Disclaimer: This fic is based on the premise of the movie Conversations with Other Women—I do not own the Labyrinth or Conversations with Other Women.

Edit-someone pointed out the word 'bad' may be offensive so I'm editing it to 'strict.'


She chops up avocados on the outdoor kitchen counter, prepping for the ultimate salad. Avocados, arugula, diced cantaloupe and sugared walnuts topped with a tangy mandarin vinaigrette.

"You're too tense, Queenie." The golden skinned actress flips a fashion magazine as she lounges on one a poolside chaise.

Sarah raises a brow and takes a long sip of her drink. The ultimate health cocktail—which, apparently consists of freshly squeezed lemon with a hint of salt and a shot of wheat grass. Pathetic. But people seem to have stopped drinking out west and she wants to blend in. "You would be too if an extremely powerful sociopath was after you."

Looking up from the magazine, the actress gasps. "Please do not blaspheme the King, you never know who's watching."

The brunette rolls her eyes. She seems to do this every time her friend talks of 'the King' in hushed tones. "I'm blaspheming the King, not you. And he gave you the greenlight to continue being my friend." She's interrupted by a flash of pink and white zipping around in circles. "Why are we not drinking alcohol again?"

Meilis goes back to her magazine. "Because this drink is supposed to cleanse your body and give you a natural glow. Alcohol does the opposite." She looks over herself, as if saying 'see…I'm so golden because I drink this every day.' "And it's eleven in the morning."

Sarah laughs. "It's seven in the evening in London."

"And?"

"Avi's in London. I was supposed to be in London this week. Therefore, I can drink in LA."

Shrieking with laughter, the actress throws the fashion magazine at her friend. It lands by her feet. "Queenie, you're ridiculous." She becomes serious. "You're fond of Avi." It's an observation, not a question.

"Very."

"So you'll go through with marrying him." Again, an observation.

"Possibly." Sarah smiles. She's learned their ways of answering questions with non-definitive answers.

"Aren't you afraid of hurting him?" A genuine question this time.

"Avi is very…practical," Sarah sighs, "he's not some hopeless romantic fool who's marrying me because he loves me. He's marrying me because we're a good match—at least based on what I've told him about myself."

The actress sits up and pushes her oversized sunglasses on her head. "What's that?"

"That I'm an independently wealthy art dealer from Boston, with a BA in fine arts from Harvard."

Meilis doubles over with laughter. "But you went to NYU…and have a degree in anthropology."

Sarah smiles a sly smile. "Yea well, Avi was looking for a perfect woman to get married to…and I gave him one. A perfect woman to suit a man who comes from a wealthy family, works in a big PE firm, and has an MBA from Yale. Had I been a middle class school teacher from Jersey with a Rutgers degree, he'd probably have run for the hills."

"So you're tormenting him?"

The brunette rolls her eyes again, "Avi's not in love with me, Meilis, he never will be. It's not in his personality. Both of us have ironclad pre-nups and neither of us wants children, so dissolving this thing should be easy. If I do decide to go through with the wedding that is."

"Your love life, Queenie…oh gods." The magazine flies from where it has handed, near Sarah's feet, into the actress's lap.

"He's seeing his girlfriend in Paris before he goes back to New York so I don't think he'll be too heartbroken. I truly admire the man—he compartmentalizes his life so well." She pours the vinaigrette over the salad and carries the bowl to the outdoor dining set, a recent addition. "Lunch?"

"Is that an invitation, precious?" His paradoxical voice has the edge of a whip, yet flows smoothly like silk. Had she not already placed the bowl on the table, she would probably have dropped it.

Whirling around to face him, she purses her lips. "Thank you for barging in without notice," her voice drips with sarcasm.

Meilis's reaction is comical. Jumping up from the chaise, she drops down to curtsey. While dressed in a strapless black bikini…not remotely acceptable attire in the Underground. Which wasn't as strict as Saudi but almost as strict as Iran and rural Utah when it came to policing female garb.

"Rise." Lips quirking up, the Goblin King decides to be merciful. His attention on Meilis only lasts for a fraction of a second before being fixated on Sarah—who is wearing a similar suit in scarlet. "You did give me an invitation to come here, did you not, precious?"

"Common courtesy dictates that you inform someone before appearing in their house, Your Majesty."

Meilis groans, the war has begun. She quickly dresses herself with magic.

"But you didn't specify your timings." His eyes twinkle with amusement.

"Of course," she snaps, rushing to the fridge, taking out a newly purchased bottle of Patron, yanking the cap off and pouring a generous amount in her 'health cocktail'—now it's an ultimate health margarita. "It's my fault you can barge in whenever you want."

"Your Majesties, if I may be excused," Meilis all but whispers from where she's standing.

"You may leave." His commands are always succinct when addressing members of court.

The actress bows down in another curtsey "My King. Queen," and scurries off before scurrying back, her face red.

"Yes?" the Goblin King asks, his voice curt.

"I'm sorry Your Majesty, I need to retrieve my…pet," she mumbles before whistling, "Maxine! Come here girl!"

The King raises his brows as an overgrown rat in a pink…tutu? runs past him and into the courtier's arms. "You possess a rat dressed as a ballerina?"

Placing Maxine into her purse, Meilis looks at Sarah before answering, "This is a dog Your Highness. A toy poodle."

Slow laughter. "You may leave, Meilis."

"Before you run off—don't forget to send me the dress that you wore for Elle last month. I need it for the gala." The brunette sounds extremely annoyed as her afternoon of relaxation and rejuvenation has been ruined.

"Will do, Queenie." True to her friend's words, she runs off and calls her driver.


She tells him her problems at first. But when he places a lady in the dungeon, chained by iron, for a month, she stops. She doesn't approve of his retributions and it doesn't seem to work in her favor anyway.

A year in, she stops seeing him every day, except briefly for meals as he is preoccupied with a trade deal. She manages to stomach the Fire Harvest that year, gritting her teeth all the while.

She travels the kingdom and some neighboring ones with a friend and a group of ladies in waiting. She does not see him for a month until the yearly Elysium ball.

She sees him with the corners of her eyes. But she doesn't react.

The next year she is happy briefly, the trade deals are over and he spends the whole of winter in her chambers. But the Fire Harvest of spring nears and she cannot bring herself to stop thinking about the rituals. Moreover, she begins to understand the detriments of being married to a King.

She cannot stand the sight of him.


"She travels like humans when she can transport?"

"She's quite famous and paranoid that someone might notice if she suddenly pops up out of thin air." She looks at him, noticing that he has arrived in his official Goblin King outfit—tailored pants of midnight blue, tucked into black dragon-leather boots. He wears a jacket spun out of night and smog and a crown of thorns. She shivers. Perhaps he is here to arrest her after all.

"You look well." His words are heated and eyes rake over her body.

She shakes her head, slipping a brilliantly white cover-up dress over her head. "Would you like an ultimate margarita?" she asks coolly, taking a sip of her disgusting drink that is now less disgusting, courtesy the Patron.

"No, precious. Your drinks are…rather unique."

She walks over to the dining table and plops down on a chair. "Lunch?" She serves her healthy creation on two plates without waiting for an answer.

He eyes the salad as he sits down across from her. "This is rather unique as well," he says tentatively tasting the dish before flashing her a smile, "but delicious."

She smiles back, her eyes beaming—noticing how his lips part and his mismatched eyes flicker when she does this. "I'm not coming back, Jareth." The smile remains on her face.

He looks at her for a few heart beats, his face impassive. "How quick you are to get to the point, my love."

She laughs. "I really, really hate playing word games, Jareth. It's one of the things that made me leave your realm."

"I could issue a decree stating that Queen is to be spoken to in a direct manner."

"And I'd be a bigger laughing stock."

"You never cared about the opinion of others, precious."

"I do when 'others' are always around, Jareth. I was never free to be myself." She runs a hand down her long, straight hair. "There's too much of a cultural gap. I'm done."

"Cultural gap?" he is amused by this term.

She isn't. Raising a brow, she speaks without emotion, "Yes, like the Fire Harvest of spring, Your Majesty. I have…major issues with how the magic is renewed."

A flicker of emotion. "I cannot change that, my love."

"I know."

"The ritual does not mean anything."

"It does to me…and I'm sure it does to the maiden."


Dressed in a flowing gown spun of muted gold and silver, she dances with a dark haired man with dark eyes. He is an immortal from a different land, but spends time in the above. As a doctor for Médecins Sans Frontières.

She is enthralled by his recent journey to Rwanda.

The two dark haired dancers stand out starkly in a sea of gold and silver.

-"Impossible. Not without producing an heir first."

-"Perhaps an heir is already underway. She was formerly mortal and they are extremely fertile."

-"Regardless, I do not think the King would allow that until an heir was born."

-"The King has his own…interests in mind. Did you see him at the ball?"

-"Oh gods, he was wicked." Laughter.


AN: Am having way too much fun with this story. Will update The Dark Court this weekend.

I think Meilis and Maxine are the only ones who're not morally ambiguous in this story.

Honoria—ffnet has been weird with reviews lately. I can't see them until hours later.