In Which the Goblin King Wishes he had a Guinness
Once again, Sarah Williams found herself standing amidst the chaotic streets of the Goblin City. For once, it wasn't her fault she arrived there.
Sopping wet and confused beyond belief, she stared at her rapidly disappearing, rapidly greening dog. Both conditions could be explained as Goblin-induced, since two of the little buggers (dressed suspiciously like leprechauns) jogged away with Merlin. She watched them fade into the busy crowds, so enthralled that the tap on her shoulder startled her.
"What in the Underground are you doing here? And when did you get here? I didn't sense you arrive," Jareth asked peevishly as he herded Sarah out of the middle of the street to stand instead at the corner. "You're soaked," he added, which Sarah found entirely unhelpful and completely obvious.
She ran a hand through her hair only to stop when she realized she'd pulled out her ponytail. "I was washing Merlin out in the yard, and all of a sudden a riot of Goblins come tearing through, screaming like banshees, and make off with my dog. Next thing you know, I'm in the middle of the City, the Goblins ran off with my dog, and Merlin started turning green and grey instead of white and green." Jareth listened to her rant and would have answered, but a horrible ruckus started further down the road, making any attempts to communicate impossible.
Row after row of parading Goblins marched in more or less straight lines, singing, piping, strumming, or beating out their tune, which sounded suspiciously like an old Irish drinking song Sarah once heard. They wore spiffy red tunics and proudly bore green sashes, dancing through their songs and drawing the crowd into the march as often as not. Sarah blinked when the mounted Goblins came trotting in on sheep, dogs, and dragons; each bridle had bells, each saddle had sashes, and every Goblin grinned, especially when, several songs later, a team of green dogs, Merlin included, pulled carts of Irish stout and ale.
Jareth cursed under his breath. "Sure, they look like jolly little leprechauns now, but in three hours they'll be clurichauns and running loose Aboveground."
The procession continued past the corner and Jareth slowly shook his head as the Goblins disappeared into the Castle, following the alcohol. "They petition every year to get a portal straight to the human parades. Somehow, I think the petition would be more formidable if it weren't the same twenty Goblins forging a hundred signatures each time."
"They're celebrating St. Patrick's Day? Why?"
Jareth raised an eyebrow. "You've heard of the Tuatha de Danann, I presume?" Sarah nodded, and he continued, "And the Fomorians, right?" Another nod. "I'm descended from the de Danann, and most of them" he gestured vaguely to the Castle, "can trace their lines back to the Fomorians. At any rate, it's a chance to party, which no Goblin worth their salt can pass up."
"But I thought they didn't like St. Patrick."
The Goblin King massaged his temples, feeling the beginning of a headache approaching. "Well, it was a mutual dislike stemming from a disagreement over mischief in Patrick's churches—mostly, they felt they had the right to make it and he thought he had the right to stop it. At any rate, a party's a party to them. They especially like the drinking. At least it'll be quiet twice--tonight when they're off making merry and tomorrow when they have hangovers."
Oro: Because yes, I am exceedingly Irish and a history/mythology nut:
1) Leprechauns were originally depicted as wearing red
2) Green hair dye works for everybody this time of year
3) (vindictively, I love the irony in this) St. Patrick hated parties and his relics are likely spinning in their holy boxes during the parades and feasts held in his name.
Quill: She doesn't own Labyrinth or Guinness--
Oro: One of these days, I will have a Guinness. Maybe. It'll be a few years... Happy Saint Pat's! Celebrate hedonistically!