Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. If I did, I would sue myself for plagiarism.
Warning: My intent in this story is to poke gentle fun at the general trend of Labyrinth fanfiction. This includes my own stories. I do not intend to offend anyone. If you see hints of your story in this, consider it a compliment. I would not have read it and thought about it enough to get it lodged in my head and come out like this, if it hadn't been a good story in the first place. Does that make any sense? No? Damn.
Also, please be aware that this will be a Sarah/Jareth fic (if a really weird one) and that this is just my crazy little prologue... thing...
Nothing Tra La La
Danika Lareyna
Prologue
A beautiful and charming young woman sat primly at her desk, diligently typing away. Her shiny brown hair fell in perfect curls to her shoulders and the long, graceful fingers which flew over the keyboard ended in elegant, French-manicured nails. She wore only the finest top of the line, high fashion apparel; the kind that could be sold off to feed a third-world country or two. She had a waistline of which even Kate Moss would have been jealous.
She was busily working on a brilliant new story. It was a fanfiction for the movie Labyrinth. It was enchanting and heartwarming, dazzlingly original and fabulously well-written. In fact, the moment the Jim Henson Company (or whatever) saw this story, they were certain to adopt it as the new official sequel to Labyrinth and dump that cruddy comic book on its proverbial ear.
All that her masterpiece needed was a title. Pouting her full, ruby-red lips, the young woman considered her options. It was clear to her that she needed to use a line from the movie. After all, no one had ever done that before. She briefly contemplated using lyrics from one of the songs as her title, but discarded that thought. No one liked David Bowie's music anyway. At last, it struck her. A title which would immediately draw the attention of the masses. A title which described everything she wanted to say in her 759 page manuscript with four little words (three, if you didn't count repeats).
With a little flourish, she typed the words, "Nothing Tra La La" and...
...she woke up.
It was the crack of three pm. Danika rolled out of bed, muttering to herself groggily. The all-night shift in the hospital ER, where she registered patients and did mountains upon mountains of meaningless paperwork, tended to leave her disoriented and more than a little cranky. Usually she was just a little cranky.
Mumbling, "Nothing Tra La La..." under her breath, Danika threw herself into a recliner. Her hair was still a writhing mass of bed-head and her nails were sheared nearly to the quick for ease of typing. She wore a heavy blue sweatshirt with a faded snowflake pattern (because it was damn cold in Montana), and the scrub bottoms she had been too tired to take off after work. In a vague attempt to cheer herself up, she decided to start work on another fanfiction. She consoled herself that if 50 was the new 40 and 40 was the new 30, then she was just entering her teens and so it was perfectly normal for her to be obsessed with a children's movie.
Pulling her laptop into her lap (because she had long ago discovered that it was so named for a reason, after it had not worked particularly well balanced atop her head), she hit the power and drooled a little over her David Bowie background. Putting her fingers to the keyboard, Danika was immediately struck with inspiration. She did not have the slightest clue what the plot would be or any of those petty details, but she knew what she would call the thing. The rest would come sooner or later, she was certain.
With a little flourish, she typed the words, "Nothing Tra La La" and...
...somewhere, an incredibly sexy Fae monarch cursed her name. He glared at the woman through a crystal as she paused to scratch herself uncouthly. He had had quite enough of this woman. She constantly depicted him as a ridiculous buffoon and put his character into highly compromising situations. He swore to himself that if she wrote one more nonsensical piece of rubbish, she would greatly regret it.
His gorgeous, mismatched eyes narrowed as her fingers returned to the keys.
xXx
Tune in tomorrow, same uh... Goblin King time, same Goblin King place (that sounded so stupid) for the next installment of Nothing Tra La La.
Unless I don't get any reviews, in which case I will pout and probably lose interest. Maybe throw a temper tantrum. You have been warned.