Halloween, 1991
"Wow, that one really missed the mark," said the bug-eyed little goblin at my shoulder. I followed his gaze to a very well-endowed young woman strutting up to the gates, noting that her assets jiggled in an exceedingly distracting - and probably pretty uncomfortable - manner with each step. Her hair, which seemed to have been colored an unnatural shade of pitch black, was teased and curled into an enormous mass vaguely reminiscent of a 17th century, feather-bedecked production, complete with fist-sized silver roses and strings of pearls. Her dress, which was so massive I suspected any sort of voluntary locomotion had to be aided by magic, was almost obscenely low-cut and even frillier than mine had been. I glowered.
"My hair's brown, for Hoggle's sake. And my dress was pretty and chaste, not gaudy and whorey. Freakin' tart…" I groused, leaning against my booth with my arms crossed, as my friend and partner, Nok, and I watched the nobility and hangers-on of Underground society trickle into the castle behind us.
Every year, for Samhain, an enormous ball was held at the Underground First City, to which everybody who was somebody was invited, and everybody who wanted to be somebody tried to sneak in.
I made a point to be here every year, not to sneak in - I already knew I wasn't somebody, and was perfectly happy with that -, but to see the outrageous and breath-taking costumes of the attendees, and of course to reap in the benefits of lots of intoxicated rich people in the immediate proximity. For a merchant such as myself, it was a gold mine.
As a result of my attendance, I had noticed an increasingly popular trend over the last several years - apparently, it had become something of a tradition for all the eligible fae twits to dress up in an outfit that greatly resembled the sugar-and-lace confection I had worn in Jareth's ballroom, and parade themselves around in a mildly wanton fashion before the eligible men.
I doubted it was coincidence. And I was quite offended.
"Oh, that one's not too bad," Nok said, drawing my attention to a more reasonably dressed girl, with a delicate silver mask over her eyes. I appraised her critically, before nodding.
"Yeah, she passes. We won't egg her carriage," I decided, and Nok grinned.
"Good thing - we're going to be really busy tonight if we have to egg the carriage of every girl who shows up in a white gown," he teased, and I shot him a glare. I loved the little snot and all, but sometimes I wanted nothing more dearly than to hang him over the Bog for an hour or so.
"I'm allowed to egg the transportation of anyone dumb enough to stomp all over my ego right in front of me," I said with a huff, adjusting my mask. I had modeled it to look like my favorite animal - an owl - and the feathers on the sides were itching like crazy.
"Would you quit messing with it? You're plucking all the feathers out!" Nok scolded. I slanted him another look, but obligingly stopped fiddling with it. My little goblin had been co-constructor of my costume, and had probably put more effort and patience into it than I ever could. His focus was outrageous - that little goblin could fix the ozone layer if he put his mind to it.
Sighing, I tried to distract myself by re-organizing the goods displayed at my booth for the third time tonight.
Five years ago, when I had relocated myself back to the Labyrinth, I stuck close by - sneaking around the outskirts collecting oddities and trinkets, avoiding anything that seemed Jareth-y, making new friends - and familiarized myself with the massive, Minotaur-less Cretan construction. My favorite place was the Junkyard - not because I hoped to find things from my past, or looked for comfort in the familiar Aboveground discards, but because you can find the coolest stuff mixed in with the useless trash, and Underground residents go batty over it.
On one of my rounds, while fiddling with a broken miniature Rubik's Cube - I'd pay good money to see how Jareth would fare against one of those things - I stumbled across a little goblin that looked more like a saucer-eyed, hairless spider monkey than anything, being harassed by a group of his larger brethren.
I intervened, of course.
Nok, as I had learned was his name, and I took an instant liking to each other, and developed a mutually beneficial friendship - I protected him from the things he couldn't defend himself against, and he showed me where all the good loot was. He was extremely curious and absorbed everything around him - from watching Hoggle keep up with maintenance and repairs, to my sarcasm and modern grammar - and we quickly discovered his talent for tinkering.
We also discovered his weakness for anything shiny.
Honestly, if there is anything mildly reflective within a twenty-foot radius, he will sense it - and go scuttling off to inspect it, regardless of what he is currently doing and/or the impact it may have on the present company's (i.e., my) wellbeing. It's not one of his more endearing qualities.
I eventually grew tired of hiding and sneaking around my familiar turf, and branched out, traveling around the Underground with Nok - my monkey mechanic, as I affectionately called him - and creating a reputation for myself as something of a traveling merchant. I had considered myself lucky to have avoided any run-ins with a certain conquered king, though there had been a few close calls, and was supremely relieved that His Nibs would not be making an appearance tonight, though there had been rumors.
I idly rubbed a quarter-sized, smooth black river stone between my fingers, reciting my lucky mantra (I am lucky, I am totally mega lucky, Lady Luck is my home girl, I am so lucky I make the God of Good Fortune look star-crossed), and tried not to let my imagination concoct scenarios of what a catastrophe a chance meeting with Jareth would be.
I shivered slightly.
"Cold, kitten?" a vaguely amused, nearly familiar voice said in my ear, and I kept myself from jumping or shrieking in surprise only because of my extensive practice at hiding any sort of startlement or alarm.
I noticed that Nok was all of a sudden conveniently missing.
Turning and smiling dangerously over my shoulder at my companion, I dragged my eyes over him. He was tall, with ruffled, close-clipped blonde hair and wintry slate grey eyes, dressed in heavy white furs speckled with grey and black spots. I couldn't tell if his sharp teeth were natural or not, and as I met his eyes again, I noticed his pupils were vertical, like a cat's.
"Depends on whether you're offering to keep me warm," I replied, and bared my teeth a little more. "I could always use another fur coat."
The snow leopard impersonator before me grinned, something dangerous glinting in his stone grey, off-kilter eyes.
"Haven't changed a bit, have you, kitten?" he said, and suddenly, his familiarity clicked - a lifetime ago, in a Hoodoo shop a world away, this snake had fenced with me and yielded. My hackles rose, and he smirked, circling me slowly.
"Though, perhaps not such a kitten after all, hmm?" he murmured, taking in my costume. He plucked lightly at the shoulder of my feathered cape. I was suddenly less comfortable under his scrutiny; my figure-hugging white tights and open-necked, low-cut white poet shirt seemed horribly inadequate protection. "A falcon, are we, perhaps?"
I forced myself to appear calm and unruffled, and followed him without turning my head.
"An owl, actually," I corrected, and I thought I saw his slitted eyes widen just a hair. I decided he didn't need to know I had dressed in an outfit a king had once worn, while offering a truce to an enemy.
"Ah, but of course. I wonder what he'll think of your impersonation, little dove?" he wondered aloud, and I only narrowly resisted the urge to crap on his shoe for persisting with the stupid adorably-helpless-animal nicknames.
"I wonder that you assume he'll hear of it," I said, pulling myself up onto the counter of my display and crossing my legs - it made me feel a teeny bit less vulnerable - and paused deliberately. "Kitten," I added, eyeing his feline costume.
He grinned at me again - no, I corrected myself, he bared his teeth at me. There was nothing even mildly amused or sociable about that expression; only a fool would call that a smile. It was a warning - tread lightly.
"Well, now, we wouldn't expect him to attend his own ball and not stop by to see his lovely little prize, would we, dove?" he said, an underlying gloat in his tone, and I felt my spine turn to iced steel. This was his ball?
"He isn't coming tonight," I said mechanically, determined not to sound panicked in the least. My attempt to cover up my alarm obviously failed - the snake's nostrils flared and he smirked, clearly satisfied. I was suddenly sure he could actually smell my fear. Which was hardly surprising, as it was probably peeling off me in massive, icy sheets.
"You sound quite sure, little dove. In possession of knowledge I have not been made privy to?" he asked rhetorically. He gave the dramatic, put-upon sigh of someone used to being the last to know. "I suppose it's no surprise. After all, one would only expect you to be his confidante - obviously you two are still close," he said, and gave me a once over, making my skin prickle violently. I remembered the sensation being far less painfully invasive Aboveground.
"I see his marks haven't faded in the slightest," he smirked. "I suppose it's a hazard of close contact with the likes of a Goblin Fae."
I kept my face neutral and said nothing. He obviously knew I was terrified of Jareth and therefore wouldn't be caught dead within two miles of him, and must be trying to bait me.
He regarded me for a moment, a really freakin irritating look on his smug face, and a self-satisfied glow in his slitted, preadatory eyes. I constructed a mental reel of punching that expression off his face, and set it on loop.
It was surprisingly soothing. By the time he was clutching at a bloody, broken nose for the fifth time, I was quite nearly happy again.
I silently thanked the Gods of Warped Imaginations for my creativity.
After I had regained my composure, I glanced down at the palm I knew still carried Jareth's 'brand', and flexed my fingers, sighing in a resigned manner.
"I know. It's a bit annoying, I must admit - you Faeries and your insistence on 'marking' things," I said, and rolled my eyes in an affectionately tolerant manner. "I keep telling him to ease up, it's quite obvious enough already, but you know him. I've been meaning to start wearing leather gloves, and such, but it's so impractical…" I said mildly, as though it didn't bother me one whit that I had the Jareth Stamp of Approval in indelible magic-ink all over me, flashing my fencing partner a knife-edged, vaguely suggestive grin.
"By the by, he says hello," I added, just to be cocky.
He stiffened for a moment and I took the opportunity to congratulate myself and do a triumphant little jig in my head -
And then he was at my neck, his breath slithering over my skin and leaving a moist residue as the heat of it collided with the cool air and my chilled flesh. I shuddered, and would have toppled backwards over my booth, if not for his iron grip on my biceps. I was quite certain I would have two pretty handprints on them for the next week or so.
"If you'd like, little dove, I could get rid of them for you," he said, his voice low, and I felt a sharp lance of fear stab through my belly.
I had just provoked someone stronger, faster, and probably more intelligent than me, and he had me pinned.
Definitely not on my Top-Ten-Situations-To-Be-In-While-Unarmed list.
"If by 'get rid of', you mean 'replace with your own obnoxious signature', I'd just as soon stick with Jareth's, thanks," I retorted. Apparently, my mouth had not gotten the message that this jerk was Dangerous, and to Play It Safe.
Surprise, surprise.
He growled in a distinctly offended manner, and I tried very hard not to show how intense the pain in my arms had become.
"Insolence is not attractive, my pet. Though, I must admit, it does make it far more satisfying in the end, when you grovel," he chuckled, dipping his head to the stylized silver pendant that hung around my neck. He ran his tongue down the chain, leaving a slick, slimy trial of thick saliva behind -
And abruptly jerked back, howling, and clutched at his mouth as he wheeled away from me.
I wiped the spit off my skin, making a face, and regarded him with distaste as he gaped at me. A line of blood, just a shade too pale, trickled out from behind his hands.
"Cold iron isn't very tasty, is it?" I asked. His eyes narrowed to incensed slits, a growl bubbling up from his burned, ruined mouth.
I held up my cold, cast iron necklace and chain, a gift from a fellow - though less fortunate - Labyrinth runner, and traced the dual-horned, distinctive ornament. It was a copy of the one Jareth wore, created out of his bane. I found it rather appropriate.
As I plucked a bit of smoldering tongue off of the chain, I smirked at the injured snake.
"I'm human, Kitten, not stupid. Did you really think I wouldn't take precautions?" I asked in a mildly offended, but tolerant, tone, meeting his eyes as his injured rage boiled over, and felt my own widen in surprise as he charged me.
Instantly I flung my hands up, grasping onto any flesh I could reach, and felt the skin beneath my intricate, twisting iron rings splitting and recoiling, the wounds burning so hot they cauterized themselves instantly.
He shrieked and flung himself back, and I followed, pressing my advantage while I had it. I securely clamped a hand, bearing three separate rings, around his throat and bared my teeth in a vicious grin as he writhed under me.
"I guess my marks are a little more permanent, huh?" I said, and released him. He scuttled away, growling and whimpering simultaneously. I wiped my hand on my pants, leaving a bloody, charred smear across the white fabric.
"Nice seeing you again," I said pleasantly, and wiggled my fingers at him. "Do drop by next year. You're my only reliable gauge of how blatantly obvious all my Jareth-marks are. Quite invaluable," I told him, and casually cleaned bits of his flesh out from under my nails. "However, you should probably leave now," I said, and gave him a cold, utterly dispassionate look as I flicked his blood off my fingertips.
He snarled something in a tongue I recognized, but was still learning - though I thought I recognized a few swearwords - and lunged unsteadily to his feet, darting jerkily away while still managing to look inhumanly graceful.
I really wished I could learn how to do that. It would make being drunk so much less embarrassing.
Once he was quite assuredly gone, I slid down the back of my booth, dropping into a trembling puddle of spent adrenaline and terror, the aftershocks of the confrontation hitting me like a brick wall.
I was really stupid sometimes.
"Wow. You've really got being fatally dumb down to an art," Nok told me, wriggling his way to my shoulder.
I scowled at him.
"Hey, I held my own, didn't I?" I protested, peering at the blackened, bloody smear on my leg and wondering how the heck I was gonna get that horrible stain out of my white pants.
"I suppose, if blatant cheating counts as 'holding your own'," he said, and I shot him an even scowlier look.
"It's not cheating. He's got physical advantages, and I leveled the field. That's called 'playing it smart', or 'using your resources to their fullest extent', not cheating."
Nok rolled his enormous eyes. "Right, and what you did overnight in that blonde boy's tent was really just 'negotiations'," he sniped. I blushed and glared at him, crossing my arms.
"I thought we agreed to drop that."
"No, you decided to never mention it again, and I decided to mention it whenever possible."
I glared harder.
"Why do I like you again?"
Nok blinked his big, bug eyes and snuggled into my shoulder. "Because I'm adorable, intelligent, and an indispensable part of your business," he reminded me.
I muttered grumpily under my breath, unable to dispute any of that.
"That was impressive, Cheri," said a quiet, rumbling baritone from above me, and I quite nearly betrayed my surprise by yelping, or jumping, or something equally telling and disheartening. Nok had once again slunk off somewhere, his keen sense of self-preservation telling him this was not the place for one of Jareth's missing goblins to be. I craned my head back to see a golden-skinned, dark-haired man with big, warm black eyes and a pearly white smile. "Though it wasn't quite what I had in mind when I gave you that necklace."
I grinned cheekily and hauled myself to my feet, leaning over to embrace him.
"I like to think I have a talent for improvisation," I bragged, and he scoffed as we withdrew.
"I see Maman Deliadidn't lie about your… courage," he replied delicately, and I grinned wider.
"Somehow I doubt Maman Deliawould ever use 'courage' and 'Sarah' in the same sentence, unless discussing the necessary characteristics for befriending me," I said. Armand laughed, and it sent pleasant, comforting vibrations through the air, enveloping me like a warm, soft blanket.
The only people I'd ever met with a laugh like that had been Creole. I suspected it had something to do with the fact that they never ate anything unless it was obscenely spicy. Granted, Armand probably hadn't had a genuine Creole meal for some time, but obviously the heating effects still lingered.
Armand idly tugged at the iron collar around his throat, in the manner of someone fiddling with a stray thread on a shirt. I could see the slightly discolored, rougher skin underneath it, where his skin had long ago been abraded by the metal.
It was one more thing I hated Jareth for.
"How are you?" I asked lowly, concern lacing my tone. I swore, if that poofy-haired sonofa bitch was treating him badly -
"I'm fine, Cheri, as you well know. Jareth wouldn't harm me," he said gently. I scowled. He seemed to be currently in the Goblin King's good graces, but I knew quite well that the whims of a Faerie could be extremely mercurial - a fact which he also should have been more than aware of, but was stubbornly overlooking.
Armand had been wished away four years ago.
His cousin, who had wished him away, had taken his chance in the Labyrinth, but barely made it inside the walls by the end of the time limit. Armand was then rightfully Jareth's, and by all rights should have been turned into a goblin. However, Armand has a disdain for following anyone's preconceived notions and a firm dislike for rules, and therefore had of course convinced the haughty, calculating, volatile King of the Goblins to take him on as the royal retainer.
Four years, and he still refused to tell me how he did it.
Tight-lipped bastard.
"Well, watch your back anyhow. And should you need me…"
Armand smiled, much in the same manner I used to smile at my friends as they disappeared back through my mirror at night, and inclined his head to me. "I'll call, Cheri."
I chewed my lip unhappily, but accepted. For some ridiculous reason, Armand trusted Jareth, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to change his mind.
Looking around at my booth, now destroyed due to my little altercation with Kitten, I sighed and decided to pack things up for the night. Now that Armand was here, I gave far more credence to the rumors that Jareth was going to be making an appearance, and I had absolutely no intention of risking that catastrophe for whatever earnings I may have made tonight. I glanced at Armand.
"So, I take it His Nibs is on his way?" I asked casually, and Armand gave me a level look.
"He isn't as evil as you think him to be. A little wicked, but wicked isn't the same thing as evil, Sarah," he said, and I started a little at the use of my name. I hadn't told anyone my name in years. Of course, he knew it already, but out of respect for my desire for anonymity - the less people knew I was Underground, the less likely it was he would find me - he usually called me some variance of Cheri.
I looked back at Armand, and tilted my head.
"If he has you convinced so completely, he is either very good at deceiving, or I'm wrong, and I'll let you guess which of the two I'm gonna go with. But all the same, evil or just wicked, I crossed him. Thoroughly. And I don't intend to take my chances with him." I turned back to my booth and began organizing my things, packing as I went. Armand was silent for a moment, then sighed and came around to help me. We'd had this conversation before, and by now we knew it was rather futile. Didn't mean we wouldn't try to sway the other, but we wouldn't push.
"I went Aboveground recently," he said, and I felt my mood lighten instantly.
"Really? Did you see him?" I asked excitedly. My friend nodded.
"He is well, and happy. He has a dog, now - a Boxer, I believe - and he seems quite fond of him. Named him Ludo."
I snorted. Toby had always liked Ludo the best.
"What about his eyes?"
Armand grimaced. "No change," he reported, and I grimaced as well. Toby's eyes, once he had hit two years old, had started changing color - or, one of them had. Over the course of a year, his left eye had slowly darkened to a greenish-brown, while the other had stayed a pure, bright baby blue. I disliked the implications of that.
"And did you tell him what I said?" I asked, and Armand nodded.
"Of course, Cheri. He says he wouldn't dream of it, and he would very much like to see you again," he replied, and I felt a sharp, hateful little stab rip though me. I missed Toby, more than I had imagined I would, and would actually like very much to go Aboveground and see him.
Unfortunately, over the last five years, I still had not found a way to return. I hadn't been looking terribly hard, but it seemed that the only sure way to cross was with the help of a very powerful being, according to Armand.
The only very powerful being I knew was currently enslaving my friend and had a bit of a grudge against me for ruining his castle. Therefore, it was probably gonna be a while before I made it back up to see my brother.
I pushed my wistfulness and hurt and anxiety back down, and continued with my tasks.
"And what about Robert and Karen? Still remember nothing?"
"No, nothing. Maman Delia knows her work well," he said, ignoring my lack of response to his last answer, for which I was grateful. I nodded.
"That she does," I murmured. Maman Delia, after I had disappeared Underground, had gone to extreme lengths to locate me. Once she had, she told me I was lucky she couldn't come whip my hide for being so stupid, to be careful, and not to worry, she would take care of my parents' concerns. It turned out that by 'take care of', she meant 'erase'; she had dulled their memories of me, so that I was but a foggy almost-dream, that could easily have been passed off as a story from an old coworker about his family, or banter with the family physician.
It had worked on everyone but Toby - another implication I was uncomfortable with.
We finished packing my little booth in companionable silence, and I hugged Armand as we stood by my cart. He squeezed my shoulders, an extra bit of affection, and sighed against my hair.
"Take care, Cheri. I don't want to see you being attacked the next time we meet," he told me, and I laughed.
"You know better than to ask for the impossible, Armand," I chided playfully.
He released me and gave me a look, but smoothed my feathered shoulders in a friendly manner. He opened his mouth to say something, but abruptly stiffened, his eyes going distant.
My stomach coiled in on itself, my innards twisting into icy knots. I knew what that look meant.
Jareth was coming.
"Go, quickly," he said as he saw the look on my face, and I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, taking one last look at the beautiful, grand castle behind us.
I could hear the strings and flutes spinning a song inside, and I had no difficulty imagining all the princesses in their fluffy white dresses twirling around prettily in front of their princes, chasing their fairytales.
I ran the other way, as fast as my boot-clad feet would take me, my feathered cape spreading behind me like great white wings as I hauled ass to outrun my dreams.
I knew better than to wish for dreams and fairytales. Because really, who wants one anyways? Dreams are always partial - you can never dream for the thing you want most, because once you have it, you'll wind up wanting something different. Seen it happen, plenty of times. And fairytales? Just as useless. There's one thing that no one seems to consider with them -
Fairytales end.
No one can blame you
For walking away…
