"And you're sure he won't realise it's me?"
Hoggle gave an irritable grunt. His hands were busy, attempting to wrestle her cravat into proper submission. It was the finishing touch on Sarah's outfit, and despite all of his complaining, he was determined for it to look right. "Will ya stop squirmin'? I'm almost done," he groused. "I can't make no promises, but if you insist on doing something this stupid, then I say you're a lot safer as a pretty young man, rather than a pretty young woman. I've heard about the way the king treats the ladies at these parties of his. Believe you me, you don't want him to see you in high heels and a sweet little dress. He'd eat you alive."
Sarah's fingers drummed an idle tattoo at her hipbone, over her borrowed waist sash, and she savoured the small vibrations it caused down in the pit of her stomach. Somehow, Hoggle's warning didn't sound half as dire as it should have. She was a grown woman now, and more than capable of dodging the Goblin King's cruel bite, if need be.
Or not.
Sarah smirked to herself. She had caught only fleeting glimpses of the man over the passing years, spoken to him only sparingly, and yet sparks flew even in those brief glances and sparse conversations. It wasn't clear exactly when it had happened, but somewhere along the line, the dynamic between them had changed. Grudges held for far too long were replaced, albeit under protest, by something that almost resembled respect. Anger remained that third, unseen guest whenever the pair of them shared a room, but now there was lust there to divert it. Faced with all those new feelings, it was hard not to imagine just what the Goblin King's sharp teeth – not to mention his lips – would feel like. Not that she would ever get to find out …
"I'm sure I can take him, if it comes down to it," she said aloud. "I already beat him once."
Still frowning and fiddling with her collar, Hoggle scoffed. "Yeah, and don't he know it. He can play nice all he wants, but he ain't forgotten about what you did to him. You did well to tell him off, not letting him sucker you in, an' yet here you are going back to play dress-up with all his friends, swanning about bold as brass right under his nose. Are you sure I can't talk some sense into ya? There's still time." Even as he finally finished with the cravat, the look on his wrinkled face said he knew it was a lost cause. Sarah was already far past convincing.
Every Halloween, she would put hours of thought into the costume she wore, only to end up at some dingy bar or anticlimax of a house party, where people cared more about the booze than they did the true spirit of the holiday. After each disappointment, as she wiped away her make-up and rolled down her stockings, Sarah found herself reminiscing upon that one time she had attended a different sort of social gathering – a glittering masquerade ball that was quite literally out of this world.
Whatever else could be said about the Goblin King's lack of manners towards his guests – not to mention his lack of proper invitations – Sarah had to admit, he threw one hell of a party. What had shocked and overawed her as a teenager now seemed like a missed opportunity; for so long, she had ached for the chance to live that evening all over again, now that she was old enough to really appreciate the fun. How she longed for another taste of that world of magic and mischief – that perfect blend of sensual surrounds and gorgeous music, accompanied by all those strange and fascinating guests. She wanted to be drawn back into that mysterious realm, where just about anything might occur. Just one night of dancing and debauchery would give her back that much-needed kick of spice that she found her life lacking.
Now, over ten years since her time spent Underground, she finally had her chance to go back. She finally got to have her masquerade. It was the night of the Goblin King's annual All Hallow's Eve Ball, and after a lot of asking, pleading, and just plain whining, she had finally worn Hoggle down enough for him to agree to help her attend.
"I'm going, and that's all there is to it," Sarah told him. "I really appreciate all your help, Hoggle."
The surly dwarf only grumbled. "Yeah, well I won't be thanking you when you get us both chucked into the Bog of Eternal Stench."
"It won't come to that, I swear." She had been on her knees to accept her shorter friend's help with the awkward tie, but now she climbed to her feet and turned to her bedroom mirror. A delighted laugh burst from her when she got her first glimpse at her reflection. She looked like she'd stepped right off the set of some opulent period drama – or at the very least, a corny Adam and the Ants video.
The cravat at her throat, now pulled into a neat, Byronesque knot, was only one piece of her masculine finery. A navy and gold hussar's jacket added breadth to her shoulders and pulled in her waist, the fine white lace that dripped past the jacket's cuffs long enough to brush the base of each finger. Pale blue breeches hugged her hips and thighs, and were finished off by an elegant golden sash, a pair of polished, knee-high leather boots … and a not-so-subtle bit of stuffing that came from the back of her sock drawer.
She had put some real thought into choosing that rolled up pair of socks, feeling like some twisted version of Goldilocks as she sought out a fit that was just right. Some of what her drawer had to offer lacked sufficient girth, while others enhanced her to almost comic proportions; she wanted to look gifted, but not cursed in that department. After further consideration, hands on hips, bulge wedged between her white panties and her borrowed breeches, Sarah had decided that her new masculine persona should dress to the left.
Hoggle had tutted and blushed at what he called a 'needless' addition to her costume, but Sarah had been adamant about that depth of realism. The added weight of a fake cock between her legs even made her stand like a man. She felt tall and confident in her costume, her thighs slightly parted, her hips squared, and her chest puffed out with all the pride of a handsome young rooster. She had forgone a bra that evening, and the combined weight of her shirt and heavy jacket had helped to flatten out her breasts, leaving only soft swells that she hoped would not be too noticeable. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek queue, emphasising her high cheekbones and the clean cut of her jaw. With just a hint of black around her eyes and a slick of clear gloss to coat her lips, she felt just as elegant as she had been in her lavish ball gown, yet not so overtly feminine.
The Underground as a whole seemed more concerned with beauty and sex appeal than it was with trivial matters such as gender; it occurred to her that, male or female, there were certain to be a fair few pairs of eyes upon her that night, watching her every move. One mismatched pair in particular could easily be her downfall. If she wanted to pass convincingly as anyone other than herself, Sarah knew she had to commit to the role.
It came to her, as she practised walking and talking in front of the mirror, that in both clothing and mannerisms, she was channelling the Goblin King's effortless, androgynous appeal. The thought delighted her. Sneaking into his party was one thing, but doing it in Jareth's own character would make it almost too perfect. She wondered if her mimicry would flatter or infuriate him, or if the promise of a smaller, softer version of himself under all those masculine clothes would arouse something else in him. Even Narcissus had drawn the line at fucking himself, but given Jareth's monumental ego, she was almost certain it would be the latter. After all, she did make for a very pretty Goblin Prince. At the very least, the two of them would be well-matched as lovers, if not brothers, Sarah thought – he the suave and noble owl, and she parading as cock of the walk, strutting and arrogant in all her borrowed plumes. It would almost be a shame not to cast off her faux feathers, just to find out what the Goblin King would make of the woman beneath.
There was one last piece to her lavish costume, and she lifted it from its place upon her dresser with quiet reverence. The mask was executed in the pale creams and browns of unbleached bone – a delicately etched skull that was eerie in its realism. The twisting gold line work and dotted jewels that adorned its cheeks and forehead should have made it gaudy, and yet as they winked and gleamed in the light, the precious gems gave the skull a grim sort of life. Sarah slipped the mask into place and fastened its ties at her nape, hidden by the drop of her hair. The skull's eye sockets were deep and dark enough to offer only a hint of the wearer who looked through them; the jagged ends of its maxillary teeth were high enough not to obscure her sly smile. Despite the cool blue hues of her costume, Sarah knew she would be as ghoulish as Poe's incarnation of the Red Death as she slinked her way past the other guests.
"It looks amazing. Where did you get all this?" she asked Hoggle, once she was through admiring herself.
Her friend grunted and shuffled his feet. "It's probably for the best you don't ask that. I know I don't," he admitted. "Jareth's goblins like to trade for your plastic baubles as much as I do, but they seem to like stealin' from the king's guests even more, when they can get away with it. A jacket here; a pair of fancy britches there, while some poor sod's sleeping off their hangover at the castle. Hey, wherever they came from, I got them like you asked, didn't I? You'd just best be careful that no one tries to steal them back."
Sarah smiled, and the skull smiled with her. "I'll be careful. Do you have my invitation?"
Hoggle grumbled and dug into his back pocket. "Forged to perfection, just like m'lady – no, 'scuse me, just like sir – requested." At last, his hand emerged victorious, and he slapped a gilt edged piece of parchment into Sarah's outstretched palm. "Now remember, if anyone should ask: your name is Martyn. You don't get a last name – would've been too complicated, if someone actually recognised the family we said you were a part of. Now, Martyn, you've travelled all the way from over the Blue Mountains to be at the ball tonight, and 'cause you're from so far away, you don't know nobody there. And, uh … how should I put this? If anyone starts to ask you any real probing stuff about your past, something that might blow your cover, you just look real awkward and you tell 'em your mother never told you who your real father is. That oughta shame them into being less nosy. Hopefully though, folks'll be too drunk to notice any mistakes you make. Oh, and don't you go mentioning my name to anyone, neither. I'm already in enough fairy shite when it comes to you poppin' in and out of the king's gardens while he ain't lookin'." He looked up at her, frowning. "You got all that?"
She turned back to the mirror and offered her reflection a deep bow, staring out through those dark eye holes as she began to recite. "Good evening, good sir, and I must say just how pleased I am to meet you. My name is Martyn the mysterious, and I hail from over the Blue Mountains and far away. I am the son of no one, and yet I am the friend and lover of many. As an aside, I really hope these aren't your pants that I'm wearing. My tailor – the talented Sir Hoggle, who helped me to be here tonight – did say they might be stolen goods." She gave Hoggle a bright smile. "How's that?"
Hoggle sighed and scratched beneath his leather cap. "I'd say if we get through tonight without us both ending up soaked to our skins in bog water, it'll be a flamin' miracle. You'll let me know how it goes, won't you? I'm thinkin' of packing up my things and getting a head start towards the Blue Mountains before Jareth catches you, for all the good it'll do me."
"Oh, don't be such a chicken." Chuckling, Sarah bent down and pressed a kiss to his leathery forehead. Hoggle began to blush, and looked almost pleased for a moment, before he took another look at her jewelled skull mask and shivered.
"Well, that's me marked by the spectre of death, then. I'd like to say it's been a pleasure, Sarah, but when Jareth catches up to us, it's gonna be nothin' but pain for us both." He grunted to himself as he made his way over to her bedroom mirror, and back towards his humble home. "Good luck – you'll need it," he called, and then he was gone.
Sarah smiled and shook her head. Her friends from the Underground were such worrywarts when it came to their king. Not her, though. She welcomed the risk and excitement of skirting the Goblin King's inner circle once more, and would take on whatever new challenges that came her way. Mischief. Mayhem. Magic. She whispered the words like a prayer as she raised up her forged invitation in both hands, focussed hard upon her destination, and then disappeared in a gold puff of glitter.
Ten minutes too late, Hoggle reappeared within her bedroom mirror, one heavy hand pounding upon the glass. "Sarah! Sarah, you got to let me back in! Oh, the damned idiots really did it this time! They're all in the pub, just laughing it up. They didn't take 'em from his guests! Do you hear me in there? That coat an' all the other bits didn't come from no visitors to the castle. The soddin' goblins stole them clothes from his majesty himself! Those are Jareth's pants you're in!"
The persistent thud of fist against glass went on and on, but with only the empty room to hear it, the desperate sound was to no avail.
Hoggle called Sarah's name one last time before he let his forehead thunk, defeated, against his side of the mirror. His worried sigh was forceful enough to fog up the glass. "Oh, hell," he groaned. "I hope for both our sakes you're just busy looking for a more manly hair tie – or a bigger sock."