Drabble Request!
For Dansemacarbe, who wanted to know what would happen when Jareth finds his first gray hair :)
A Bad Day For Hair
Jareth stared gloomily into the mirror. The mirror was used to gloomy stares, for Jareth had several.
"This" he scowled, "will just not do".
The offending hair tried it's best to avoid the Doom That Was About Happen. After all, even though nothing like this had ever happened before, everyone was sure it was not a good thing. The rest of the hair waved at itself in the glass.
"See, see here my Lord, look at this!" they sang, forming themselves artfully into feathery bangs that fell this way and that. It was a ruse that seldom failed to capture the King's attention. But not today. The Silver Shears Of Death flashed before their communal minds.
Snip.
"Pah!" said Jareth in disgust. Now, he was uneven.
Snip, clip, tickle and sniff.
The mirror, knowing full well the error of it's predecessor, tried to compensate, but to no avail.
"Maggot!" bellowed Jareth. "It's time! Get me....another!"
Deep down in the bowels of the Labyrinth, a small but totally helpless sentient being shuddered in horror as a grubby hand tugged it free of the only home it had ever known. Borne aloft, as a great trophy captive, it was subjected to a series of horrible events that it's parents had never warned it about.
It's new owner stared at it as it was arranged delicately over his shining dome.
"Behave" he warned it menacingly.
Jareth spurned the errant hairpiece that lay grovelling on the floor, but then he stooped to retrieve it. No point is wasting good hair, badly cut or not. The old hair thought about trying to warn the new hair, but before it could speak it found itself draped across yet another head, a much smaller and slightly more fuzzy one. The old hair was cautiously optimistic when the King patted it fondly.
"Ah, now that's much better" said Jareth to the babe. "Now, all we have to do is work on that terribly unfashionable red striped number your sister left you in!"
The End.
A Bad Day For Hair
Jareth stared gloomily into the mirror. The mirror was used to gloomy stares, for Jareth had several.
"This" he scowled, "will just not do".
The offending hair tried it's best to avoid the Doom That Was About Happen. After all, even though nothing like this had ever happened before, everyone was sure it was not a good thing. The rest of the hair waved at itself in the glass.
"See, see here my Lord, look at this!" they sang, forming themselves artfully into feathery bangs that fell this way and that. It was a ruse that seldom failed to capture the King's attention. But not today. The Silver Shears Of Death flashed before their communal minds.
Snip.
"Pah!" said Jareth in disgust. Now, he was uneven.
Snip, clip, tickle and sniff.
The mirror, knowing full well the error of it's predecessor, tried to compensate, but to no avail.
"Maggot!" bellowed Jareth. "It's time! Get me....another!"
Deep down in the bowels of the Labyrinth, a small but totally helpless sentient being shuddered in horror as a grubby hand tugged it free of the only home it had ever known. Borne aloft, as a great trophy captive, it was subjected to a series of horrible events that it's parents had never warned it about.
It's new owner stared at it as it was arranged delicately over his shining dome.
"Behave" he warned it menacingly.
Jareth spurned the errant hairpiece that lay grovelling on the floor, but then he stooped to retrieve it. No point is wasting good hair, badly cut or not. The old hair thought about trying to warn the new hair, but before it could speak it found itself draped across yet another head, a much smaller and slightly more fuzzy one. The old hair was cautiously optimistic when the King patted it fondly.
"Ah, now that's much better" said Jareth to the babe. "Now, all we have to do is work on that terribly unfashionable red striped number your sister left you in!"
The End.