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Puppetry	By : Crystalwren Category: Hellsing > General Views: 2275 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Sucker love, a box I choose.

No other box I choose to use.

Another love I would abuse,

No circumstances could excuse.

In the shape of things to come.

Too much poison come undone.

Cuz there's nothing else to do,

Every me and every you.

Every me and every you,

Every Me...he

Every You Every Me- Placebo

The heat
persisted, and Integra took to sitting in the rose gardens at dusk, a monstrous
black hound beside her, the dust and pollution hanging in the air turning the
setting sun into a blazing, bloody red. Walter went out there sometimes, on the
pretext of having documents signed or relaying some incidental message but the
thick perfume drugged him and his tongue would swell in his mouth and refuse to
work. He�d be left standing beside them, the third wheel that Integra was too
polite to send away, silent as the possessive hound laid its head on its
Master�s foot and leered.

After these
times, Walter would go back to the bed that he had slept in for over sixty
years and dream, the heat twisting the pictures until they were as vivid and as
bright as waking and not at all restful.

He dreamt of a
city by the sea, where lassies sang love songs and above them flew icari,
Integra among them, burned by the sun to a uniform gold all over. He dreamt of
Integra riding on elephants, on tigers, clasping a sucking kitten to her
breast, uncaring that needle-like milk teeth had slashed her skin to pieces and
blood stained her all over. He dreamt of watching her dance with her Servant,
and Walter knew that they were surrounded by ghouls and that Alucard had left
his guns behind and that any minute the pair was to be overrun with monsters.
Night after night he knelt before her; night after night he pressed his mouth
between her legs and sometimes it was the best of dreams and sometimes it was
the worst of dreams when her uterus gave birth to briar roses that sprouted and
grew and cocooned her in thorns so that he could not see or reach her.

He fucked her
in a thousand different ways.

Willingly,
unwillingly, gently or roughly, he fucked her until she laughed or wept or
screamed or purred. He made love to her on sheets of silk; he raped her in the
desert, pushing her face down into the sand. He sang her lullabies and love
songs, gave her bouquets of orchids and roses and wires. Every night he chased
her. As a hunter and she a doe, he tracked her in the forest, finally laying
down beside her and stroking her trembling fur. The endless legions of ghouls
that had tormented him every night since he was fourteen all wore her face. Her face, her eyes, her skin. Integra.
Wonderful things, terrible things, the ceaseless heat and monotony making it
seem as if his waking was his dreaming and his vivid dreaming his true reality,

Then something
terrible happened.

On an evening
like any other Walter walked to Integra�s office, where she�d spend the day in
telephone conference with monster hunters across the world. He knew that the
conference had surely ended and that she had not eaten and that sooner or later
she�d call for him, but the need to see her was like the need for a drug and
Walter shed his discipline and went to her.

The office was
empty, but the door that led to her rooms was ajar and he stood before it,
debating with himself as to whether or not he should go through because he could
hear voices and there were times when Integra did not like her privacy
disturbed. Before Walter could make a decision it opened; Seras Victoria
stepped out. Pretty Seras with strawberry hair, pretty Seras
with red eyes and white, white skin. Automatically Walter began to bow
but he stopped short, frozen by the sight of the unbuttoned neck of her
uniform, by the gloves she carried in her hands but not on them. He raised his
eyes to her face and was almost paralysed by the sickening tide of rage and knowledge
that raced up his spine and filled his mouth with bile. Blushing Seras took one
look at his expression and wisely chose to leg it.

There was a
roaring in his ears and he stumbled forward, through the private study, into
the private lounge room. Integra came out of the bedroom. He hair was tousled,
her feet bare and she was adjusting the cuffs of her shirt. Slowly, he looked
into her eyes and the triumphant look on her face made him want to howl like a
madman. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. This was probably for the
better.

�Ah, Walter,�
she said, smiling viciously. �Just in time. I�m
hungry. Lamb should do it.�

Walter closed
his eyes and clenched his fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shake her
silly. Fucking lesbian, he wanted to
say but decades of service throttled the words and replaced them with a bland,
�yes, Milady,� and he bowed and left, fast as he could go without actually
running.

Stopping by the
kitchens he left instructions with the chef and carried on down into the depths
of the building, the vast vaults that supported the massive weight of stone,
brick and timber and hid Hellsing�s ultimate weapon from the world. Down into
the damp and dark, down into the domain of Alucard where the air was still and
all noises dampened.

Walter stopped.
Rats skittered all around him, squeaking in annoyance, He gnashed his teeth, grinding them so hard pain began to spread in tendrils from
his jaw.�

He threw his
head back and screamed.

�Bloody WHOOOOOORRRE!�

�That�ll do,
Angel of Death. That will do.� There was a pair of red eyes glowing in the
dark.

�You knew!�

�I suspected. I
wasn�t certain.�

�Not certain?
Aren�t you supposed to be the powerful, all-knowing mind-reading monster?�

�What a person
says and what a person does are two entirely different beasts,� said Alucard.

Taking off his
monocle, Walter pinched the bridge of his nose until it hurt. �Don�t you care
about this? She�s taken a lover. Your precious Master has taken a female
lover.� Alucard said nothing, and Walter blinked. �Proxy,� he blurted.

�Pardon?�

�Victoria is
your servant. Your proxy and your puppet.
You�re�you�re fucking Integra through her. You sick��

�I wouldn�t put
it so crudely.� Walter swayed, would have fallen. Invisible hands caught him
and propped him up against the wall. �Tell me, would you be this distraught if
Integra�s lover were a man?�

�Of
course not!�

�I, personally,
find it rather exciting.�

The old man
sobbed. �She�s going to hell,� he said, �her soul is tainted forever.�

�How
very Puritan of you.�

Walter sank to
his knees and wept like a baby.

**

Walter
made a decision. After picking himself up and washing his face, he made a
beeline for the nearest computer terminal and typed in the first application
for leave that he had ever made in his life. The reply came back in the
affirmative, and quite rapidly as well; he was a bit miffed about that. It hurt
his ego that Integra seemed to be in so much of a hurry to get rid of the man
who had hitherto been the most important (living) person in her life, but he
was practical enough to grit his teeth and get on with it. He returned back to
his bedroom and packed his suitcase with casual clothes he�d barely worn. He
packed two toiletry bags, a woman�s red satin nightgown and a mouldering jacket
and trousers that he privately thought of as his old codger�s uniform, a spare
pair of shoes and an ancient cut-throat razor that he�d acquired in his
twenties and had used religiously ever since.

He
didn�t stop to think. He zipped the suitcase shut and scrabbled in the chest of
drawers by his bedside for his passport and went into the bathroom to grab a
spare tube of toothpaste. For a moment he hesitated, fascinated by the cracked
and crazed image of his own face in the shattered mirror above the bathroom
cabinet. He said, �Here�s looking at you, kid,� and his mouth leered at him
from a dozen different fragments.

Walter
didn�t stop to say goodbye, either, did not thank his secretary, and did not
stop to farewell Peter Ferguson. Taking the bit between his teeth he stepped
smartly through the hallways, up the stairs, barely nodding in response to
hails. The sensation was amazing, it felt like a giant
fist that had clenched around his heart was gradually loosening its hold. The
closer he got to the exit the lighter he felt. The daylight blazing through the
doors, hitherto an uncomfortable furnace, now seemed soothing and inviting.
Scant metres away from the warm gold he stopped, short, suddenly horrified.

What
the hell did he think he was doing?

What
on Earth was he thinking of, leaving at a time like this? The Round Table
Council in disturbance and rebellion. Unknown numbers of chipped vampires
swarming about the place, originating from only God and their makers knew
where. The Queen pressuring the Council, the Council pressuring Integra and in
the thick of all that, a traitor, a filthy traitor poisoning everything he
touched. The vampire Incognito, the only one who could give
the vampire Alucard anything approaching a fair fight. Integra still ill.

�I
must be insane,� whispered Walter under his breath, �I�ve heatstroke, my brain is frying.�

�Oh,
for Christ�s sake,� snarled Integra from behind him. He hadn�t even realised
that she was there. �Just go.�

Walter
squared his shoulders, gritting his teeth in loathing and misery. He marched
through the doors, into the bright sunlight, and did not turn around.

**

He
drove to Dover, to the ferry that would carry him across the English Channel
into Callas. On the outskirts of France he pulled into a quiet little motel and
slept and slept and after that he moseyed along, stopping where and when it
suited him, which was often. From there he made his way to the German border at
no great speed. All up it took him about three days to reach Germany, and there
he left the car in a secured car park and caught the train to Munich. Despite
the fact that he drove quite well he had never succeeded in attaining a German
drivers� license but as the public transportation system was perfectly
adequate, in this particular instance it was not an issue. The train ride was
actually quite soothing and he spent it alternatively reading, brushing up on
his Deutsch language skills or else simply sitting with his hands folded in his
lap, watching the country fly past his window. Sighing, he took off his tie and
crumpled it into his pocket, leant his head on the headrest. He missed Integra;
he�d been so desperate to get away from her and now that he was he wanted to go
back. Heaving a deep sigh he tried to remember the scent of her hair and skin
but all he could smell right now was stale, recycled air and all of a sudden
the vile, treacherous image of Seras Victoria flashed across his brain and he
clenched his jaw so hard that little sliver dots danced across his vision.

Integra
was deceitful. Integra had betrayed both him and her own honour. She�d
disobeyed the law of the Bible and now she would go to Hell. The pedestal that
he�d placed her on was so badly shattered he knew that nothing in the world
could ever put it back together again.

It
was barely three days since he�d seen her last. In the motel in France he had
woken up with her name in his mouth and an erection in his pants because he�d
been dreaming about her.

Integra. The only woman he�d ever loved.

Walter
sighed, shook his head ruefully. Two parts romantic, one part
stalker, or maybe even the other way around. He�d always known that
she�d take the revelation of his infatuation badly, but fabricating a sexual
relationship with another female, and a female vampire at that, was something
on a level he�d never even dreamed of. To be honest, given the number of times
he�d been sent down into Alucard�s lair to retrieve the various fetishes the
vampire stole from her on a regular basis, knickers, cravats, gloves, cigarillo
butts, used menstrual napkins and dirty bandages (Walter generally left the
last three where they were) one would think that there would be no unwanted
suitor that could throw her.

The
train shuddered, and through the soles of his shoes he could feel the pulse of
the engine changing, slowing down as the carriages were pulled underground,
beneath the city. Walter shut the little Deutsch grammar book and tucked it
away inside his suitcase. He�d booked himself into a thoroughly modern motel an
easy walk from the CBD. Despite the fact he missed her, despite the alien sensation
of not being an active part of Hellsing, he realised that he was rather looking
forward to his little stay here. He thought of the things he�d packed, the
second toiletry bag, the woman�s nightgown, the cutthroat razor in his suitcase
and he smiled.

The
train pulled into the station and Walter waited for the other people to get
off. He could have pushed his way to the front easily but he really couldn�t be
bothered. A kind lass offered to help his with his
suitcase and he demurred politely. The station was dark and dingy, for all that
it was so close to the centre of Munich, and he was glad to get out and into
the open air. The day was warm, deliciously warm, but not overly so and he was
relieved that the crippling heatwave that had struck England had not reached
here yet. He yawned with pleasure and decided to take a small detour across
Marienplatz to watch the tourists watch the Glockenspiel. It was nearly on the
hour when he arrived, and the anticipation was palpable. A
long series of almost out of tune music. Some metal figures went around
the face of the clock for a little while.�
At the end of it all, a knight fell off his horse with a pathetic clang
and the hordes of tourists stirred asking, muttering, �That�s it? That�s it?�

�The
Glockenspiel,� announced a smug tourist guide, �Has
been called the most overrated attraction in Europe.�

�No
shit, Sherlock,� yelled one of his charges, and the crowd and Walter dispersed.

When
he reached the motel, he was quite pleased at what he saw. Clean, spacious and
comfortable, the only downside he could see were the swarms of Contiki people,
most of them hung over, arranged in various postures of wretchedness and agony
about the foyer.

�Don�t
worry, sir,� said the receptionist in perfect English, �We�ve placed you on a
separate floor.� She smiled conspiratorially and because she was pretty, Walter
smiled back.

�Do
you get a lot of these?�

�Oh
yes. We don�t mind. They�re noisy, but they pay in advance.�

�A
very practical way of viewing the situation,� agreed Walter, and gathered up
his room key. An obscenely drunk man, Australian by the sound of his accent,
collapsed directly in front of Walter. The old man stepped over him, noting the
monogrammed beer glass that he clutched to his chest, doubtless newly liberated
from a beer hall and now on permanent loan without permission.

The
room that Walter had booked was spacious and fanatically neat. The grey carpets
were impeccable; the white coverlet and fitted sheets on the bed were spotless.
The furniture was gleaming and placed perfectly square and in short, the
military production lines of the place warmed the cockles of Walter�s soldier
heart. He sighed blissfully and fell backwards. The mattress,
perfect. Grinning at the ceiling, he contemplated the endless
possibilities of being able to have a quiet wank without Alucard dropping down
from the ceiling and offering to lend a hand. Honestly, that sort of thing
could be such a mood killer. Walter grinned for a bit longer but gradually the
grin began to fade. In his pocket, the plastic warmed by the heat of his body,
was a pager. It hadn�t sounded. Evidentially, Hellsing was functioning fine,
just fine without him. This bruised his ego to no end.

Ever
practical, he picked himself up and had a shower. As he performed his
ablutions, he felt his mood gradually lightening until he began to hum. If
nothing else, tonight promised to be very diverting and his cutthroat razor
glinted so pretty as he shaved. Walter dressed in his
old shirt and worn trousers- his old codger�s uniform-
and draped the matching jacket over his arm, concealing the plastic bag
containing the woman�s nightgown and toiletries. The cutthroat razor he slipped
into his back pocket, and with last, venomous look at the pager he�d left lying
on the bed, he left the room and walked back through the lobby. He nodded a
greeting to the receptionist who didn�t appear to notice, preoccupied as she
was in aiding the porter with yet another drunken Australian passed out on the
floor. Outside the sky was darkening, steaks of brilliant orange bleeding
across deep purple as he set out across the city of Munich. He walked for quite
a while. Despite the warmth of a few hours ago it was cooling rapidly and
Walter knew that later, he would be grateful for his jacket. He didn�t mind the
long walk, and he�d memorised the route to his destination a long time ago.

Every
city, every town above a certain size has at least one. Some have many. An area, a gathering place for whores and pimps and drug dealers,
always coming alive after dark. The bright and shinning tourist area
dropped away behind him and gradually he was surrounded by shabby apartments
and decrepit warehouses. He spotted the first of the whores, a skinny, underage
thing, thick lipstick looking like blood in the
streetlight. She smiled desperately and he pointedly looked away. This was the
downside when one chose to go to streetwalkers and not to a brothel; unwanted
advances, disease, pimps, prostitutes that would much rather drug one and skip
the sex and go straight to the bit where they took the money and ran. On the
upside, a streetwalker could gossip but they�d never insist on writing down
names and phone numbers and in an anonymous pay-by-the-hour hotel no one would
care if they heard the sounds of screaming.

Munich
was a large city and a large city always has men and women prepared to sell sex
and men and women prepared to buy it. Cars cruised up and down and punters
slouched along with their hands in their pocket, raising their furtive gaze to
the merchandise and quickly dropping it back down to the ground. Walter�s gait changed, became a stilted, limping shuffle. He hunched his
shoulders and took off his monocle, and just like that, transformed from the
dapper and elegant Angel of Death into a tired old man with a bum eye, nervous
and fragile and radiating pathetic longing. Walter smiled timidly at a pretty
lady with long blonde hair, but his smile faded when he saw the Adam�s apple
and the broad hands and realised that she was a he. The punter just ahead of
him abruptly turned and headed unerring towards the she-male. Walter noted the
punter�s gait and the delicate wrist and his sensitive nose picked up the
subtle hormone imbalance that had caused hair to sprout from the punter�s chin.
This punter, a near perfect imitation of a man and very likely on the list to
have her breasts cut off. Walter wondered which of the unnatural, ungodly
freaks would be more surprised when the clothes came off, the customer or the
whore.

�Gro�vater! He, Gro�vater!� The prostitutes and their
pimps thought he was a fantastic joke, apparently. They sang out in German,
French, English, a dozen different languages and a hundred different slang
words for fucking and fellatio. Walter had been around for a very long time, enough
to know that nothing was so bizarre that it wasn�t somebody�s fetish, so none
of the sexual acts described surprised him although the crudity did aggravate
his gentleman�s palate.

He
found her, the one he was looking for much sooner than he expected.

Long
blonde hair to her waist, skin darkened by fake tan and cosmetics. Tall but not too tall, slender but broad across the shoulders.
The imitation wasn�t perfect, of course. The breasts were far too large,
doubtless enhanced by silicon and the slenderness was caused by routine
starvation and not by a healthy diet and exercise. No glasses and although
Walter couldn�t quite make out her eyes in the streetlights, he suspected that
they were brown and not blue. Nevertheless, the resemblance was uncanny and
Walter knew that he could scour the entire city and not find better. His
fingers tightened on the plastic bag he held concealed under his jacket and he
suppressed a satisfied smile.

�Gut- Guten Tag,� he stammered to the
prostitute, who grinned patronisingly back. �Sie recht... gehen mit mir? Wieviel?�

�I
speak English,� interjected the prostitute. �You come with me, Gro�vater, I make you feel good.�

She
shot a look, half amused, half contemptuous at her fellow whores and they
smirked sadistically back. Taking his arm she led him between a pair of
buildings, down an alley.

�Hotel�
er, hotal?� he said falteringly as
she pushed him against a fence and put her hand on his crotch.

�Schei�e!� she spat, forgetting
herself for an instant before recovering. He saw a flash of white in the
darkness and guessed she was smiling to cover her slip. He could practically
smell the contempt radiating off of her skin like cheap perfume. The prostitute
tucked his hand into the crook of his elbow and headed off through the alley.
Walter shuffled arthritically beside her, stumbling
every now and again for authenticity. They were being followed, doubtless by
her pimp. It was all Walter could do to stop himself from laughing.

They
wove their way through darkened alleys and streets until they reached a shabby
hotel. In the stained foyer he counted out the nightly rate into the bored
receptionist�s hand. He deliberately let the prostitute see just how much money
he had left in his pocket (a lot) and let a tremble creep into his hands. He
smiled pathetically at the prostitute, who tapped out a text message on her
mobile phone. The carpet, although stained, was clean in the hallway to their
room and Walter hoped that the room itself would be the same. After fumbling with
the key he finally got the door open and was relieved to see that it was indeed
the case, that the room was shabby but clean. The prostitute, smiling
brilliantly, sashayed inside. Walter shut the door, making sure not to lock it
and under the shocked gazed of his companion, stood up straight and shed his
helpless old man persona like a coat. He grinned and tossed his jacket onto the
bed and took his monocle from his pocket and placed it on his nose where it
belonged.

�I
want,� said Walter in perfect German, �for you to take a shower.� He handed her
the plastic bag. The prostitute opened it and looked inside. �I want you to use
everything that�s there.� She held up a shampoo bottle, nearly empty. A long
blonde hair was caught in the lid. Walter said, �When you�re done, put this
on,� and he draped the red satin nightgown over her shoulder. Disgust flickered
across her features before she caught herself and obediently turned and went
into the bathroom.

Walter
turned down the lights and sat down quietly on the bed to wait. It didn�t take
long. The doorknob began to turn slowly, slowly, and a man- the prostitute�s
pimp- slunk inside. He was momentarily blinded by the change in light and
Walter was on top of him before his eyes could adjust. The Angel of Death did
not use his wires. Instead he whipped the cutthroat razor out of his pocket and
pressed it to the pimp�s throat.

�Little
monster,� crooned Walter to the terrified man. �Little slave
driver. Little pimp. Why are you here, little pimp?�

�You
speak German,� gasped the pimp.

�Well-spotted,�
said Walter agreeably, �but you didn�t answer my question.�

�I
just wanted to take care of my girl,� the pimp whined, �there�s
all sorts in the world. You never know what could happen. What crazies are planning.�

�You�re
right. There are all sorts in the world, all sorts of crazy people,� and Walter
punched the pimp in the throat. He doubled over, trying to speak, trying to
breathe, trying to force air through paralysed vocal
chords. The sounds of the shower drifted out from the bathroom and the pimp was
completely unable to scream as Walter cut off his finger. �Want it back?�
Walter picked up the severed digit and shoved it into the pimp�s mouth. �Listen
to me very carefully. The lady and I do not want to be disturbed.� If we are
disturbed, for example, by a group of you and your friends seeking revenge,
I will cut off all of your fingers and your scrotum and your head.� The pimp spat his finger into his palm and stared
at Walter in horror as threads of bloody saliva ran down his chin. �I�d run
now, if I were you. If you make it to a hospital quickly enough they might be
able to reattach it.

The
pimp fled. Walter stripped the blood from the razor with thumb and forefinger
and nudged the door shut. This time, he locked it. He turned the lights back up
and sat back down on the bed. He admired the coldly glittering metal as he
turned the blade over and over in his hands. He�d always held an unhealthy
fascination with these things and he took off his ruined gloves. Silly him; he
should have worn leather and not cotton, that way he could have simply rinsed
the blood off but he had other pairs of gloves in his suitcase back at the
hotel, so he supposed that it didn�t really matter.

The
shower stopped. Footsteps slapped across the tiles and a tap turned on and off.
Not long now. Walter shuddered in anticipation. This was going to be amazing.
His erection made his trousers seem unbearably tight. The prostitute was taking
her own sweet time, presumably waiting for her pimp to arrive. If Walter were
in a more generous mood he would have felt sorry for her, but right now he
couldn�t have cared less.

The
bathroom door opened. The prostitute stepped out, elegant in red satin. Her
eyes flicked, and then fixed, on the wet, dark stain on the carpet beside
Walter. Her mouth gaped in terror, and Walter advanced on her. He snapped the
cutthroat razor open and pressed it to the hollow between her collarbones.

�Listen
to me very carefully,� he said. �I do not want to hurt you. I will not if you
do as I say.� She nodded. �Right here, right now,� he said, �Your name is
irrelevant. Do you understand?� She nodded again and began to cry. �So long as
you obey you�re perfectly safe. Hurting you is not the purpose of this little
role play. And don�t bother trying to grab the razor and use it against me. I
have other weapons.� And Walter smiled, and touched her cheek.� He said in English, �You eyes are blue in
this light. Dark blue, but still blue. I think that
you�re as close to the real thing as I could ever get.� He leaned forward and
pressed a tender kiss to her mouth. He touched her breast, covered in straining
satin. �Oh,� he said, �you�re beautiful. You�re so beautiful, Integra,� and he
put the razor in his pocket and kicked off his shoes and pushed her down onto
the bed. He buried his face in her wet, fragrant hair.

�I
love you. I really do.�

She
smelled right, felt right, long hair tangling around
his fingers. The subtle resistance of her body under his only increased his
excitement. It was so close to how he�d imagined it he could lose himself in
it; forget just how pathetic he really was.

He
started with her feet. A tender kiss to her toes, and he trailed his tongue up
to her ankles and laughed when he found a patch of stubble just above it, where
she�d missed when she had shaved. It made her seem just that more real. �I love
you,� he said, biting his way up her leg. He paused to tickle her behind the
knee and was gratified when she jerked in response. She did not fake arousal, laid
quiet underneath him. He was happy with that. She smelled like Integra, looked
like her in the dim light, and her long wet hair tangled around his fingers and
the red satin nightgown, the slippery smooth material so pleasurable against
his naked skin when he paused to take off his clothing.

Walter
turned her around and around, touching her everywhere. The simulacrum that
Alucard had fashioned had been physically perfect, but no matter how much blood
Walter had given the vampire, it was always too cold. It has been so long since
Walter had lain with a real, living woman and he�d forgotten that delicious
warmth, the little noises that they made when he hurt them, the
way their hearts thudded against his palm when he held their breasts. �I love
you. I love you,� and the illusion, the fantasy was so perfect that he forgot
it was a fantasy and the hatred and the rage welled up in him so suddenly that
he slammed her down against the mattress with his weight.

�How
could you?� he hissed. �I loved you, trusted you, and you betrayed me! You
didn�t have to return my love,� he buried his face in her neck, �But you didn�t
have to do that. Not that.�

It
was then that the prostitute did something that very likely saved her life.
Prompted by survivor�s instinct she brought her shaking arms about the old man
and embraced him, very gently. She pressed a tender kiss to his ear and he
raised his head, kissed her back. It was a slow kiss at first, but it gradually
got harder until Walter could taste blood from either her mouth or his own. It
excited him.

Embarrassing,
adolescent fumbling with a condom; he pulled the nightgown up and entered her,
coming convulsively in great waves. He shuddered for the longest time, and then
was still.
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Puppetry