Disclaimer: Completely disclaimed and co-created with a special friend. Purely for lols. The references are probably what you think they are.
Summary: Annoyed with Jareth's condescending attitude toward her peach-dream, Sarah decides to get her own back.
Not the Milk!
Sarah began formulating her plan at the exact moment that Jareth, perhaps unwisely, mentioned her Labyrinth dream experience in a cavalier manner.
'Imagine that,' he had said, 'What a concoction!'
Sarah knew full well that Jareth was the grand orchestrator of her peach-induced nightmare. As he flippantly made fun of the long-nosed and horned masks, she invented the perfect come-back.
'You'd never catch me dreaming up a thing like that,' he said, proudly.
'Don't be so sure,' Sarah thought, narrowing her eyes. She knew exactly what to do.
...
'Are you sure this does the job?' Sarah asked Hoggle, examining the powder in the glass vial.
'It fetches a good price in downtown Goblin City,' Hoggle said, 'I ain't promising nothing, but when I took this it was a night to remember.'
'Huh,' Sarah said, wincing, as Hoggle recounted his experience, which quickly deteriorated from the surprising to the downright revolting.
'... And when I woke up, washed up on the shores of the Bog of Eternal Stench, I was bound to smell bad for the rest of me life.'
'Right,' Sarah said, pocketing the vial, and showing some concern towards Hoggle, when in fact she hadn't noticed a change from his usual smell, 'Maybe I'll give him half the dose.'
'He'll never notice it in the Firewater,' Hoggle said, 'Just you be sure you don't drink none of it.'
'Just what is in this stuff, Hoggle?'
'Well you know them fairies I cull,' he said, 'Ludo gave me a really nice rock. So I takes this rock like so, and I bash their bodies to a bloody pulp, and then I-'
'No no, that's ok, Hoggle,' Sarah interrupted, covering her mouth with her hand, 'I'd rather you kept that a secret recipe.'
...
Jareth was having one of his more pleasant dreams. He'd just been congratulated on another new album, and it appeared there was an afterparty. His skin shone with sweat - he and the band had just finished a gig. He was desperately thirsty. In the banqueting hall he grabbed a flute from the tray and gulped down the contents. To his surprise it contained milk instead of champagne.
'Oi!' someone called across the room, 'Have you seen Mick's new pet?'
Suddenly, a Great Dane leapt up at him, and he staggered back, dropping the flute. The dog's hind legs blended into a male torso, and the head - the head - it growled and snapped at him, it looked like he had seen it somewhere before.
Disgusted, Jareth pushed the man-dog aside and tried to find the exit. Instead, he ran into a metallic spider's web. The spiders, as big as the people at the party, scuttled toward him. They were saying something about the baseline to a new song. He managed to punch one of them and break free from the web. There must be a way out somewhere!
The music was too loud for his ears, and the guests, in his honour, apparently, gathered around him. Let me be, he told them, let me out of here, but they only came closer, aliens and mimes and fascists, walking guitars, and completely surrounded him. He tried to escape, but there was no way out. A pepper hit him in the face. The guests doused him in milk and continued to throw peppers at him.
'No, no, not the milk,' he shouted, brushing himself off, 'It'll never come off now!'
...
Sarah woke up to Jareth's complaint of 'Get the peppers out of my hair!' She dared to shake him awake.
'Anything the matter?' she asked innocently.
Groggily, Jareth brushed at his hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
'No no, not at all,' he said, glancing at the empty Firewater glass on the coffee table. 'But I've just had a tremendous idea for a pet we could have.'
-FIN-