.

She watched him nuzzle closer to her in his sleep, stroke what should have been her hair and cry tears of what could have been. The permanently dyed lips quivered in silent cries.

She supposed she could go to where the other spirits gathered to spend the night talking while their shamans lay useless in their beds. Even if she didn't understand these new languages, there was at least a spirit or two who was German (they tended to band together) and spirits can read of what the speaker is intending to say rather than depending on what comes out of the mouth.

Technically, a spirit never needed to speak to another -a whole conversation can go on regardless -but, maybe if nothing more than nostalgia and not wanting to let go kept them speaking aloud.

So it wasn't like she couldn't go down there and have what might be a wonderful time. She'd gone once or twice when he had done something so particularly horrid that she couldn't stand to be connected to him no matter what he used to be. It had been fun, she had to admit.

The night was still very young -being around all these children who turned in rather early was having an effect on Faust (she couldn't bear to call him Johann much anymore). He was heading to bed to at least lay still and pretend to sleep, and that was better for him. Inside his head was less chaotic; he had stopped hallucinating to some degree. And that was good on all accounts, no matter who you were.

There was nothing for her here… while he had become stronger, so had she. She was no longer dragged back into her body when he woke in the middle of the night. SHE now got to choose when, if he woke, and if she was going back in.

It used to yank her back like a snapped rubber band, no matter where she was. But with practice and concentration and determination she had become slightly less of the puppet than she had come to accept she was.

When he was tired enough, he didn't notice if it was her or just her shell. Or, at least, he never was in pain by seeing that it was her but wasn't.

Maybe he was allowing her a bit of freedom or maybe he was just happy with the delusion when he got sick of pretending to be asleep or had actually (miraculously) slept. She didn't know thoughts of people, so she would never know, probably.

And there was no way, just in case, that she was going to TELL him that once in a while she would sneak off, or at least spent time contemplating sneaking off.

And maybe, what the hell, she would tonight. Why shouldn't she? Faust was lying as useless as any other shaman in the building right now, why shouldn't she act like the spirit she was and go down?

Enjoy the night life she'd never really taken advantage of alive.

She was an adult, wasn't she?

She deserved this, didn't she?

It wasn't just `Faust and Eliza'. There was an Eliza apart from Faust, but because she couldn't speak no one cared to acknowledge that.

The always asked HIM what she wanted, needed, was.

She wasn't a brainless puppet! She swore she wasn't!

Why the hell did she stay with a man who wouldn't insist to them that she wasn't just a prize to be defended but an actual person?

Why wouldn't he force them to ask her what she would want? Maybe she didn't want to watch that shit little movie with a bunch of whining children. Maybe she didn't want to go to that restaurant even if all she cared about anymore was the esthetics.

Did anyone ever care about THAT?

The silvery ghost tears, the only link she could make on her own, were making a huge puddle on the floor.

It would serve FAUST right for killing her Johann if she went down to that party and never came back, no matter what the fuck that little bitch did. She might just go off and reach enlightenment where she couldn't be reached. That would serve him and all of those prejudiced little bastard's right.

Why the fuck wasn't she leaving?

She'd spent over an entire lifetime with him, didn't she deserve some time to herself?

But it'd become to the point that there could be no Faust without Eliza and no one would care about her feelings when there was HIM around.

No one would say, `Hey, Eliza, maybe you were justified and you deserve not to be trotted around like a prize dog and spend some time visiting your family'.

No one would say, `Maybe Faust could take another hit for the team, if only for a while, so your SO-CALLED “BELOVED WIFE” could have some latitude'.

And of course no one would say, `Hey Eliza, what would YOU like to do today? I mean, rather than be dragged around after everyone else. I'm sure you have a lot of ideas inside that rotting shell of a head of yours'.

Why the fuck didn't she at least TRY to leave? If only for an hour, if only for a minute, why didn't she just try?

As she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out, she got her answer.

Johann.

Not even the slightest bit of Faust, but Johann. HER Johann.

When he slept, and he would sink back into the few happy dreams he had, he would smile… just slightly.

Like he used to.

The same smile which would always come to her whenever she would think about how she wished it was.

If she lost that, she had nothing.

There was no Eliza without Johann.

She touched the side of his face lightly, and he smiled and leaned into her touch.

So she'd take being a puppet, she'd take being ignored; she'd take having to deal and sleep with a monster.

Because, there just wasn't anything else for her.

She smiled and decided she'd stay to make sure Frankensteiny always came back.