Christmas Pretty: Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Even Voyeurism Has Its Downside (or "Jareth sees you when you're dreaming/He knows when you're awake...or eating breakfast...or sitting in the garden...or stepping into the shower. Especially the shower")
Jareth, King of the Goblins, Master of the Labyrinth, and survivor of twenty-two assassination attempts-seven of which were masterminded by a chicken and her freezer-alligator accomplice-watched the posse of goblins leave the throne room with a feeling of dread. He contemplated bursting into song about his dilemma-something soulful and angst-ridden, perhaps with a cello solo-but thought better of it; it would not do to have his subjects know the true depth of his concern. And besides, he was still a little winded from the defenestration number.
He sighed and looked into the crystal yet again. There was something wrong with his wife. Sarah was a force of nature; typically, she moved through the kingdom like a brunette tornado, instigating new schemes for the benefit of the kingdom and settling disputes amongst their subjects, all the while being followed by a troupe of adoring goblins and other assorted beasties. But lately, she would sit in her garden listlessly for hours on end, her habitual smile replaced by a wistful frown. Oddly enough, she also appeared to be talking to herself-at least that’s how it appeared from the other side of the crystal.
But worst of all, she was avoiding him-as much as one could avoid a man with an all-seeing crystal and stalker tendencies-which Jareth found intolerable. For the entirety of their marriage, they had practically lived in each other’s pockets; they even shared a throne, primarily because Jareth couldn’t bear the thought of his Queen sitting any further than an inch away from him when they were in the same room. Yet, in the past two days, they had barely seen each other and it certainly wasn’t his doing; Sarah would leave before he awoke and disappear for the entirety of the day. She would then arrive back at the castle at nightfall, announce that she was exhausted, and fall asleep before he could even ask her about her activities.
Jareth sighed and made a mental note to try and wake up earlier to thwart her escape, but then grudgingly conceded that it would be impossible; he was an owl, not a rooster, and couldn’t be a morning person even if he tried. For a moment, he felt a sense of pride in his wife that she had clearly exploited his weakness but it was distressingly short-lived.
“Bloody nocturnal owl form,” he muttered.
Just as he was contemplating whether or not he could transform into some form of regal owl/rooster hybrid in order to sort this matter out, his inner voice threw up its hands in exasperation.
Enough! Just ask her what’s wrong, you pathetic git. Beg her to tell you, if you must.
“Kings do not ask,” Jareth told his inner voice, curtly. “Kings do not beg.”
His inner voice snorted rather elegantly. I believe I heard you ask something of Sarah four nights ago. Something that involved tassels and the odd bit of adult-type touching. And once she agreed, I also believe that there was some begging. The inner voice smirked. At least, that’s what I thought you were doing in that position…
“Shut up!” the King said tersely. But he paused momentarily to enjoy the flashback that his inner voice had provided. He gave a wolfish smile. “Duly noted. There are times when asking and begging can lead to kingly rewards.”
And yet, rather than ask her yourself, you sent off a posse of idiots to find out what ails your Queen. Might I remind you that these are the same goblins who took the Cleaners on a drunken joyride last week?
Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose.
Which is why your previously unsolvable Labyrinth now has a tunnel that leads straight from the front gates to the Castle.
Jareth rubbed a gloved hand wearily over his eyes.
And it just so happens that these are the same goblins who painted themselves with orange house paint after seeing an advertisement on television extolling the virtues of fake tans.
“Actually,” Jareth interrupted with a pointy grin, “that was somewhat amusing.”
The inner voice raised its eyebrow. Really? And was it also amusing when you caught them conspiring to stake you after they watched that Dracula film?
Jareth grimaced.
Not that I blame them-you are pallid enough to be one of the undead.
“Yes, yes, shut up. Your thoughts on the matter are duly noted,” Jareth grumbled.
The inner voice eyed Jareth speculatively. It is my opinion that you refused to ask her why she is upset because you are worried that you are the cause.
Jareth opened his mouth to refute the claim but thought better of it; one can't lie to oneself, though he had tried often enough. He nonchalantly brushed a speck of glitter from his armor. “And if I am the cause?”
The voice snorted.
Jareth’s shoulders slumped in defeat, all pretenses gone. “I am starting to believe that my fairytale has been living on borrowed time.” He leapt up from the throne and began pacing. “You know as well as I do that villains do not live happily ever after. They do not get the girl. They get attacked by wolves, or flattened by flying houses, or chased off mountains by a horde of dwarves, or eaten by rabid ferrets..."
Ferrets? Really?
Jareth waved his hand dismissively. "Or something equally distasteful.” He flung himself back on the seat, despair personified.
And now you believe your time is up?
Jareth gave a curt nod.
That Sarah has come to her senses and is planning to leave your sorry, tight-panted behind?
Jareth's jaw hardened and he nodded again.
That the ‘rabid ferrets of death' are coming for you?
Jareth glared at the voice.
The inner voice ignored the glare and shook its head. Either the idiocy of your subjects is contagious or your intellect is being crushed under the weight of all that armor you’ve taken to wearing.
Jareth raised an eyebrow. “Are you insulting me for sport or is there some point to your tirade?”
A point, of course; are you, or are you not, the Goblin King?
Jareth placed a hand over his heart. “Oh! To be able to answer in the negative...”
The voice ignored him. Then act like it! Do what you do best-sing, strut, seduce. Throw on a bordello jumpsuit and get on with it, old boy!
Jareth grimaced. “It appears that not all my problems can be solved by donning leather clothing.”
The voice looked at him in horror. Bite. Your. Tongue.
Jareth gestured at the crystal where Sarah was sitting, shoulders slumped, a wistful expression on her face. “Look at her-she is clearly distressed and it must have something to do with me otherwise she would have told me herself.”
Hmm, that is a good point.
Jareth’s heart-twisted little organ that it was-gave a painful lurch. He rubbed his eyes wearily. “I could wear the hides of a whole herd of animals right now and she wouldn’t even notice.”
The herd would probably notice, the voice said dryly. The voice then frowned as Jareth slumped on the throne without a care for appearances. If you can’t make her forget her problems with leather, you could always do it with fruit-the peaches are lovely this time of year…
Jareth snorted elegantly. “As you well know, Sarah becomes somewhat irate when I ply her with hallucinogens without her consent.”
Sarah can be exceedingly close minded, the voice conceded. The voice looked at Jareth shrewdly. Come on; it’ll be just like old times, it purred persuasively.
Jareth stared down at the crystal. “I am not drugging my wife.” At that moment, Sarah rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “Yet,” he finished grimly.
The voice smirked knowingly. I’ll start organizing a fruit platter…
**
A/N: Deep within a cavern, hidden far from prying eyes, four small, robed figures huddled around an enchanted puddle. On its surface, they could see a messy, chicken-littered throne room; they watched closely as a blond, black armor-clad man had an animated conversation with himself. At one point, the four figures swore viciously.
"Dude, he's onto us," said the first Rabid Ferret of Death.
The second Rabid Ferret of Death adjusted his cowl and sighed. "Appears so."
The third shook his head stubbornly. "No way! No one sees us coming; it was a lucky guess on his part! I say we go ahead with the plan."
The fourth daintily wiped a fleck of foam from his mouth and put a comforting hand on the third's shoulder. "Can't do it, buddy. GK has figured out the plot." Seeing that the third was still shaking his head, he smirked. "How about we pay Goldilocks a visit, hey?"
The third Rabid Ferret of Death raised an eyebrow. "But she's Good!"
The first Rabid Ferret of Death looked at the third Rabid Ferret of Death long and hard. "Is she, Dimetri? Is she really?"
"We have her on trespassing and breaking-and-entering..." said the fourth.
"...not to mention willful destruction of private property and porridge eating," added the second.
"Let's roll!" yelled Dimetri.