Doll is Mine

Here is my attempt at a half-decent Puppet Master story. I do not own anything that sounds familar, character/landmark/otherwise. Due to my own ignorance in some aspects, I've woven my own ideas on certain characters and whatnot. If I made any obvious mistakes, by all means let me know. I want this to be enjoyed by readers and myself both.
Remember, this is fiction. I do not claim this to be truth in any way, shape, or form.
But alas, I certainly wish the puppets were real.
Thank you, and happy reading!

A loud creaking and muffled cursing followed the opening of the front door. One clumsy hand kept a tight hold on the doorknob while the other felt around the wall until the switch was found and flicked into the on position. The receeded bulbs in the ceiling filled the entryway with calm lighting, but it was still too bright for the blood-shot eyes of the individual coming home at 3:45am. The girl squinted and groaned softly as she shut and locked the door behind her. She came home later than she'd promised, yet again, and knew she'd receive another guilt trip for it.

While nothing else seemed to be consistent in Rajiya's life, she knew she could always rely on her roommates' unceasing worry. It was nice, in a way, to have friends who cared.

After setting her oversized Chanel purse on the table in the entryway, the 22 year old Indian girl made her way to her living room, her heels clicking loudly on the granite floors of the vast apartment until she came to a stop and slumped onto the white leather couch. Rajiya kicked off her Gucci's and let out a loud sigh as she closed her eyes.

The rustling on the built-in bookshelf on the other side of the room didn't alarm her, let alone cause her to open her eyes. Neither did the scuffling of many sets of tiny feet as they approached her. Its when they stopped in front of her that she cracked open only one of her light grey eyes and gazed down at the small forms before her.

"I know, I know," Rajiya said lowly, in the same tone one might use when being lectured by a parent. "It's late. My bad." The harder than usual tapping on her right shin made her sit up and lean forward, wrapping her tan arms around her knees and coming to the level of aforementioned roommates.

Looking at her, disapprovingly, were four puppets. String-less, walking, living puppets. Living puppets whom cared not for their mistress' sarcastic, half-assed apology.

The one who'd rapped on Rajiya's calf was completely monochromatic in his appearance; skeletal face and long hair bright white, his fedora, trenchcoat, and tiny boots deep black. He was hand-less, posessing a sharp silver hook on the end of his left arm and an equally sharp blade on the end of his right. Appropriately, his name was Blade.

Beside Blade was the tallest puppet of the four, standing at about 2 feet high; the very stereotype of a cowboy from the Wild West days. A broad grin was permanently spread across his face. However, this cowboy had six arms extending from his torso with a holstered gun for each; earning his namesake of Six Shooter.

A burly puppet stood aside from the rest, clad in a maroon sweater, dark pants, and black fingerless gloves covering his large hands. The only thing disproportionate to his strong physique was his head; tiny compared to the rest of him and scarcely visible at a passing glance. Pinhead was quiet and gentle, but not one to be underestimated.

The smallest puppet, who was the only (seemingly) unarmed one, was named exactly for what he was: a Jester. His small wooden body was encased in a multicolored velvet suit, and atop his head was a matching hat with bells on the three ends. His face was divided into three seperate parts which allowed him to change his expressions to suit his mood. Currently, it began spinning rapidly before settling for a downtrodden appearance.

Rajiya was exhausted, but managed to give her small companions a weary smile as she gathered her naturally dark burgundy hair and brought it over her right shoulder. Jester came closer and touched one of her loose curls, letting out a soft noise; sadness. His face spun to a happy expression when she joined him and the other puppets on the floor. She sat with her long legs stretched out and crossed them at her ankles, allowing the four figures to amble about and onto her as she leaned her back against the couch.

"I really am sorry for keeping you guys awake and fretting over me," Rajiya said sincerely this time, rubbing one of Jester's little hands between her thumb and index finger. She yawned loudly and craned her neck from side to side. "This client was a damn chatterbox. Thank you," she added when Six Shooter retrieved the cobalt afghan throw blanket off the ottoman nearby and climbed the couch to place it over her shoulders. Pinhead picked up her high heels and was taking them to the appropriate hallway closet to be dealt with later. This was the typical way their Friday evenings/very early Saturday mornings were spent, and they'd grown accustomed to it.

Blade, however, wasn't about to let Rajiya off as easily as the others. He hissed lowly at his mistress, small bullets protruding from his otherwise empty sockets. As the leader of the Toulon puppets, he'd always felt an obligation to not only be the 'voice of reason' as it were, but to also keep the best interests of the Master in mind and at top priority. This was the way things had been for decades, and in Blade's opinion there was no reason to change that.

"Stop giving me that look," Rajiya gently chastised the gothic puppet, situating herself into better comfort. "We go through this every weekend, and despite your incessant worry, I come home intact and safe every night." Blade hissed again, louder this time, and she rolled her eyes and smiled again. "Okay, morning. It's tough but it's worth it, don't you think? Isn't this place much better than that dump in Chinatown we were holed up in?"

Blade couldn't argue that. Their life at The Infinity Condominiums definitely beat the studio that they'd all previously inhabited over a shabby restaurant. It was quieter, luxurious, and more secure amongst many other amenities. Rajiya and the puppets had their cramped studio broken into on a near weekly basis in Chinatown. It'd gotten to the point where she'd have to take them with her to work sometimes, and although she indulged in the biggest handbags she could find, it got stuffy with three other occupants. That, and everything else about the situation with her work was awkward to begin with. The view of the Bay Bridge, Pacific Ocean and San Francisco skyline from the 36th floor condo at least gave the puppets something to look at and somewhat entertain themselves with while they waited for their mistress to come home at ungodly hours of the night.

Deciding not to press further (it never worked, anyways), Blade sat himself beside Rajiya and gazed out the large windows that made up the entire side wall with her, Jester, and Six Shooter. The city lights surrounded them and the familiar glow put her to sleep almost instantaneously.

Pinhead returned after freeing himself from a small avalanche of other assorted designer shoes and peacoats that'd occurred in the hallway closet. The Mistress was dozing quietly with Jester on her lap and Blade giving off an aura of displeasure. As usual.

"What's the problem, Sir?" Pinhead asked his leader as he joined Six Shooter on the couch.

"Ohh, you know. The saaaame thing," Jester answered when Blade did not. "He's mad at Raj."

"She was right, ya know," Six Shooter added, fluffing a white throw pillow and laying against it. "She's always come home to us safely."

"Until one night, she doesn't come home at all," Blade finally said to his commrades, irritation biting off the ends of his words. "Raj does not need to be doing this, let alone without us."

"I agree," Pinhead replied, claiming a pillow of his own. "But we cannot force her to do anything, with or without us."

"Her father wanted her to have the best, and taught her to work for it," Jester put in, although unsure himself.

"He's probably rolling in his damn grave over this," Blade shot back. "His daughter; the High Cost Escort."

Nobody had anything else to say, because they too were unhappy with the way Rajiya (Raj, as they and everyone else close to her called her), made her living. Devoting her time and companionship to wealthy men, whether they be simply lonely or creeps with heaps of money they didn't deserve, was frowned upon by most of the population. The puppets' own devotion of time and companionship was solely to her and was for her protection, and the thought of their young Mistress being arm candy for some asshole suit with an ego to satisfy was not something they approved of, either.

But, as Pinhead had pointed out, it was not their decision. Only rarely had Raj taken the puppets with her; a mere total of 3 times in the past 2 years. Each time they were forced to stay in her purse, silent and immobile, and were usually left in the limo or town car on the rear floorboard. Raj deemed it pointless after the third time, simply because even if something had gone wrong the puppets wouldn't be in her vicinity and able to help. She felt badly and just left them at home from that point on, pacifying them with promises of "not staying out too late" and "not going out every night", and the like.

Raj was yet to keep any such promises. The puppets forgave her again and again; she was only human afterall. They too were once flawed mortals, but their purpose was engrained deeply in them and thus their discomfort with her "profession" did not waver.

Things had not always been this way. When Raj was a child and her father was alive, things had been far simpler and happier for everyone involved.