Jareth had been spying on her, as was his wont, when the machine captured her. He was alarmed, of course, vexed as ever by those who imperiled and assaulted her. But as ever, he could do no more than fume in impotent temper as he watched the device drag her into that iron coffin.
Iron. The moment for which he had promised, and for which he was promised, might be fast upon him. With a yell he summoned his stewards, bidding his army make ready. "Call out the cavalry! Fetch the golem of the gate! I want every able goblin ready at a moment's notice--now, MOVE!"
As Ali, in his crystal, slipped further and further from herself, he garbed himself to impress; he was barred from her world until such time as she should forget herself, and he would not lose all he had gained by leaping too soon. Ornate armor of dubious function covered him in sleek, blue-black plates like a beetle's chitin, topped by a half-mask wrought of some antlered creature's skull, a pair of twisted, needle-sharp horns rising from its brow.
By the time Ali was dragged from her casket, his army stood ready--prepared to follow their king in a bold show of force, ready to snatch Ali away to safety by any possible means. Only one detail remains, and Jareth calls it to him from the safest of safe-keeping in all the Labyrinth; the little silk bag with which he had been entrusted, he placed inside a cask, and the cask in a watertight chest otherwise laden with stones, which he then sunk in the Bog. None would dare go to the lengths meddling with such a treasure must demand, and only he could call it to hand without the intervening mess.
When the last light of wit faded from Ali's eyes, a storm arose from nowhere, heralding the coming of the goblins and their king. If such a force could not frighten her captors away, then his most cunning snatchers would use the moment to steal Ali from beneath their very hands. So it was that Jareth went as near as he could come to war.
A storm, in and of itself, is unlikely to frighten the likes of those who have imprisoned Ali. Even so ill an omen fails to properly register in those who are accustomed to being the ill omens. But there is one reason the storm tears the attention of her Balor captors away from Ali: they have to shut the windows. So many of their "lovely toys" would be ruined by the rain, otherwise. And with Ali a quivering wreck, they don't bother to restrain her much--a few iron chains around her wrists keep her out-of-the-way in a dark corner of the room. Her jailers are in no rush, now that they have one of their most fearsome foes at what passes for their mercy.
A white owl flits and flaps outside the windows, as though seeking entry, even as little slithers and scrapes begin to grow audible in the chamber's many shadows. Three heavy, deliberate blows on the door just might conceal the quiet clink of chain, or the hissing giggle that follows.
The distraction at the door does a very good job of keeping anyone inside from noticing the little goblins sneaking in to spirit Ali away--anyone but Ali, that is, whose screams are likely to give the goblins a very hard time sneaking her anywhere.
She doesn't remember they're on her side, and who can really blame her?
Jareth sighs inwardly, silently wondering if he must do everything himself, before his magic sends every window in the room flying open, rain and glitter blowing in as he himself alights on the sill of the largest window--one tall enough to accommodate the man he becomes. The entrance is designed to impress, and to grab attention. The goblins spiriting Ali away mustn't be stopped.
Thus, Jareth stands in the window, looking down at the assembled fae with regal disdain, goblin faces peeking in the windows. "Such poor manners," he drawls.
The faces that turn toward Jareth--some man-like and some bestial, but all of them beastly--are a sort of impressed. But not in the way Jareth was probably wanting. Mostly, they're impressed anyone is so stupid as to try and break into their freehold.
"Who're you?" Jareth would probably not recognize this brute who addresses him so rudely as a goblin, goblin though he is, but the treatment is similar. For daring to speak up, one of the sidhe backhands him casually. It seems ill treatment of goblins is universal.
Ali, meanwhile, still doesn't know what's going on and remains unhappy about the situation.
"One here knows me. Why not ask them to supply the introductions?" he teases, to a chorus of goblin cackles. "Oh, but your spies haven't noticed yet. Tsk, tsk. Well, someone here was kind enough to share their invitation. I'll just leave you to talk amongst yourselves." With a too-smug smile, he vanishes in a cloud of glitter, his goblins melting away as swiftly as they'd come.
In a breath, he is at Ali's side in one of the Places Between through which his goblins move for their abductions, favoring her with a fond smile. "Hello, my dear," he croons soothingly. "Do you remember me?"
Well, that's one freehold left in confusion and disarray. And when they realize Ali's gone, too, well... let's just say, they're going to be looking for new roommates in the morning. Cable's expensive!
Ali, meanwhile... That armor Jareth's wearing? Very intimidating. Too bad it's working on the wrong audience. Ali scrambles as far away from him as she can get, wide-eyed and only not screaming because she's run out of energy for it at the moment. "Please don't hurt me! I don't know what I did but I'm sorry!"
"Hurt you?" He moves back a step, gesturing for his goblins to do the same. "My dear, I would never--" He stops himself, removing his mask as an afterthought before continuing, "I would never harm you. On the contrary, I have brought you a present."
"An injury," he explains--sort of. "Tragic, and from before we met." He places the silk bag in her hand, carefully opening it without touching the contents. "It would best suit your left wrist, I think--the metal might make it fray."
There's a bit of a flinch when he puts the bag in her hand. Maybe she thinks it's going to bite? But when it doesn't hurt, she peeks inside, then pulls the lace out. "Before we met?" Brow furrowed, she tries to remember. "It's really pretty. Thank you." She has a vague sense of knowing him, all of a sudden, and while she tries to work out the whys or hows, she wraps the lace around her wrist. This soon has all her attention, since putting anything over bruises and chemical burns hurts.
He reclaims the bag, to free her hand for the effort. While he might be tempted to help her, his chivalrous impulses are feeble enough on their own, and he will not run the risk of spoiling her magic and losing her forever over the desire to seem momentarily gallant. He can be far more charming later to make up for it, if need be. For now all eyes are on Ali, and every breath bated.
She fumbles a bit when it comes to tucking the ends in securely, but doesn't look to anyone for help.
There is no spectacular, smoke-and-lights sign that anything's happened. The effects are subtle and gradual; a straightening of her posture, the fading of fear. And then, finally, an all-too knowing smile is turned up in Jareth's direction.
Iron. The moment for which he had promised, and for which he was promised, might be fast upon him. With a yell he summoned his stewards, bidding his army make ready. "Call out the cavalry! Fetch the golem of the gate! I want every able goblin ready at a moment's notice--now, MOVE!"
As Ali, in his crystal, slipped further and further from herself, he garbed himself to impress; he was barred from her world until such time as she should forget herself, and he would not lose all he had gained by leaping too soon. Ornate armor of dubious function covered him in sleek, blue-black plates like a beetle's chitin, topped by a half-mask wrought of some antlered creature's skull, a pair of twisted, needle-sharp horns rising from its brow.
By the time Ali was dragged from her casket, his army stood ready--prepared to follow their king in a bold show of force, ready to snatch Ali away to safety by any possible means. Only one detail remains, and Jareth calls it to him from the safest of safe-keeping in all the Labyrinth; the little silk bag with which he had been entrusted, he placed inside a cask, and the cask in a watertight chest otherwise laden with stones, which he then sunk in the Bog. None would dare go to the lengths meddling with such a treasure must demand, and only he could call it to hand without the intervening mess.
When the last light of wit faded from Ali's eyes, a storm arose from nowhere, heralding the coming of the goblins and their king. If such a force could not frighten her captors away, then his most cunning snatchers would use the moment to steal Ali from beneath their very hands. So it was that Jareth went as near as he could come to war.
Reply
Reply
Reply
She doesn't remember they're on her side, and who can really blame her?
Reply
Thus, Jareth stands in the window, looking down at the assembled fae with regal disdain, goblin faces peeking in the windows. "Such poor manners," he drawls.
Reply
"Who're you?" Jareth would probably not recognize this brute who addresses him so rudely as a goblin, goblin though he is, but the treatment is similar. For daring to speak up, one of the sidhe backhands him casually. It seems ill treatment of goblins is universal.
Ali, meanwhile, still doesn't know what's going on and remains unhappy about the situation.
Reply
In a breath, he is at Ali's side in one of the Places Between through which his goblins move for their abductions, favoring her with a fond smile. "Hello, my dear," he croons soothingly. "Do you remember me?"
Reply
Ali, meanwhile... That armor Jareth's wearing? Very intimidating. Too bad it's working on the wrong audience. Ali scrambles as far away from him as she can get, wide-eyed and only not screaming because she's run out of energy for it at the moment. "Please don't hurt me! I don't know what I did but I'm sorry!"
Reply
Reply
"I'd like to go home, please." Pity she doesn't remember where that is.
Reply
Reply
"Okay." Ali holds out her hand to take whatever it is. Her right hand. Which she doesn't recognize. "...what happened to my hand?"
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
There is no spectacular, smoke-and-lights sign that anything's happened. The effects are subtle and gradual; a straightening of her posture, the fading of fear. And then, finally, an all-too knowing smile is turned up in Jareth's direction.
"Thank you."
Reply
Leave a comment