Title: A Flight of Fancy
Author: Nuke F. Montagne
Rating: R
Feedback: yes, please. And with a cherry on top.
Disclaimer: the Middle Earth and its inhabitants respectfully belong to Mr. Tolkien. I'd steal it, if I could of course but well, that's what you get when you let a kleptomaniac into the world and give her free reign.
Pairing: Seethe/Jareth, open to suggestions.
Summary: Seethe is a guy with a really strange name that left the Assassin's Academy not too long ago. Obviously, many faceless people had not been too happy with that.
So, they ship him off.
Perf'ctly reasonable decision. Not.
Fore Note Thing: All right. First of all, I'd like to apologize to those that liked this story in its original incarnation, the one with the chick. It just suddenly hit me that I was writing a Mary Sue (go look at it and tell me how awful it is) and that bothered me.
So I sat myself down, and gave myself a firm shake. Don't ask me how I managed, cos I'm still not sure. This is what came of it. I guess I rattled my brains out the window.
Dedicated to the people who are tired of perfect fairytale love that never happens anyways.
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Chapter 1: People With Certain Destructive Tendencies
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Look at earth from outer space
Everyone must find a place
Give me time and give me space
Give me real, don't give me fake
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It was summer in New York City, adoringly named the ÔBig Apple' by some lunatic. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining
All right. So, perhaps, the birds were in reality huge, pudgy pigeons that would as soon bite your fingers off as look at you; and the sun looked like a ball of burning gas far up in the sky.
But it was still summer.
And deep within one of the skyscrapers, which was not really a skyscraper at all (rather something that will remain to be unidentified), several men and women sat around a long, spotless table made of a wood so dark and hard it looked like stone.
They all were business suits. They were all gaunt. And they were all distinctly unhappy with a certain someone.
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Keeping all this cheerfulness in mind, let's zone in on the Central Park for a moment. An overly slender figure, with hair that was not quite black, rather a very dark, steely shade of grey, was walking as fast it could, without actually running.
That, after all, would have been undignified.
However, something in the young man's (that was how he liked to think of himself, though he wasn't much more than a boy, really) gait suggested that the moment people stopped looking, he would start to skip.
The boy's name was Seethe Icarus, and he was someone who you have, without doubt, never met before.
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"Seethe." Said one of the women, in a voice of General Malice, with a Touch of Unpleasantness. "The child has the name of a rascal. Looks like one, too.
She primly looked down at a mostly blank page, and narrowed her eyes at the single, rather lonely, squiggle. It looked threatening.
"I agree with Mrs. Veille," said a man with hair so smoothed down and oiled it looked painted on, even though the other women did not suggest anything. "I say," his voice was just as slimy as the rest of him, "that we send him away.
He would have preferred to have the boy put to death, certainly, but he unfortunately did not have much of a choice in the matter, seeing part of a minority. It did not Ðpay- to be a minority in the Council.
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An interlude is somewhat in place, I believe.
Allow me to introduce Seethe Icarus. He's right over there. Yes, he's the one glaring at you and fingering that creepy looking little thing with hooks and sharp edges.
Besides being extremely good with weapons, there's hardly anything special about him. There's his name, of course, but as you have probably already guessed, it's fake. A pseudonym. He doesn't happen to be aware of his real, what with being abandoned at birth and all.
Oh, now you're thinking, grinning like you know him. Tragic little fellow, you whisper in your mind. Meant to save the word, and fall in love with a beautiful princess and all that crap. Hey! Don't get quite that close to him! He bites. Hard. Whether you want him or not.
First of all, Seethe is flaming gay. He's as gay as a tree full of cockatoos on an acid trip. Second, he's not tragic at all. Oh, he's a right little cynical bastard with a flair for drama, but he's in no way tragic. And I must admit that he's not too bright.
He's not all that remarkable, to be frank. The most interesting thing about him is that he quit the guild of Assassins, once he completed his training. Mostly because he was brainless, and drunk at the time, but what's done is done.
This led to a lot of screaming to be exchanged by the two parties, and messy deaths for tons of people that were used as stress relief. In addition, an unfathomable amount of caffeine was ingested.
Thing is, the twit was stealing the Guild's business, by giving much more affordable prices. There was only so much they could stand, really. The boy had to be done away with. He was asking for it.
The fact that the guild had many strange connections in interesting places did not bide well for Icarus.
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There were no grand events. There were no mysterious chants.
Well, maybe just a few. For publicity.
But it all came down to a few simple phrases, spoken in the meeting room, with the idle tone of someone terribly excited trying to seem as though they were bored.
"We wish that Lord Elrond of the elves of Rivendell, Middle Earth, Parallel Universe, Planet number fifteen, would take Seethe Icarus to his home realm. Once that is done, the debt is officially paid off." There was a pause, the lights dimmed, and the voice hastily added: "We do not wish to him to appear here.
Sulkily, the light bulbs flared back to life.
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And somewhere far away (in Brooklyn, to be exact), a tall figure stood on the dingy balcony of a youth currently rocking his socks off to Extremely Loud Music.
It knocked.
And then it knocked again, harder, because it looked like the silly mortal wasn't going to notice him anytime soon.
The music quieted somewhat, and a skinny boy in socks, pajama bottoms, and a leather vest trudged up to the glass doors.
He stared silently at the man standing on the balcony. He assessed the hair, the clothes, and the posture. He decided the man was very dangerous. Only a loony would trust a guy with hair that long.
He cracked the window open, just an inch, and said:
"I don't suppose you're from the plumbing.
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Lord Elrond, and that is who it was, obviously, didn't reply. He was expecting terror, or worship, or some other nifty little thing like that. InsteadÉ what the hell was plumbing anyway?
Unwilling to appear uneducated in front of the boy, Elrond ignored the comment, and forcefully elbowed his way into the room. The boy blinked, but said nothing. Elrond got the unpleasant feeling that he was amusing the brat.
"You've been wished away," he said, expecting gasps and tears. Or at least denial, for Elberet's sake. Not... not this silent scrutiny.
"You don't say?" Seethe was much happier smoking his cigarette than bawling his eyes out, which was what the guy seemed to expect him to do. The guy was all right looking, a bit too rigid for his tastes. Seethe wondered whether the man was a loony or really a dude from another dimension. He then figured it didn't mater, cause he wasn't going anywhere anyways.
"Aren't you going to say anything useful, you foolish mortal?" this was certainly not the standard. Elven lords did NOT get confused by skinny mortal boys in socks and with large amounts of eyeliner.
For that matter, he had never felt the urge to act like he was better than humans. But with the boy right there and looking so superior, he needed to reassess himself.
Poor baby needs to have his ego stroked, thought Seethe mercilessly, smoking like a chimney. Too fucking bad there's no one to do it.
And too fucking bad he's not hot enough to make me wanna do it, he added after a moment.
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End of first chapter.
I know it's a wee bit on the short side, but this is the first chapter, and it's been a long time since I last wrote, so live with it. Please.
Suggestions are welcome, seeing as I intend to make this thing as interactive as possible.
When I saw suggestions, I mean about EVERYTHING. Seriously. You have any ideas about anything, you should spill. I need all the inspiration I can get.
I'm online pretty much 24/7 (except for when I'm out, obviously), so please AIM me: sinnbunny. Or just drop me an email, or whatever.
So click the magic button and make me a happy camper.
PS: can you tell I've recently been exposed to "the Labyrinth"?
Lyrics in the beginning by Coldplay.