Authors Note:
Hello again!
In case you recognised the title or premise, yes this is a repost of a story I accidentally deleted. Still in progress and still wildly AU.
Jareth-centric with lots of gratuitous Bowie references and characters, and a slow build Sarah/Jareth relationship in the background.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.
New York City. The Big Apple. Home to pretention, peasants and a populace more diverse than any. A melting pot of cultures, people, and weirdness. If there was a kind of weirdness going around, New York had been there, done that and got the T-shirt. There was a quiet sense of capability to the city, and no one quite embodied that weird competence so much as New York's hottest success story. They called him the Goblin King; Jareth T. Regent, the king of nightlife. He was an overnight success - owner of three clubs, a record label, a theatre, a restaurant, two hotels, an apartment building and a booming import/export business. His bio was scarce on the details; properly English, born in Brixton, received a scholarship to Eton, then Oxford undergrad and a doctorate in Irish Mythology, Harvard business school (graduated top of his class), no family to speak of, four close friends, and a single trio of closely guarded advisors that could be counted as friends if one really stretched. Brothers Didymus and Ludo Knight were his manager and head of security respectively, and the unfortunate 'Hoggle' Hoggleston was his PA. His success and his otherworldly good looks brought Jareth a lot of attention from the ladies, something he treated with his customary disdain. He was a busy man, he had no time for love nor romance. What he did have time for, was running his kingdom. After all, what King would he be if he let his kingdom fall to ruin? The very notion was the fuel of his bitterest nightmares.
Jareth, though he loathed the thought of being predictable, followed a loose schedule on his own whim. From Monday though Thursday, he ruled his kingdom from his office overlooking Central Park. From there he oversaw Gruagach Import/Exports, and tried to make sure that the imbecilic cretins he employed didn't reenact the Great Chicken Catastrophe of 1989. When the mood took him, he could be found taking in rehearsals at his theatre, or spotting new talent for his label. But from Monday to Thursday, he could usually be found with his devoted subjects at Gruagach. When the weekend came around, however, businessman Jareth got kicked to the curb, and the Goblin King came out to play. Friday was what Jareth considered his transitional day. For three hours after lunch, he dealt with the mess that was his insane but popular recording artists; the Fire Gang. Every time he met them left him with a headache and the desire to commit a felony. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain some semblance of his patience. A long fingered hand combed through his short blonde hair, the other adjusting his once impeccable suit. "Hoggle!" His musical accent pierced the air like glass. Sometimes, he hated his strict rule against having anything stronger than tea during business hours. English oak double doors swung open, Hoggle limping up towards Jareth with his typical ill grace.
"What is it, R- er, your Majesty?" Hoggle demanded, trying and failing to look anything but grumpy. Jareth was mercurial and mischievous, Hoggle was grumpy and curmudgeonly. He didn't even know why he had hired him, Gods knew he could do with some positivity sometimes.
"Yes, Hoggle" Jareth forced his thoughts into order. "I want to see my schedule for the next week, the manifests for Gruagach, and the projected figures for entirety of the Underground for the next three months." Hoggle looked relieved that it was something so easy. Jareth waved him off, and waited until he was by the doors before he continued. "Oh and Hoggle? If those pyromaniac fire gang so much as set foot in any of my clubs again, I'll dismember them, and send you to Oubliette."
Hoggle managed a short nod, gulping once at Jareth's threat. Jareth smiled his rather pointy smile, and turned back to his mountain of paperwork. He never thought he'd thrive on 100+ hour weeks, but then again he never expected to move to New York and found a empire.
A fortifying sip of tea chased his tension away; it was Friday , and Friday's were only the beginning of his weekend. A long, arduous work week was nearly behind him, a few more hours and he could let go of his workaholic nature and give in to that little part of him that always longed to be set free. The creative part of him. He could sing and dance and wear whatever he wanted and not have to worry about maintaining his professional image. He missed his carefree youth more than he had realised, but as Didymus often said; that too shall be vanquished. Pity the same couldn't be said about that damned dog Didymus insisted on taking everywhere. It was bad enough that he had to put up with the chivalrous Knight and his lumbering brother without counting the cowardly fleabag.
A timid knock on his doors signalled another problem he needed to deal with. A King's work was never done.
Nearby, in an office turned sitting room, Ludo, Hoggle and Didymus sprawled over several royal blue couches. On the table between them was a pile of newspapers, all from a certain day through the years. Didymus glanced at the topmost newspaper, his moustache quivering in agitation. "And you are certain that His Majesty did not appear to have noticed the date?"
Hoggle threw his hands up into the air. "I told yers. I kept that Rat so busy with the Fire Gang and paperwork, he won't haves a chance ter look at the date."
"It Friday" Ludo rumbled cheerfully. "Jareth like Friday."
"It'll be fine if he can forgets it for a while" Hoggle admitted cautiously, watching the walls like they had ears. He shrugged again. "Sides, Ludo's right. His glitteriness is always happy whenever he cans dress up like an oversized fairy."
"Sir Hoggle, you should not speak of our Lord this way" Didymus protested, red as his hair in his agitation.
"I'm his PA. I can talks about that rat however I likes."
"And he can send you to Oubliette without having to give you warning, my friend" Didymus reminded him, reaching out to pour another cup of his overly fragrant green tea. "He is not much like his old self any longer, my Noble companion. He may not sing nor perform like our King used to, but he will-"
"Makes good on his threat, yes I knows" Hoggle sighed unhappily. His shoulders raised and slumped with the force of his sigh. "I gots to go get the Rat his reports, or I really will be stuck in Oubliette." Didymus smiled apologetically, Ludo mournfully watching the far shorter man hobble out of the room.
"Ludo worried."
"Me too, brother" Didymus agreed softly. His blue eyes were distant. "Me too."
Several hours later, across town, crowds thronged to the popular nightspots. Few were as popular as those of the Underground. The stone exterior of New York's most popular club looked almost normal in the night. The same could not be said for the clubbers that lined up behind the royal blue velvet ropes, eager for their chance to step within the nightclub. Familiar music beckoned the patrons in, promising an evening full of good music, drinks that nobody dared spike, and an experience unlike any other. Waiting in line, a beautiful brunette woman grinned eagerly at her friends, bouncing a little along to the odd bursts of music that came from the doors every time someone entered or exited the club. Finally, they were allowed to enter, footsteps echoing in the strangely silent corridors of the club. The music had stopped (why had the music stopped?), and the very air seemed to be anticipation.
The stage was darkened, the thrum of an electric guitar and beat of the drums setting the pace. A cheer went up from the crowd as a elegant male voice began to sing an old Bowie song. Overhead spotlights came on at a snap of his long fingers, and there he was; the man everyone wanted to see. Short blonde hair artfully messy, Glam rock makeup impeccable, it was his attire that truly set him apart from his businessman persona. Tall, heeled black leather boots tapped to the rhythm, drawing the eye up to tight black breeches that neither disappointed nor left very much to the imagination. A white silk poet's shirt bared a tantalising amount of his pale lightly toned chest, a wicked-looking triangular medallion resting above his sternum. He moved with a dancers elegant, lithe grace; each sway of his thin hips as sexy as they were seductive. And that wasn't even counting his voice; it was David Bowie all over again, just with a far more ethereal quality. Bowie himself couldn't best the performance of his music - not without insulting himself. He raised his riding-crop inspired microphone, barely even sounding breathless as he belted out Rebel, Rebel while strutting around the entire stage.
When the final note faded away, the lights dimmed, a single light remaining to illuminate the singer. "Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen" he greeted, his voice a seductive caress. "My name is Jareth Regent. Welcome to my Labyrinth." With that, he burst into a wild, seductive version of Cat People (Putting Out Fire), his mismatched eyes twinkling from above his sculpted, high cheekbones. A cluster of girls in their mid twenties grinned at the elaborate performance, Jareth seeming to smirk at them before he segued effortlessly the best known of all his songs ; Underground. As he sung the lines 'it hurts like hell', he tore his gaze away from a green eyed brunette, pain filling his voice - a pain he felt deeply but couldn't remember. He shook it off as he immersed himself in his song, remembering just why he'd named his empire Underground; a place for the lost and the lonely, indeed. Jareth brought the song and his set to a close with his usual flair, waving off the complaints of his devoted audience. "I can't sing for you all night, this is a nightclub, not a jazz club." Jareth smiled at the light titter that caused. "So, on that note and against my better judgement, I have the dubious pleasure to introduce Septìmüs, our new in-house DJ."
Septìmüs, a rather imposing-looking chap, raised his chin in reply, and began to play David Bowie's 1979 song DJ without a single hint of irony. Jareth was going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than tea to deal with running his club tonight. On the bright side, at least his clubs played music he could actually tolerate; he had no clue what the youth were doing to music these days.
Jareth broke away from the usual throng of admirers, a part of him almost glad that Ignus had beckoned to him from the wings. For all intents and purposes, Ignus was his bar manager, and he reported directly to Jareth. Ignus was not as much of a cretin as the majority of the imbeciles that he employed, but he knew Jareth's preference for being kept up to date on his favorite of his clubs. "What is it now, Ignus?" Jareth asked tiredly, despairing of what new depths of idiocy his employees had plumbed.
"Squeek mixed Gürtie a drink, your Majesty" Ignus reported, scuffing the toe of his steel-capped combat boots. Jareth raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Yes, he does that quite regularly, he's my bartender."
"Yes, Your Majesty" Ignus agreed quickly. "Only, he followed Ignatius' instructions on the recipe." Jareth felt a headache burst into life behind his eyes.
"Ignatius" Jareth bit out. "Is henceforth barred from my clubs." Ignus bowed his agreement. "How bad is the damage?"
"Gürtie is unconscious in the backroom, your Majesty" Ignus replied, hastily adding the last at Jareth's glower.
"Ignus" Jareth began pleasantly. "Are you trying to tell me that my bartender roofied my cook?" Ignus bowed his head guiltily.
"Yes, my King. You shall have my resignation by morning." Jareth shook his head firmly.
"I don't want your resignation, Ignus" he sighed, running his hand through his wild hair. "Go, have Quìver take her home. I'll drive myself tonight." Ignus bowed again, guilt still etched on his face. If possible, he looked even guiltier at the thought of forcing Jareth to drive himself home. It was as if his employees forgot that he possessed a drivers license and a large collection of cars he enjoyed driving.
"Your Majesty." Ignus even sounded like he had been handed a death sentence.
"I'll let you in on a managerial secret, Ignus" Jareth smiled, clapping the poor man on the back. "You're not responsible for every imbecilic decision that your underlings make." Jareth spoke from years of experience. "All you can do is repair what you can, and look after those who are affected. Now, go see to Gürtie."
"Yes, my King" Ignus replied, hastening to do as he was bade. Jareth fought down a familiar surge of irritation. One of these days, Jareth was going to murder that Ignatius, and there wouldn't be a court that would convict him for it. Through supreme force of will, Jareth remained calm enough to return to his duties, nodding a greeting as his 'advisors' entered the club under the cover of the music. He donned his black leather gloves and most imposing leather jacket, suiting himself in the armour he needed to get through the night.
Jareth leaned casually by the booth his loyal employees were occupying. Ludo's laughter warmed his heart, the giant of a man always filled with such an innocent light. "How fares the rest of my kingdom? Has it fallen into disrepair in the three hours I've been here?"
"Not yet, my liege" Didymus answered politely. "All goes the way it should." Jareth smiled his pointy smile.
"Excellent. So aside from a minor roofieing incident, all is running smoothly. I'm impressed." Jareth turned to stalk back onto the stage, but paused. There had been something niggling at him all day. "Hoggle, I've changed my mind about the Midsummer Corporation. I want the figures, projections, and the report we complied."
"Yer've noticed something?"
Jareth tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. It's a feeling. I cannot quantify it."
"I'll hold off on all the meetings, and yer'll have the reports on yer desk by Monday morning. Mayhap sooner." Jareth nodded sharply, still troubled though he couldn't place why. He pushed those niggling worries to the side, trusting that his PA would not fail him on this. To be fair, Hoggle never had failed him yet (nor had Ludo or Didymus), but Jareth didn't build an empire the size of Underground by becoming lax. Blind trust only invited betrayal, which would hurt the more when he discovered it. His attention was called away to several politicians Didymus insisted he keep on side. Honestly, he found their company tedious and boring, and found that it taxed his legendarily thin patience. However, sacrifices had to be made for running a successful business, and if glad handing politicians was what it took, Jareth would reluctantly pay that price.
Several hours later, as the early morning hours came into their own, Septìmüs laid off the heavy dance tunes he'd been requested to play, and returned to a more gentle mix of music Jareth could tolerate. After what felt like an eternity of dealing with the useless representatives from City Hall, he had a splitting headache, and his mercurial mood was fading from mildly irritated to pissed off. Jareth longed for the days when he could enter his club on a Friday night, and have no one recognise him as Jareth Regent Underground King. Life used to be so much simpler in those days. A very reluctant smirk twitched his lips as Jareth watched a group of his Gruagach cretins perform a drunken rendition of the chicken dance in the middle of his floor. One or two of the inebriated imbeciles even waved at him, grinning stupidly and yelling 'Kingy'. Jareth hated that name, but damned if he couldn't make the cretins stop using it. He shook his head, allowing the raucous energy of the club to sink into his body. Someone had to teach those cretins how to dance; who better than the man who provided both their paychecks and the ale they swilled like water? With one of his famous wicked smirks, Jareth caught the microphone Septìmüs threw him, and proceeded to teach his impossibly imbesilic employees a thing or two about dancing. And if one or two happened to go flying during the demonstration, Jareth neither knew nor cared how such a thing could conceivably occur. In fact, one might consider it karma for dancing that badly in the first place. Really, it was almost insulting that they didn't know Jareth had standards for these things.
Unknown to Jareth, Hoggle, Didymus and Ludo were watching over him. Their hearts lightened at seeing a hint of the man they had thought long since lost. There was something in the air tonight, something that should have been both warm and foreboding. Those trio of all people should have remembered that nothing good ever came from forgetting the past. Even less good came from crossing those who did not take well to being crossed. Jareth was one such man, but he was by no means the worst nor the only. Trouble, when it came for Jareth, never came for Jareth alone. Something they had all known well, once upon a time.
Thank you for reading.
Reviews are appreciated!