Tricks and Treats
A gift fic for iamartemisday
"You promised me we could do what I wanted. I thought the Goblin King never reneged on a deal."
"When an agreement is as poorly worded as ours was, I make it a point to renege. I could do so at any time, my dear."
"Oh no, Jareth," Sarah grinned wide, in a way she had learned to do only after her third trip to the Labyrinth. Her teeth seemed to glow through the darkness. "I remember our bargain to the word, and I remember how…enthusiastically you agreed to it. It's not my fault that you did so without proper consideration."
Jareth forced himself not to pick her up and shake her. "You took advantage of your King."
She laughed, and now he wanted to do other things to her. "How many times must we have this discussion? If you're my King, then I'm your Queen, and you will honor your promises to me. Besides, at the time, you seemed only too eager to do anything I asked."
Sarah looped her arm through his and burrowed comfortably against his side. "Besides, it's my birthday, and I've always done this for my birthday."
He sighed, but couldn't argue. Not when her dark head was pressed against his shoulder and he could feel the warmth of her body against his. "Far me it from to me to remind you that you now have the entirety of the Underground at your fingertips. Celebrating your first birthday as its Queen in the Above seems hardly fitting. Especially at such a…" he looked around at the rabble of humanity swirling around them, "crowded event."
She hummed under her breath, and he could feel her holding back another laugh. "I think the word you were searching for was "plebian". Or maybe "bourgeois" is more to your royal taste?"
"Sarah, darling," he remonstrated, "I have been ruler of a magical kingdom for an age upon an age. You cannot expect me to be happy to spend my Samhain celebrations at…an amusement park."
"Yes, I'm sure you'd much rather be kicking goblins around the Castle while getting progressively drunker—and more creative—on pumpkin ale. Or attending one of Titania's endless costume balls, dancing waltzes with women you'd rather avoid and mingling. Please. You hate those parties even more than I do." Sarah took a deep bite out of her caramel apple and licked the brown sauce from the corner of her lips. "Isn't this so much more fun?"
"I wouldn't know," he grumbled, avoiding her arguments. "Since we arrived we have been on two roller coasters, shot plastic ghouls with laser guns in a neon haunted house, and eaten poorly-flavored, overly-sweetened treats while waiting on this interminable line, waiting to get into a haunted house that promises fewer frights than the Goblin City."
"Oh, but you see, you can't fool me anymore, Jareth," Sarah leaned up and kissed him. The caramel sauce was at least more appealing when he tasted it from her tongue. "You can complain all you want, but I saw your face on that first coaster, and I didn't twist your arm to make you finish that candy corn," she aimed her mouth at his ear and whispered, husky and low, "You like it."
"Wicked child," and he kissed her, deep and slow, until a soft plop started Sarah out of his embrace.
She blinked, catching her breath. "You're gonna get me another one," she said, pointing to the remains of her apple in the grass.
"How thrilling to know I come so near first in my wife's affections."
"When it comes to Halloween, Jareth, you'd have to work very hard to come first over pumpkin-spice lattes, caramel apples, and kettle corn."
"Well," he said, "since I lack the opportunity to do that at the moment, I'll be back shortly." How ridiculous that Sarah forbade the use of magic in public places; how could it be cheating to simply bewitch their way to the front of every line? Even she, with her nascent powers, could accomplish such a charm.
But when she smiled at him—that wide, toothy smile with the dreamy eyes that he had worked so hard to win for himself—he could not find it in him to regret taking the long way 'round. Sarah drew him to her and pressed a kiss to the base of his throat.
"Thank you. And hurry up," she said, letting him go as the line shuffled a few feet forward, "I think we'll be there soon."
He merely nodded and turned, winding his way through the crowd and ducking under the rope that kept the line in some kind of order.
Outside the line was nothing but chaos. So used to having people fall away in front of him, Jareth had to control his impulses in order to not drop every running child or aimless parent into the Bog whenever they stood in his path. And yet, there was some amusement to be found in watching the mortals as the celebrated a diluted, commercialized version of the holiday.
The plastic demon masks and silly costumes echoed back through the centuries. He remembered young men draping themselves in sackcloth and blacking their faces with coal to frighten the girls. The candies that children clutched in their fists were merely a new incarnation of the offerings made to the spirits in return for their blessings—or their indifference.
He remembered—though it was millennia ago—when this time of year was celebrated with blood and fire, when people danced wildly about the flames they lit to keep away the darkness and cleanse their souls.
As a younger, less powerful Sidhe, Samhain was one of the times he could easily walk through the veil that separated the Under and the Above. He had walked among the primitive humans, playing tricks on them, speaking with the less powerful demons and spirits of the mortal realm, joining with the youths as they went house to house, scaring the young women and being chased off, laughing, by their mothers.
He smiled; he had forgotten how much fun it had been.
Almost lost in his memories, he was brought to himself as the couple in front of him gathered their food. He watched as the man plucked a hair from his girlfriend's head and looped it through the coils of the greasy sugared cake he had ordered.
"Excuse me! Hey!"
The young man—short hair bristled thick with gel and beefy arms bursting from his tight shirt—flung the cake back onto the counter, powdered sugar flying everywhere. "There's a hair in this."
The woman behind the counter—her tag read "Tammy"—looked at the long black hair—same as the girl who stared at her impudently—and sighed. "I'll make you a new one right away."
Meathead—a term borrowed from Sarah and particularly apropos—slammed his fist against the counter. "That's not good enough. Gimmie my money back for the whole order, and get me a new one."
Tammy sighed again and opened the register, clearly too tired to argue. Jareth stepped swiftly up to the counter and said, "There will be no need for that, my dear. These two fine people were just leaving."
"What the hell do you think you're—" Meathead stopped, sputtering, as Jareth's quickly whispered spells killed his voice and encircled the three of them in a bubble outside time.
"There was a time your people knew better than to play tricks on a night like this one," Jareth said, softly, letting a flicker of his true nature shine behind his eyes. Meathead's girlfriend whimpered and seemed to fold in on herself. "Were I who I had once been, the two of you should long rue this night."
There was only momentary pleasure in frightening the helpless, and Jareth could already see Sarah in his mind's eye, shaking her head and smiling. He could almost hear her voice…C'mon, where's the fun in this?
There would be a little more fun, at least. And the girlfriend gave a strangled shriek as her boyfriend folded up into a little brown toad, resting on the toe of her boot.
"If you can bring yourself to," Jareth told her, "A kiss before midnight will set all to rights."
Now she did shriek; scooping up the toad in one shaking hand, she turned and burst through the bubble, tearing away into the night.
Tammy shook her head, eyes glazed as Jareth carefully altered her memory.
"Some people, man," she smiled wearily at Jareth, "Fucking scammer. What can I get for you?"
"A caramel apple, please," he said, handing over the $3.50 and making a mental note to thank Sarah for this. He'd forgotten how much fun playing tricks could be.