Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth or any of the characters associated with the Labyrinth.
AN: As I've expected, I've received a few 'complaints' regarding this fic. Most revolve around the 'evolution denying, abortion hating, basically illiterate…purity ring' line. I expected that—so I put a 'socially liberal' warning in the summary. (Which I find hilarious, BTW).
But recently, I got a 'complaint' from someone saying I have to put a warning on this fic b/c a man kisses another man in the last chapter. It's 2016. I'm not going to say 'warning, there are gay characters in this fic.'
Chapter 7: Goblin King, Undersexed Virgin Connoisseur
(Sometime in the afternoon)…
"This Goblin King of yours is a deranged lunatic, precious."
She gives him a look as if she's saying 'you're telling me.' "Yea well, a deranged lunatic and an undersexed virgin go well together, I suppose." She's surprised he's helped her out without any incident—this makes her wary. Thankful, but wary. They're done with her outline for the day…unfortunately, she still has two mind-numbingly dull manuscripts to edit.
The actual Goblin King gives her a haughty look, his dual eyes sharp. "I have generously allowed you to tarnish my good name in the human realm, precious. Perhaps you can explain the…appeal of such a pairing."
She frowns, never having been in a position to defend the ridiculous story line before. She can see why Sanjay gets repeatedly annoyed with her. "I don't know…the target market for this kind of book is undersexed and I guess the fantasy involves a dominant, deranged lunatic who does all the work. All the protagonist has to do is lie back and start with 'no, don't touch me' and end with 'yes, yes, YES, OH GOD YES.'"
He smiles sarcastically, "Yes, the amazing Goblin King, undersexed virgin connoisseur, lunatic rapist extraordinaire."
"Somebody has to force undersexed virgins to have multiple orgasms. Why not you?" Smiling at his look of utter distaste, she continues, "Anyway, haven't you heard? All publicity is good publicity."
He's about to give her a scathing reply when he realizes that perhaps this publicity can be used to his advantage. "I suppose," he concedes, a thoughtful frown on his kingly forehead, "What are the odds of your target market wishing away children to the deranged Goblin King?"
An icy shiver runs down her spine—but after thinking about the situation, she doesn't think it poses too much of a threat. "Children? Really low," she replies, "Themselves on the other hand…"
He lets out a scoff as if to say he's not interested in hearing any more. "I shall leave you to your work, precious, do give me your revised outline so I may tsk at you in disdain."
Glaring at him, she speaks, "Thanks a lot Your Majesty." She has better things to do with her time than to hear him tsk at her in disdain. Arrogant bastard.
A slow, mocking laugh. "My pleasure. I do believe you have a courtship ritual that you call 'date' with your precious Marc tonight, do you not?"
Is she imagining a hint of a threat in his voice? She's not sure. "You said you wouldn't-"
"Yes, I know I said I wouldn't harm him," his voice is low now and deadly serious and his mismatched gaze glitters intensely. "Until tomorrow, precious."
She trembles—he had also said he wouldn't harm her, hadn't he? "Bye."
(Marc's Apartment somewhere in Alphabet City)…
"I don't get it," she says, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth. "Why does everyone in this movie speak like an asshole?"
Marc laughs, "That's Hollywood's perception of investment bankers, Sarah. This movie actually tones down the language."
She rolls her eyes. "You don't talk like that."
"Because real investment bankers are either mathematically inclined nerds or mathematically inclined nerds who are good at sales." He stops and thinks, "Actually, make that modern day investment bankers. I'm sure the 80s crowd would have been that bad."
"Why's that—was there a sudden change in policy—investment banks got together and said they're going to stop hiring jerks?"
He smiles. "Nah. After one too many fluctuations, they decided to hire smart people instead of loud morons. Hollywood's still hung up on that personality-type though."
She looks at him disbelievingly. "Marc, the 2008 recession was way worse than anything that happened in the 80s, 90s, or early 2000s."
"Smart doesn't mean less greedy, Sarah. In fact, smart can mean more efficient at being greedy. Especially if the government decides to deregulate everything." He's so matter-of-fact. "And everyone feels entitled to own a house they cannot afford."
Shaking her head, she takes a sip of her wine. "I just do NOT understand business—everything sounds so…cold. I don't want to sound stupid, but this movie makes it look like gambling."
He raises a brow, "It is, in a way." Inching closer, he drapes an arm around her shoulder. "Should we go for dinner?"
After stuffing her face with an entire bowl of heavily buttered popcorn, she feels too full to eat. "We could stay here…" she says, eyes lowered. She runs her fingers through his wavy hair.
He looks at her intently for a few seconds before swooping down and kissing her, his hands grasping her back, as he lays her down on his couch.
Something's different. She's kissed him before. She's made out with him before. Hell, she's had sex with him before. So why is she suddenly so awkward? The thought makes her mad and she curses the Goblin King, determined not to let him get to her head.
"Everything okay?" he asks, concerned. She's been staring into space for the last minute. "Sarah?"
A hot blush creeps up her face. "I'm fine," she mutters, embarrassed, "I'm just a little-" She's interrupted by the infernal beeping of the smoke detector, they jolt up, smelling smoke.
"What the fuck!" he swears as he rushes into kitchen to investigate the smell.
She hears the fizzing sound of a fire extinguisher being used (trust Marc to have a working fire extinguisher in his apartment). Trembling, she stands up and walks up to him—she's relieved to see that no real damage has been done.
"A plug point just randomly caught on fire," he says, "must have been a surge that created a spark."
She knows different—her teeth start chattering and her face turns ashen.
"Sarah," he's by her side in an instant, "Don't worry—everything's fine." He looks at her, worried, knowing that she's not the type to freak out turn hysterical. So what bothers her so much? "I'll take you home," he says, ever the gallant prince.
(At Sarah's Apartment)…
She sits in the kitchen, elbows resting on the kitchen table, head buried in her hands. "It's him. I'm sure it's him."
Elle looks at her like she's lost it. "Sarah," she says, concerned, "Who are you talking about?"
She looks at her roommate and shakes her head wearily. "I've had a long day," she lies, "The fire disturbed me more than it should have. You should carry on with your plans."
"Are you coming out of a massive coke high?" Elle asks suspiciously, "I've heard people get all kinds of paranoid, just take a few shots of tequila and everything will be okay."
This makes Sarah snort with laughter. She's only done coke twice in her life, just enough to give her a peppy high and not remotely enough to cause paranoia. Either way, coke and tequila sounds like a terrible mix. "I love your solutions, Elle."
Elle does not laugh and her hazel eyes turn serious. "I've noticed that you've been acting strange ever since the Norwegian model came into your life…" her thought drifts off as she climbs atop a small ladder and places a wet paper towel on the smoke detector.
Lighting up a cigarette, Sarah takes a deep drag. "Thanks for letting me smoke here, Elle."
"You smoke menthol lights and your eucalyptus oil technique works amazingly, so it's okay."
"You're right, the Norwegian model is a…major pain in the ass," Sarah says, pulling herself together. "He's such an…UGH."
"What did he do?" Elle asks curiously. That man looked like…well…he looked like he could do a great many things. Especially in darkened rooms under silken sheets.
Sarah shrugs.
"Come on, Sar," Elle is nothing if not persistent, "WHAT did he DO? Is he an old boyfriend?" She looks a tad scandalized, "Is it a sex thing? It's a sex thing isn't it?"
Sarah gives her a look to say 'leave it alone.'
And that doesn't work.
"Come on, tell me," Elle insists. "Tell meeeeeeeeee, tell me, tell me, tell me, TELL ME," she whines, and Sarah is reminded of her whiny ten year old brother—which, inadvertently, reminds her of the Goblin King.
"Elle, I wish you'd leave me alone." Plastering her hand over her mouth the second she utters the words, she looks at her roommate, stricken, who seems to be…frozen, for the lack of a better word. She can hear the blood roar in her ears for just a split second before-
"Sarah. Sarah. Sweet Sarah." The Goblin King's deeply musical voice sounds hauntingly disturbing as his boots click against the hardwood floor. "You seem to have made another rather…careless wish." His smile is absolutely vicious," How fortunate for you, that I am here to grant it."
She looks at him, eyes blazing. "I thought you said wishes didn't work that way when I wished you'd go away." She looks at him, shuddering as she takes in his image—he's dressed in a midnight blue jacket and charcoal gray trousers, and on his head rests a crown of stars. The stark angles of his face are harshly drawn and his skin shimmers unnaturally. He feels so very different than the Jareth who had joked with her earlier that day—and yet, he also feels the same.
A razor sharp smile. "I chose not to grant that wish." He circles the small kitchen table, eyes never leaving her face, "But this wish, sweet Sarah, I choose to grant this one."
She stands up, stopping him mid-circle. "That's not fair."
He laughs a full throated laugh. "Haven't we had this conversation sometime before?"
"There has to be some rules to your sick game, Goblin King," she glares angrily, "What allows you to grant this wish?"
"You do not know?" he asks theatrically, it's obvious she does not. "You chose to compensate my bill with apples, sweet, generous Sarah, and you made no objection when I told you that I was indebted to you." He steps closer menacingly, smiling a malicious smile, "You accepted the debt."
"Fucking bullshit," she all-but-growls. "What have you done to Elle?" she asks, her poor roommate seems rooted to the spot, her face frozen and her eyes glazed.
He huffs for show, "Why, I've granted your wish of course. She is leaving you alone at the moment, no?"
Crossing her arms in determination, she grits her teeth, trying her best to swallow her temper. She has to keep her wits about her to win. "What do you want?"
A laconic brow, "What makes you assume I want anything from you?"
"First, you try setting Marc's kitchen on fire. And now, you freeze Elle. What THE FUCK would it take for you to get the HELL out of my life?"
A flicker of emotion passes through his gleaming eyes as she says this, but it's gone as quickly as it appears. "Nothing," he says with a nonchalant shrug.
Her temper flares. Nothing? Nothing? Oh how she seethes. Forcing herself to calm down, she regains her composure. Somewhat. "Then why are you so determined to drive me insane?" her fists clench, as do her teeth.
"What I meant, my darling creature," he says slowly, a gloved finger tracing her cheeks, "is that nothing will ever keep me away from you." He grins wolfishly as she takes a step back. "I don't want anything from you. I just want you."
AN—Sarah probably feels like setting him on fire.
Another pet peeve-I get so disgusted with 'romance' stories where rape is justified and the victim 'falls in love' with the rapist because they're in 'love' or 'married' or 'have a baby.'
Anneige—maybe you're on to something. =)
